Parnell Reserves

It's been a while since I’ve put pen to paper, so to speak. Not because that there isn't anything worthy of report or comment. Far from it. There's plenty upon which I could bash out a blog or two. But it's all so dark and miserable and that's not what I want this blog to be. But I can't just give up writing (shame I hear you say!). So here is a more traditional "what we did on our holiday" account. Not that we're on holiday of course but you know what I mean.

With the other half of the household off to get a culture fix, courtesy of Bill Shakespeare and the Pop-Up Globe, I found myself with a free afternoon to while away.

My first reaction was to grab a box of chocolates, plonk myself on the couch and catch up on unwatched movies, box sets or a level or two on my trusty PS4. So even though some wise person noted that time you spend enjoyably wasting isn’t wasted time, or words to that effect, it was far too nice a day to while away indoors. The sun was shining, a gentle warm breeze was blowing and it would’ve been a real shame to miss it by sitting in front of the gogglebox. Besides, it was so bright that the screen was barely visible. Couldn’t see a thing. It was hopeless. So outside it was.

After a liberal application of factor 50+ I was off. But where to go? Town would be rammed, the beaches equally so, and I’ve been to the Domain numerous times already this week. Ahh, what was called for was a stroll through the reserves....or small parks if you prefer a more familiar phrase. So, if I could be so presumptuous to be able to divert your attention from world affairs for a few moments, here is a mini diary of my afternoon stroll.....

Being in Parnell, we are lucky enough have a multitude of options on our door step. Not only are we very close to the city and a short run from the beach, but we also have a few hidden green gems. By carefully plotting a route through quiet suburban streets it’s possible to link the reserves and get from Parnell to the neighbouring suburb of Newmarket. It’s a nice route just to walk but I had another goal in mind. 

Within a few minutes I was in my first of the reserves, Scarborough Reserve. Only the distant hum of traffic and the occasional bang from the port belies the impression that you are in the New Zealand bush. Miles from civilisation and out on your own. Except you’re not. Within a few hundred metres there are residential dwellings. Call it a trick of the light or just good planning. Either way it doesn’t take long for suburbia to loose it’s grip.

Within a few minutes more, the open greenery gives way to natural bush courtesy of Alberon Reserve. Okay, so I’m not sure it it’s natural or not but it could be as it looks just like all of the others I’ve been in. And they were. So in the absence of any other evidence I’m claiming that it to be so. Here, away from the glare of the sun, the palm trees rustle gently in the wind and Tuis (they’re a bird in case your wondering) belt out their song. Or songs. Or, if you prefer, their impression of R2D2. It’s uncanny. Don’t believe me, well pop over here and find out.

Unfortunately the reserves don't go on forever so periods back in the suburbs or needed. Thankfully, given that the sun is at it's strongest this time of year, pōhutukawa trees offer brief respite from the searing sun. The tree flowers from November to January with a peak in mid to late December, with brilliant crimson flowers covering the tree, hence the nickname New Zealand Christmas tree. And they are simply stunning, if a little short lived. Pretty soon, especially if a summer storm comes through, the flood will be stained blood-red with hundreds of thousands of tiny fronds.




Once out of the shade and shelter of the bush, traditional New Zealand Villa’s line the street. A what is a typical New Zealand villa I hear you ask? No, well I'm going to tell you anyway. The Victorian villa began to appear from around 1860’s when Europeans started arriving in large numbers. Built completely with native timber, NZ villas were generally single storey detached buildings, although two-storey villas were common in affluent suburbs and where land was scarce. With decorated verandas, high ceilings, small windows and wide hallways, they have been a part of Kiwi life for generations. It can be said though that the villa was built for appearances, meaning that there was more thought put into how it looked from the outside instead of how it functioned inside for the occupants themselves. In other words....bloody cold in the winter!

The next reserve, Ayr Reserve, is the largest on the route. The path winds down a steep, bush covered slope and runs along a gently babbling brook for most of its length. It's lovely down here - cool and quiet and a good place to make up some distance without worrying about dehydration or sun stroke. Just as I emerge back into the light I hear the familiar summer sound of willow on leather. 

Cricket! Thomas Bloodworth Park is the home to Parnell Cricket Club and a game is in full flow. I stop briefly to watch.....nope still can't understand the rules.....so press on up Ayr Street into Newmarket Park. Whilst I get my breath back from that hill, here's what Wikipedia has to say about Newmarket Park.

In the early European history of the area, the gully containing the park and the Slaughter House Creek (now Newmarket Stream) was used as a rubbish dump. In the 1930s, an employment scheme created a flat area on the higher western slope of the gully, approximately half-way up to the railway line. This initially served as an athletics track, and later for midget car racing and as a golf driving range. After being leased by the Auckland Football Association in 1962, it became the site of New Zealand's national football stadium, with many international games played here. However, in 1979 a large landslide occurred, which took away one of the grandstands and part of the playing field. After this, the park fell into disuse, with another large landslip also occurring in 1988.

Now, and especially today, Newmarket Park is a splendid place to take a breath, grab a drink of water and enjoy the last place for peace and quiet. Soon we'll be in Newmarket. Right can't put it off any longer. Final push....

The last few streets are full with the scent of Star Jasmine. This fragrant smelling plant is quite often found in flower beds and growing up and around walls in Auckland. More often than not, you can smell it before you see it as it's scent is so distinctive.

