Picture This

There is something not quite right in the scene that follows. See of you can guess what it is.....

It's a sunny spring evening and we decide, rather than rush home with the rest of the commuters, we head to the cinema. After all it's only around the corner from where we both work so it would almost be rude not to. After a short debate over what time we should leave work we meet in the lobby of our building at 5:45pm.

After a five minute stroll we arrive at the cinema and purchase tickets for 'Pride'. It's the new British comedy on the block set in the mid-eighties and tells the true story of how a gay activist group from London help a struggling mining community in South Wales through the darkest part of the Margaret Thatcher's attack on working class communities.

So after selecting our seats on a touch screen we were presented with a choice of wine with which to enjoy the film. And by choice I don't mean red or white. I mean there is a selection of six or so. Of each colour. Do we want cheese and bread nibbles to go with that? You betcha!

So ticket, wine (in a real glass not an all-too-easy to crush plastic affair) in hand we make our way into the auditorium where we are greeted and shown to our seats. Comfortable seats with plenty of leg room. Not, of course, that is an issue for me. But I know some who would appreciate an extra couple of foot or two.

The film begins, we sip our wine, nibble on bread and for the next 90 minutes are entertained by this heartfelt comedy. This is undoubtedly helped by the fact that there are no mobile phones going off, people chatting to themselves or chucking things at their mates.

The film finishes, the audience picks up their litter and empty glasses and files orderly towards the exit.

Replenished, both spiritually and physically, we stroll home as the skies turn from dark blue to starry black. A very pleasant way to spend an evening.

So what's wrong with this scene? Tricky huh? Well I will give you a hand and list some potential answers;

1) Me leaving work at 6pm? You must be joking.

2) A good British comedy? Pull the other one.

3) A comedy about the miners' strike? Don't think so.

4) What's that? Picking your seats on a screen rather than being jammed at the back between two overly-amorous teenagers? Yeah right!

5) Wine? In a cinema? Doesn't sound right to me. What's wrong with 2 litres of rola-cola?

6) And whilst we're on, bread nibbles? Real cheese? You can keep yer poncy snacks - I'll be happy with warmed up nachos and plastic cheese and be glad about it. 

7) Comfortable seats with leg room? Don't think so. Cram them in, treat them like cattle and push them out the door as quick as you can. That's the only way to run a modern cinema.

8) Cinemas are the new pub. They'd be no point in going if you couldn't have the crack with your mates. If you want silence go to the library. And if your quite finished, it's not a good night if you don't go home with popcorn in your hair and tomato sauce on your arse.

Hhhmmmm. Choices, choices. Well actually it's none of those. The real answer is how could a card carry socialist sit happily and drink a nice Pinot Noir from Central Otago whilst scenes of desperation are bring played out on the screen? I felt like a class traitor throughout the whole thing and my conscience hasn't let me forget it. It's just wasn't right. Not at all  ....but it was a very nice glass of red. And as for the cheese? Divine. 

Can't Get There From Here

Commuting. What a waste of time. When you think about it that is. Sure, it gives you some personal time. Time alone, to let your mind wander, contemplate the peculiarities of life, the universe and everything. Or do you use it for more important issues? Like trying to get to that nasal hair you clearly missed during your morning grooming routine? Anything really to take you away from the drudgery of negotiating your car along the motorway. Going nowhere fast.

But do you really need that time? It's sheer lunacy if you ask me. And I've done my fair share. Sure, nowhere near as bad as some, but I bet if I where to add it all up I'd be shocked at the lost time. Just think what else I could've done with that time. Read more books? Learnt a new language perhaps? Written a short opera? Who knows. Well me..... I wouldn't have but it's a nice thought.

My commutes have, on the whole, been rather .....well.... dull. A thirty minute three mile drive from Headingley to Leeds city centre (yes I know I should've walked but this was the 90s darling), the 0710 to York or the 20 minute meander through the streets of Darlington. All reasonable. But all boring.

Which brings me to here. Or rather there. You see, I'm blessed with options for my new commute. I could simply walk up the road, take the bus or even cycle. I could jump in the car - an option if it's raining whereby I can go from one garage to another and never even step outside once. But that would be lazy.