A quick dash through Newmarket Rail Station and we're here. As this is the second last Saturday before Christmas, Broadway, the main street in Newmarket, will be full of shoppers. In this heat it's not for the fainthearted so luckily it's only a short scoot along the street to my final destination, and the only worthwhile destination in Newmarket. The Lumsden Free House! Yey! I just hope they’ve got a nice cold beer waiting for me......

Weathering the Storm

Feels like just yesterday it was Christmas and now summer’s back. Hurray summer’s here and time to break out the BBQ and dust of the jandals? Yeah, nah. It’s going to rain for 10 days.

MetService has reported thunderstorms today, rain tomorrow, and rain until the end of time. Not quite the end of time, maybe some sun tomorrow. A bit of sun and then it’s raining again. Forever. Some weather outlets have gone a little bit optimistic and are suggesting some sun between the storms. I’ll pick that one. If only it was that easy. Maybe if we all think really hard about it we can will some decent weather for the weekend. Is it too much to ask? Haven’t we earned it? Tell them they’re dreaming. 

And for once it’s not just Auckland that’s getting a little damp. Wellingtonians, perhaps feeling a little smug because of the beautiful day they had on Sunday 11 November, can go jump in the same puddle: it’ll be raining in Wellington for 10 days as well. You could fly to Christchurch tomorrow if you’d like to see a clear sky. But I wouldn’t bother because thereafter it’ll be raining here, there and everywhere. For 10 days.

Except it won’t really. Well, it will, but not entirely. Maybe. One so-called-expert noted this to put our collective  minds at ease.

“When you have to do a weather forecast, you can only choose one icon to represent the entire day. We know almost every day there’s going to be a big downpour or period of rain but we don’t know how long it’ll linger for. So even though it looks like it’ll rain nonstop, you might find some of that will fall overnight and then you wake up and the sun’s out and most of the day is dry.”

Sounds like something a politician would say.

“This low is so large that it’s also got large areas of dry, sunny weather in the middle of it.”

But every cloud has a silver lining. 

“The farming community are over the moon about the rain coming in for Auckland because it’s drier than normal at the moment. A lot of gardeners and growers desperately want this rain. We want that because if they’re too dry before we go into summer, that lifts the prices of all the fruit and vegetables we buy locally.”

Complain now about the rain or complain later about the price of strawberries? Why not both? Why be reasonable about a bit of rain when there’s nothing better than complaining about normal weather? I assert my right as a Brit to complain about the weather, even though I know it’s much better than I would normally associate with this time of the year. After all we’re not happy unless we’re complaining about something. This will be every Aucklander on Sunday when they wake up to the pitter patter of pesky rain.

But from experience I know it’s only the weather forecast and not the weather. Yes, it may be a little damp, but it will be warm and when those pesky clouds do break you’d better watch out. The rain will have washed off the sun block and those rays are just looking for a friendly face to grill. Or they could just be wrong. Maybe that rain isn’t going to arrive and it’s all balderdash? On recent evidence that certainly seems to be the case. More sunny with cloudy intervals than rain with occasional sunshine. Whatever it is, I’m going to make the most of it. As a t-shirt I saw in a shop in Keswick wisely noted, I’d rather spend a wet day outside than a nice day in the office. I’ll drink to that. Cheers!

We Are Not Amused

If there’s one thing that’s guaranteed to hog the headlines more than rugby, it a visit by members of the Royal Family. In fact, since The Royal Couple (TRC) touched down a few days ago, there hasn’t been a single mention of The ABs. At least I don’t think so. Err, well I assume not because since TRC arrived in New Zealand I’ve been giving the paper and its media offshoot a wide berth.

Actually that’s not entirely true. I did, whilst munching on my lunch on Monday, accidentally spot an article that picqued my curiosity;

“Where to go to avoid the royal hoopla!“, shouted the headline, it’s bold lettering almost jumping off the page. Not this was interesting, if not a little ironic considering that New Zealand is (generally) a great place to avoid any such royal shenanigans. Was it suggesting anywhere convenient? Alas no. Only places where the royal circus wasn’t going to be visiting. I went back to my lunch and munched on a carrot.

For the past few days, TRC have been in our fair city of Auckland and boy has it been wet! Not typical British-stiff-upper-lip wet but proper monsoon-soaked-down-to-your-undies-if-you-dare-step-out-for-even-a-second wet. Despite that, it didn’t seem to phase TRC and as they got about getting about their business. Fair play. 

To make sure their visit went without any incidents, one half of the city centre was closed off to traffic which, given Aucklands dire traffic problems, was probably a wise move. Especially when you consider just how rubbish the drivers are - I may have mentioned this previously - and the cities sudden infatuation with green electric scooters. How bad would it look on news channels across the globe if a member of the Royal Family was filmed going arse-over-tit as a lime green scooter whizzes past? Indeed.

But if the weather misbehaving wasn’t enough, New Zealand had another trick up its sleeve. To round off their New Zealand experience Mother Nature served up a good old slice of drama in the form of an earthquake. This, a magnitude-6.2 shake wasn’t huge by New Zealand standards, but it was enough to give Parliament enough pause to....well....pause and everyone else a good rattle. 

The press, maybe short of a new angle for TRC, were happy to report that they weren’t harmed by the quake and that they battled on and kept to their schedule. Good for them! It is perhaps less impressive when geographic location had more to do with it than the aforementioned British stiff upper lip. But good effort anyway.

This evening, they’re visiting the museum in the park behind our house. It’s not that I’m paying any attention to their itinerary, or that I’m invited them round for tea and biscuits later, but it’s hard not to know with all these helicopters buzzing around. I can hardly hear myself type.

Despite my protestations above, it’s generally a good thing for New Zealand to have such high profile visitors - it certainly puts the country on the map - and if nothing else it deflects the country’s obsession with everything rugby. For a short while anyway.

In a few days everything will be back to normal. The world’s press will look for another circus - there are plenty of those at the moment - and we can go back to being the country at the edge of the world that does things in its own quiet, yet magnificent way.

Happy Returns

I’ve had some really memorable birthdays over the years, some marking milestones and others just for the sheer audacity of making it through another year unscathed.

The trip to Switzerland in 2000 to celebrate my 30th birthday was one such milestone. How could I forget staring out of the window of a train whilst it climbed slowly up and through a Swiss mountain to Jungfraujoch. Shame it was so foggy and cold at the top. But hey, it was October. Then, upon our arrival back into the UK, we swapped the majestic alps for the tranquil Yorkshire Dales and a birthday celebration with my family.

My 40th was spent with friends in a large farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. I still marvel at the success of that weekend and in particular wonder how-on-earth the delivery driver of our rather large curry order managed to find the house in the pitch black. Especially as, he was quick to point out, he had a phobia about sheep! Killer sheep I presumed at the time but it didn’t seem appropriate to ask.

Then, of course, there was my first birthday in the Spring. How what a difference half a world makes. Basking in the sun certainly made a change from sheltering in the rain, even if I did miss out on our traditional trip to Bellingham.

Then there are other. Others whose details are somewhat lost to the mists of time.....

I have recently unearthed a box of jumbled photos. Well, when I say unearthed, it was actually tucked away at the bottom of a drawer in the study and has been there ever since we left the UK and arrived in New Zealand. Anyway, much to my pleasure, and no doubt my friends horror, I’ve had a truly enjoyable time sifting through this treasure trove of memories and sharing the results on the internet. Although, if I’m being honest, the true enjoyment has been putting some order into the jumbled chaos. I do like a good sort.

So with all of the memorable birthdays mentioned above, quite why I ended up standing in a muddy, ploughed field just outside our hometown of Hartlepool in 1987 on my 17 birthday is a bit of a mystery. I think it had something to do with a treasure hunt or an orienteering challenge, but I’m not really sure. What I do remember, very vividly, is getting Lloyd Cole and the Commotions’ rather fantastic second album Easy Pieces on CD from my parents. It was a good choice for a gift. Not only was it an album that I wanted, but it was the very same one that I had already bought for my Dad’s birthday just a few days later. After all, why buy an album for yourself when you can just buy it a gift and then copy it? I suppose there are worse places to spend your birthday than in a muddy field with friends....which sort of reminds me of all those camping trips we squeezed in before the weather really turned nasty. It’s almost as if by going camping in October we were denying that autumn, and by association, winter was on its way.

As for today? Well the sun is just poking its head over the horizon and today has all the hallmarks of a typical Auckland spring day. A little cool at first then warming to a very pleasant 18 degrees with the chance of some rain later. Of course. Whatever the weather throws at me, I’m sure there’ll be some running involved and perhaps a beer or two with friends. And who knows perhaps I can find a muddy field, just beyond the gaze of the city, to go and stand in and wonder why on this day, some 31 years ago, it seemed such an attractive proposition. 

Cheers!

The View from Over Here

Wow! Being back in blighty after a few years’ absence is a weird feeling, part excitement and part apprehension in equal measure. I wasn’t sure quite what I’d think of the place but was keen to find out. It has, after all, been a tumultuous period for the UK. So, although not strictly a blog from New Zealand, here are my observations (in no particular order) on being back in the UK;

Scenery

It has been said, on more than one occasion, that New Zealand is one of the most beautiful countries on the planet. And it is stunning; from sub-tropical beaches to snow-capped mountains. But I had forgotten just how wonderful the British countryside is. My short walk along Hadrian’s Wall brought this back into focus; rolling green fields, stone walls, gentle babbling brooks, copse covered hills and jutting escarpments. Sublime.

And whilst we’re on the topic of the great outdoors, a nod has to go to the weather. I thought the British weather was usually a washout, especially this close to Autumn. At least that’s how I remember it. But so far it’s been on its best behaviour. High five!

Football.... real Football!

Ahh, association football! Where have you been? Yes I know that we’ve just had the World Cup and with that an opportunity to see some live games, but there is something to be said for being able to casually watch some coverage without having to get up in the middle of the night. It’s a whole lot better to watch a match fully awake and with a beer at your side. Unless of course you happen to be watching Middlesbrough. In which case the beer helps but being awake probably doesn’t. Of course I’m only joking......

The Long Mile

Stop being bloody awkward and adopt the kilometre will you! Or at least be consistent. It’s not big or clever having some signs in miles and others in kilometres. Besides, you went metric decades ago so why the unhealthy obsession with miles? 