Or I could take what is perhaps the most memorable commute I'll ever do. They say a picture tells a thousand words so here goes....

Lunch packed, tunes set up and headphones on. Time to set off to work 

 Heading down the hall - looks like a nice day...

 ....turning onto Parnell high street...

 ...past the old wooden church...

 ....and turning into the steps toward the Domain....

 ....and down a 'few' steps. Well what goes down must go up. At some point....

Under the underpass. Well that's the best thing for them... 

 ...just as the train from Britomart passes over. Ahh them were the days....

...and into the Domain woods...

 .....with palm trees for company.....

 ....before meeting the stairs of death....

....then emerging into the Domain with Auckland Museum to greet the weary traveller.

And more palm trees. Shame the ice cream kiosk is shut this early in the morning. 

 The Skytower pokes out above the tree line looking like an abandoned space rocket

Nearly there. Just got to cross the football field.... 

..before turning left into Carlton Gore Road... 

...and arriving at number 111 Carlton Gore Road and getting the lift to the third floor. Yes the lift! But after the stairs of death I can't face anymore steps. Not even one. 

And after twenty minutes of hiking arriving at my desk. A little sweaty perhaps but happy. Well as happy as one can be arriving into work!

The Missing Piece

Or should that be pieces? Lots of them. This coming Monday it will be eleven weeks since we packed up our possessions and watch them sail off.... well be driven off... down the street. I don't think, even then, that we had a clue just what that meant. It was going to be fun, or so we thought, living without things that we had taken so easily for granted for just a few weeks. Oh yes I can hear the derision in your thoughts even from here, "Typical middle class professionals - can't make do without their cappuccino makers and fondue sets", or ,"In my day we had to make do wi' a bit o' coal and phlegm for our entertainment. I wouldn't give a ha'penny for these two clouts"

Well we don't have a cappuccino maker and I wouldn't call three computers, three bikes, two sofas, three armchairs, two tents, two dining tables, three beds, two guitars (including cases) and a 6TB hard drive exactly the lap of luxury. No way. But it has been missed. 

What's even worse if that we knew where it was at all times. Thanks to the wonders of modern technology we could track the progress of our possessions from the moment they left Teesport to the instant they hit the berth in Auckland. And boy was it painful to watch. The tinge of excitement we felt as they arrived a week later at Antwerp soon faded. By the time they approached Italy it had become too stressful. Why was it taking so long? We're they rowing? Had the captain taken a leave of absence and left rank amateurs in charge? What was going on? Italy slowly became a faded memory as the craft inched it's way towards the Southern Hemisphere. Then, inevitably, the estimated arrival time began creeping South. The 12th September became "mid-September" and "Mid September" became "End of the month. At the latest". At this rate we'd be eating our Christmas dinner off paper plates on our knees. 

But all was not lost. No siree. It had arrived into Sydney. From there it was just a short hop across the Tasman Sea and it'd be here. Cruise ships can do it in a few days so a week. Ten days tops. 

You can imagine my surprise, not to mention frustration, when I logged on and saw it heading the wrong way. "Where the f*** in f***etty f*** is it going now?!?!?", I screamed at the monitor, my new work colleagues sloping away in case I started banging my head on my desk. 

So we have to grimace and watch as it made its slow way to the bottom of New Zealand, crawl up the west coast - stopping at each town, village and small hamlet on the way, presumably to pick up nautical hitchhikers and give their mates a lift back from the pub - until it finally announced arrived off the coast of Auckland..... where it anchored for another day until it was ready to dock. Mind you, I can't blame them - they were probably doing their hair and looking "just right" before hitting the bright lights of the city. Image is everything.

And so, like giddy children, we are now eagerly anticipating the arrival of our stuff this weekend. Friday to be precise. This Friday. Two days from now. Oh I'm getting dizzy with excitement at the thought of a comfy chair and a cushion. Luxury? Well ok maybe it is. And besides, we can always buy a cappuccino maker.......