It’s no fun when you’re a runner being told on a signpost that there’s only ‘1’ left to go to your destination only to remember that it will mean miles and not kilometres. You actually feel like you’re making progress when you’re counting down kilometres. Yes, I understand that there are more of them to count down but it just feels better. Come on, you know it makes sense. And that reminds me.....

Where’s the Fire?

Why is everyone in such a rush to get where it is they’re going? Is there some existential race that everyone has entered without telling me? On the short journey from the airport I was genuinely surprised by the speed and ferocity with which cars passed. I was half expecting to look in my rear view mirror and see a T-Rex stomping down the A1. 

And it wasn’t just limited to the highway. Even on foot, in supermarkets or in the high street, everyone seems to have a determination to get where they’re going in a short a space of time as possible. Listen, and I say this from a position of deepest respect.....it’s not a race. Slow down, you’ll feel a lot better I promise!

Automatic for the People

What is it with manual gears in cars? After over four years of driving various forms of automatic shifting cars from little compacts to Toyota Hiluxes I can honestly say I’ve embraced this advancement in automotive technology. Yes advancement. Why on earth wouldn’t you? And don’t give me that “it’s not proper driving” line. Of course it is, and besides, maybe if you had one less thing to do whilst driving you’d have more time to devote to more useful operations such as.....of, I don’t know.... the indicators? Just a thought. 

Money, money, money

What on earth has happened to the money? I got some cash from an ATM and it seems to have a life of its own. I have tried folding it, squashing it and pressing it under heavy books only to see my efforts undone within seconds as the bloody stuff springs back open. I foolishly tried to contain the cash it in my wallet only to have it nearly take out an eye when I opened it to pay for some drinks. It’s certainly feisty stuff so thank goodness for the rise in popularity of contactless payment. Not only is it more convenient and reduces the need to carry around tonnes of metal coins, it will also reduce the number of visits to A&E and make the job of bar tending a far less hazardous occupation.

And If You Know Your History

In all fairness, I hadn’t forgotten that the UK has some pretty spectacular historical buildings, but it did take a walk along the aforementioned wall to remind me just how much of it abounds. There’s so much of it’s almost embarrassing. I came across an old stone cattle trough that was being used as .....well a cattle trough. In other countries it would be taken away and preserved in a museum as a national treasure and not used as a means to distribute food to animals.

York, one of the stops  on my itinerary, dates back to 71AD but it is believed that people inhabited this area as far back as 8000BC. Faced with those set of numbers, it’s no surprise that one can become a little blasé about history. It’s just sort of here, there and everywhere.

Suds

If there is one single startling difference between the two counties, it’s probably the preference for the temperature of the popular alcoholic refreshment. In New Zealand there appears to be a competition to see quite how cold the beer can be served. From super-chilled beer to refrigerated glasses, no stone has been left unturned in the quest to get the liquid to as close to freezing as possible. The UK, on the otherhand, seems quite amenable to hardly bothering to cool the drink at all. Why go to the expense and faff of refrigeration when people are perfectly happy quaffing it at room temperature? 

At the risk of being ostracised from my homeland, I much prefer my beer to be served with a slight chill, although not so cold as to risk throatal-frostbite, and a few bubbles didn’t harm anyone. If  you’d asked me four years ago what my preference was, I’d have quickly told you that beer should be at room temperature and definitely not have any fizz. But four years of living in New Zealand has changed that, well slightly anyway. Besides, flat beer served at room temperature just wouldn’t cut it in a Kiwi summer.

And here’s the thing, there’s no right or wrong - it’s just a matter of personal preference. Taste if you like. 

Trains not Planes or Automobiles

Well would you look at that! What a great idea...and it might just catch on. I’d forgotten just how great it is to be able to travel by train. I’m mean proper travel and not just scooting around a city. Actually getting on in one town and then being whisked to the centre of another. New Zealand does, of course, have trains but not what you’d call a train service. Yes you can get on a train in Auckland and travel to the capital Wellington, as long as you’re prepared to devote the whole day to the journey and don’t mind not coming back until Thursday.

I’m sure that there is still plenty to complain about but at least you’ve got something to complain about, if you catch my drift. 

Brexit

I couldn’t leave a blog about being back in the UK without mentioning the unmentionable. When the result of the vote was announced, the view from New Zealand was one of bemusement. A bit like being the only sober person at a party and watching in disbelief and puzzlement as one if your friends gets riotously drunk and proceeds to tell everyone in the room exactly what they think of them.

Being closer to the action, as it were, hasn’t helped and if anything the situation looks even more chaotic up close with neither Party being able to decide what it was that the population actually voted for. I deeply suspect it wasn’t this. There isn’t long now to sort out whatever it is that needs to be sorted - and the list is getting longer by the day - so it’s going to be interesting watching it unfold, albeit from a safe distance!

It has been a genuine pleasure to be back and I’ve enjoyed every minute of my all-too-brief visit. It’s been great to be reminded of things that I’d forgotten, to see what’s been going on in my absence and check out all the changes. But one thing that hasn’t changed is the welcome I received from family and friends. Within moments of meeting, the four years of absence melted away and we picked up exactly where we left off. And, at the risk of sounding mawkishly sentimental, that is what the UK really means to me. It’s a place where I can go, no matter where I’ve been or for how long, and know that I’ll be met with open arms. 

Right, that’s enough of that! I’ve got a flight to catch and in only twenty eight hours time I’ll be back in NZ. Easy as!

The Long Not-So-Good Night

It you thought it was a long way to Tipperary, then it just takes a journey from New Zealand to the UK to put that into perspective. Tipperary, no matter how far it is proclaimed to be is a walk in the park. And a relatively short walk at that.

Although I apologise for the seemingly whiney tone of this entry, especially in light of just how lucky I am to be able to just decide to hop on a plane and head home for a week or two, it’s something that I have to share. There are some out there who will have experienced this particular itinerary, but for those who haven’t, or are contemplating it, read on.

If a 28 hour journey seems daunting, then good. It should be. Just a relatively short time ago, a trip such as this would’ve taken months and would’ve consumed a families life savings. In other words a one-way trip of necessity. Air travel, on the otherhand, is much more forgiving and less life threatening. But I guess everything is relative. 

I certainly wasn’t feeling over-positive when I boarded my first flight yesterday evening, a simple four hour hop across the ditch to Melbourne. So far so easy. But it wasn’t that journey that was bothering me. Nope it was the next leg of the journey. A butt-numbing 14 hour slog from Melbourne to Dubai then, for deserts, after a short two hour stop in Dubai another seven-and-a-half hour final leg to Newcastle. 

In theory, sitting in a chair watching movies or binging on box sets whilst you are served food and beverages seems like an ideal way to spend some down-time. Ordinarily, particularly after the last twelve months I’ve had, I would’ve snapped your hands off. But no thank you. Not this time. Not in this way. You see it’s not the time, once you get your head around the idea, that’s easy. Nor is it the surroundings because that doesn’t really matter. It’s the darkness. The seemingly endless night. 

That’s one of the major downsides to travelling east to west, the sun never seems to rise.  It was dark when we took off from Melbourne at 8:30pm and remained so for the rest of the fourteen hour journey. God knows what it’s done to my body clock - we’re not only 90 minutes out from Newcastle and the sun is shining. Broad daylight. I think it’s Thursday lunchtime, or at least that’s when were due to land. Or as I prefer to call it, Friday morning, as that’s what time it is in New Zealand. Conventional wisdom says that you should try and convince yourself that it is the time it actiually is in your destination. That’s great advice except my body clock isn’t listening. Doesn’t care. It wants me to sleep evening though its broad daylight and, judging from experience, it will equally expect me to rise from my well-deserved slumber at some god forsaken hour tomorrow. 

Listen to me go on about the perils of long-haul air travel. What a knob and yes, I’d be the first to admit it. Actually I think I just did! 

The Importance of Being Idle

As first days on the dole go, yesterday was pretty good. How I came to be unemployed for the first time in my working life is the subject of a whole separate blog. But let's just say it was time to move on.

Waking up on a Monday morning knowing that you were not expected to go to work, not today or the following and not on holiday, was a strangely liberating feeling. Free to do what you want to do and go where you want to go. Admittedly that liberating feeling lasted all of two hours and then was quickly replaced with blind panic. What had I done? Was I stupid? Who on earth quits a job without having something else to replace it? How on earth was I going to fill my day? And what about those that stretched out into eternity before my very eyes? Holy crap!

At least the sun was shining. A whole day to fill with something meaningful. The possibilities were endless, as long as it didn't cost too much money. There was only one thing for it. Running.

A quick run around the park wasn't going to do it - that was far too convenient and would be over too quickly. No, I would have to make a bigger gesture than that, something that I couldn't ordinarily do without taking time off work. There was only one thing for it - catch a ferry somewhere and run back towards the city.

So that is how I found myself at the ferry terminal in the city in the middle of the rush hour, but heading in the opposite direction to everyone else. Whilst dozens streamed off the 08:35am Half Moon Bay service, only three of us boarded; me, a retired bloke and a housewife. Not that I know any of this as fact but why let the truth get in the way of a snap judgement. At least now I knew what retired people do with their days - travelling around on public transport, drinking tea and wandering around doesn't seem like a bad way to spend some time. I could get used to that.....except I couldn't. I'm not very good at being idle. Sure I can play at it for an hour or two but it's just not me. And when I do give it a go, I might look like I'm doing very little but inside my mind is whirring. At bit like a duck - all looks pleasantly calm and serene on the surface but underneath my proverbial legs as going like the clappers.

Speaking of which, that is exactly what would be happening in just over ten minutes. Half Moon Bay wharf was quickly approaching which meant that my run back to the city was almost about to start.

It was only after a few minutes of running that I accepted that I wasn't going to make it all the way back to our house. Earlier in the morning I had been flirting with the idea of completing the whole 30km run, albeit at a relatively slow pace, but the effects of the previous day's run and the training session the day before that were making themselves known. Tired legs. Not something that helps when starting a long run.

But what a wonderful day to be out. Although the sun was still low in the sky, there was sufficient heat to make me regret not wearing a lighter top. Nothing I could do about that now, time to press on. The path alongside the bay was relatively quiet with only a few people out walking dogs, pushing prams and generally taking in the fresh almost-spring air. With the tide being out, and particularly low, some boats gently swayed in the breeze whilst others  lay on the sea bed at a jaunty angle, waiting for the tide to come in and put them on an even keel.

It took a good 5km or so for my legs to ease up but once they did I was in my element. Running without a particular timetable and with stunning coastal scenery to help drive me along. There's no better way, or none that I have found, than running to help organise ones thoughts, put things into perspective and illuminate a way through the fog.

Not that there was much fog. Within an hour the temperatures has hit their usual winter mid-teens and I was beginning to regret not bringing any water on the journey, instead opting to use the drinking fountains that were scattered along the route. Expect they weren't where I remember them being and far too spread out. Blast!

I'd like to think that it was the lack of hydration and not lack of fitness that caused me to cut the run short but I rather think it was the latter. Well that, and the fact that I had just passed a very nice looking cafe which oozed home-baked aromas onto the footpath. What the heck, I'd covered nearly 20km and it was getting towards lunch time.....or at least well into the elevenses hour! Coffee and cake it was then.

What a way to spend your life. If every day was like this; a leisurely breakfast, a long run in the sunshine and refreshments at a local cafe I'd be as fit as a fiddle. Who knows what I could achieve. Maybe finally break the four hours for a marathon time, how about an ultra or having a seroious crack at a triathalon? Providing the cake wasn't too large of course. I was just contemplating this when my phone made the all-too-familiar noise. An email had arrived. Ah well, might as well see who on earth can be contacting me at this time. It certainly can't be work related I mused, unless they'd lasted a whole two hours without having to call me to help them out.

Oh! And there before me, on the sun dappled screen was the antidote to my endless leisure time.....a job offer. Ah well. Thank goodness I hadn't gotten too used to this lackadaisical life. The Olympics would have to wait, there was work to do.

Island Time

Well this is a first - writing a blog in the back seat of a car whilst being driven through the countryside of Fiji. Firstly, I must say that I’m really pleased to not be called upon to drive. Having experienced it a few days earlier, driving in Fiji is more akin to Russian roulette than a mode of transport.

If the fact that the roads seem to be made of a series of potholes and patches isn’t enough to make the journey super-exciting, then the randomly placed speed bumps, narrow bridges, wandering livestock, lumbering sugar cane trucks with overhanging loads resulting in suicidal overtaking manoeuvres surely will. It’s an experience that makes you really appreciate the safe driving in New Zealand, relatively speaking that it as regular readers of this blog will know just how I feel about that! It seems that I have been far too hard on the standard of driving in New Zealand. Really Fiji, do you think that a blind bend is really the best place to overtake? Those solid lines down the middle of the road are there for a reason and are not an invitation to put your life, and those of your fellow travellers, at risk. Where are you going that necessitates gaining a few dozen metres by passing before the brow of a hill?

With the passing of each village, some more ramshackle than others but all with bursting with life; people working in the fields, classrooms full of children eager to learn, women washing clothes in the rivers and shops selling all manner of essential items, we edge closer to Nadi airport. It’s slow going as each kilometre is hard-won and I’m not entitelry convinced that I will get there with my internal organs in the same place they were when we left our resort ninety minutes ago. I’m sure it’ll be fine - everything seems to be functioning correctly so far!

We’ve enjoyed another relaxing five days in a coastal resort - the sort of relaxation that only a pacific island can deliver. With each passing day, time seems to slow just that little bit more as timetables and commitments are replaced by a resort routine. And what a routine it is; a swim in the warm ocean followed by a buffet breakfast, lazing by the pool whilst reading a book and allowing time for the food to settle before venturing to the beach for some snorkelling. Another rest and then early afternoon cocktails (complete with ‘stolen’ muffins from the buffet). Just time then for a sleep before more cocktails and then the evening meal. Smashing. That isn’t to say that there’s no variation. Don’t fancy snorkelling?  Well how about kayaking, tennis, pétanque or just a plain old swim? All served under a gentle Fijian sun with a warmth that is neither too cool to make you wish you’d brought a jumper nor feels like it’s trying to rip the skin right off your body. A goldilocks temperature if you like.

The slow pace of life, easy access to food and alcohol has taken it’s toll as the button on my shorts will attest. But it’s been worth it - it’s been a tough few months and a few days in the sunshine and warmth have recharged the batteries. 

But that’s literally behind us. In a few hours we’ll be heading back to New Zealand and landing in the mountain resort of Queenstown. It’s going to be an interesting contrast swapping bright Fijian sun for the darkness of a South Island winter. I might regret only wearing a t-shirt, shorts and sandals but I couldn’t quite bring myself to pull on a pair of jeans and closed-toe shoes just yet. My plan is to tough it out as we only have a short time outside in the cold between the airport buildings and the car rental office. I’ve promised myself not to yelp too loudly about the cold, besides I know exactly where my socks, shoes and padded jacket are should I need them - right next to me in my hand luggage!

Random Notes from a Small Island

There's been so much going on recently so rather than concentrate on one topic, something that I find increasingly difficult anyway, I thought I'd write up a smorgasbord of events in this blog. And apologies for any Norwegian readers if I mispronounced that. Not that you could have heard it of course. But in my defence, in my head it sounds right. Any-road-up lets get on with the roundup;


Running is Not Supposed to be a Contact Sport
It seems strange that I should even have to write that - surely it is obvious to everyone - but judging by an experience this week seemingly not.

After a particularly heavy bout of man flu, complete with snotty nose and everything, I decided that I was well enough to restart my running schedule. Not that it is much of a schedule in the winter - I just sort of run whenever the weather permits. Which in Auckland means when its not raining. After a particularly hilly 8km I passed the local superette and picked up some bacon and eggs for dinner. Admittedly it was not a particularly adventurous menu but after a weekend of fairly heavy and fancy food it was time to get back to basics. And what better way than with a simple serving of British breakfast food. Only in the evening. Nevertheless it was going to be lovely and I happened to know that there was a fresh bottle of HP Sauce to compliment the offerings. Smashing.

I was still in the middle of these culinary thoughts when I started down the hill towards home, grocery bag gently swaying with the now lopsided rhythm of my running. I was about to cross a side street when an ex-NZ Post van swung into the road in front of me and promptly stopped, blocking the whole of the dropped-kerb crossing.

"How unthoughtful!" I muttered to myself, "or maybe they will realise and move"

Just as those thoughts left my consciousness, the driver extinguished his headlights. He was there to stay. Not wanting to run behind the vehicle - this would have put me in the running lane of the main road - I started around the front of the van.....just as the driver realised that he probably wasn't in the best spot after all and decided to set off again down the street. Forwards.

The van hit my right shoulder with enough force to knock me off my feet and onto the deck.

It's assuring to know that even in the midst of an unexpected encounter with a old postal van my first thoughts were not of self preservation but instead whether I had landed on the eggs. I'm not sure who was more shocked, me or the driver. I'd like to think that it was me but I rather expect that after unleashing a fair barrage of anglo-saxon phrases it'll be the driver who needs comforting.

Although I'd rather avoid being hit by motorised vehicles in the future, it was a useful encounter. Not only did it remind me to be more careful around drivers in New Zealand whilst running, but I now know that if I'm ever in another life threatening event it won't be my life that will pass before my eyes but the ingredients of my next meal!


You Just Gotta Love this Place
Earlier this year I became yet anther person to succumb to wearing wearable tech. Yup, I bought an Apple Watch. I can't excuse it and it just sort of happened. I did think that by now, six months later, the novelty would have worn off. But not a bit and it's usually the first thing I reach for when I wake up. I won't go into details but is there nothing that this watch can't do?

We actually there is......stay on your wrist! For those who aren't familiar with that particular piece of equipment, the strap doesn't clasp shut but instead has a press-to-close fastening. This is great and a very neat way to close the strap but it did lead me to wonder what will happen when the strap is unfastened and fastened hundreds of times?

All was well with the strap until a recent visit to the pizza parlour. I guess it could've been any establishment and what followed had nothing to do with mozzarella and tomato, but just in case it's worth a mention. I was just heading back home with two steaming pizza pies when I noticed that my wrist was a little lighter.

"Shite! My watch", I exclaimed whilst desperately patting my pockets in hope.

But it was in vain - my watch has somehow disappeared from its resting place. With panic setting in at the thought of having lost a valuable piece of technology, I quickly made a mental map of my steps. Had I checked the time in the pizza place? I think I had. I must have. I was going to have to retrace my steps and it was the last place I'd been in - I just hoped that it hadn't disappeared between there and where I now stood, slightly nauseous at the thought of the expense that might now be lying somewhere in a gutter.

Just as I was half way across the pedestrian crossing, two teenagers looked at me. I guess it was the sight of me rushing back to the pizza place with pizzas in my arms that lead them to ask if I had just lost a watch.

I admitted that yes I had and yes I was an idiot

"No problem bro - we gave it to the woman in the pizza place"

And indeed they had. As soon as I walked back through the doors the woman at the counter held out her hand and hanging there was my watch. In one piece. Including the useless strap. Sometimes its easy to forget that New Zealand does things a little differently. Elsewhere I'm sure the watch wouldn't have made it back to me and I'd been left with the decision whether to fork out for a replacement.

Since that incident I'm much more careful and regularly check my wrist for my watch. And every time I do I'm met with the mental image of the disapproving look the woman behind the counter in the pizza place gave me at being so careless with an expensive piece of equipment. And for letting the pizzas go cold!


Personality Goes a Long Way...if You've Got One!
A few weeks ago my manager decided that the whole team needed to take a personality test. I'm not sure why - as far as I was concerned I was certain that I had one. A personality that is. Sure it may not be perfect but show me some who's is.

He was not be to deterred, so last Tuesday we took the Myers-Briggs test and had a career coach help us interpret the results. It took just half an hour to answer the ninety-or-so questions and generate my Myers-Briggs profile of istj. I'll let you go look that up if you're that interested. I'd like to say that it was money well spent but I rather suspect that the organisation wasted their money, well with mine anyway. It really wasn't necessary for a test to tell me that I am prone to organisation, prefer planned events rather than those that are spontaneous and enjoy detail rather than abstract thought.

What was surprise is that the test revealed that I'm the only one in the team with tendancy towards introversion. Given that they're all engineers I find that hard to believe and it leads me to wonder if the test really is all it's cracked up to be.

Either way at least I have hard documentation to prove that I'm in the perfect job, a Project Manager in an engineering organisation. Phew!


So there you have it, a few random thoughts from a fairly eventful week. It was certainly busy but thankfully we're now on holiday for a few weeks. As I sit here and type this we are eagerly awaiting the arrival of family from the UK. It's going to be a blast and whilst I hope not as eventful as getting hit by a van I'm sure there will be lots to write about!

A Night of Two Halves

I’m struggling to remember the last time I voluntarily got up at 2am. I know I have done it because I recognised the feeling straight away; slightly fuzzy head, sore eyes and a general air of bewilderment. It must have been to catch a flight but not for a while and certainly not recently as most of flights from New Zealand leave at more civilised times. Well they might as well because wherever they’re going they’ve got a hell of a long way to go and therefore a lot of time to fill. 

Anyway, this time it wasn’t for a holiday that we set the alarm clock for 01:50am. We may have had bags under our eyes, but there were no bags packed and the only flight we were using was the flight of stairs to the living room (no that wasn’t a stretch of a metephor because our living room really is upstairs!). The World Cup was on and England were playing in their first quarter final in decades. We had a date with destiny....and of course the sofa and a cup of tea.

It’s quite easy to say now that it was all worth it, with England having dispatched Sweden by a comfortable two goals, but it didn’t feel that way as the pre-match analysis segued into the match coverage, streamed courtesy of the BBC. I can now confirm, with first hand experience, that sleep deprivation and in-game punditry don’t go hand in hand, especially as all you really want is soothing music to help you get back to the land of nod. Yet, a large proportion of Auckland slept on, we settled down, tried to clear our heads with a cup of tea and hoped that the football would be worth the effort.

At this point I’d like to go on record and say that had we been living in the UK and a similar situation had presented itself, I very much doubt that we would have risen from our slumber. Not because we appreciate the spectacle any less but because being 12,000km from home gives it a certain amount of focus. It’s almost as if a badge of honour is gained by tuning in at some ungodly hour. After all, when you’re living in a country that obsesses over another form of team game, it’s not a bad thing to remind others that the ‘proper’ World Cup is playing out in a part of the world that isn’t New Zealand and doesn’t involve the All Blacks. I challenge even the most ardent unsupporter of football to do anything less under those circumstances!

As a former colleague of mine was happy to note “hindsight’s and exact science” and I’m writing this from a comfortable position of knowing the game was won and England will be appearing in a World Cup semi final for the first time in 28 years. A time when most of the players hadn’t even been born. Now that’s a sobering thought. Not that any alcohol was drank last night. Well, it was but not since the first half of sleep had taken place. Being drunk in the morning is not a good look whoever you are!

So with the first half of sleep safely under my belt, and I must say it was a commanding performance, and the half time entertainment out of the way, I settled down for the second half. Obviously I was hoping to build on the solid first but as they quite often say (although I’ve never actually heard this) it’s a game of two halves. The second half didn’t start as well as the first. I was restless, slightly cold and didn’t have the same urgency that I greeted the start of the first half with. After ten minutes it was clear that I was going to have to change my tactics....

Time then for the hot water bottle. You can call me a pampered Prima Donna all you like, and there maybe some truth in that, but it did the trick. Now I was properly warmed up I was on a roll and soon drifted into sleep. With added stoppage time at the end of the second half I awoke refreshed and ready to face the challenges of the day. 

Overall, I was pretty happy with my performance over the course of two halves. Maybe I gained too much energy from the first half to have a really successful second? After all, who could keep that level of inactivity up for the whole period? Maybe my choice of halftime refreshments could also do with some analysis - perhaps two cups of tea was just too much? Well there would be time to take a look at that and maybe even another chance to put it into practice....the World Cup Final was just around the corner....and it could be a dream come true! 

A Quiet Revolution

It may not be obvious, but there is a quiet revolution going on in New Zealand. What? You haven’t heard? Well let me tell you this is a scientific fact. And by scientific I mean that I have done extensive research. Errr, okay, perhaps not extensive, but a fair amount. A reasonable amount...okay some. And when I say some, I mean that I have casually observed whilst passing on foot, on bike or as the passenger in a car. But that’s just as good and I can vouch for the data 100%. Don’t just take my word for it either, take a look at this if you need further convincing. 

https://i.stuff.co.nz/sport/football/84757441/on-the-ball-football-by-the-numbers--popularity-surges-among-youth-and-women

You see, from the grassroots upwards, New Zealand is slowly ditching rugby in favour of football. Or if you prefer Soccer. But only Americans call it that. So please don’t.

This many not be the earthshaking news that you were expecting but it’s something, and it’s real. Well as real as I can make out. In the short space of four years since we arrived on these shores, perhaps imperceptibly at first, local kids are swapping the incomprehensible for the comprehensible. Yes the Beautiful Game is coming to New Zealand so you’d better watch out! Or watch it at least! You won’t regret it. 

So why are kids and young adults turning their attention to football? It’s a good question. Maybe it’s because it’s much simpler and easier to play as a small group? All you need is a ball and a couple of jumpers for goal posts and you’re away. Or is it because it’s not quite as dangerous and less likely to result in an injury to the head or neck? Or maybe, just maybe, and I’ll say this quietly to avoid causing offence, it’s just a better game? Whatever the reason it’s great to see it taking off and who knows, maybe in ten years New Zealand will be competing regularly on the global stage against the best in the world. Wouldn’t that be something?

It’s fair to say, however, that it’s got a long way to go. For those who are tuned in to world events, you will know that there’s currently a tournament playing across in Russia. Maybe it’s big news where you are? It’s not here. Unless you went looking for it, you wouldn’t have a Scooby. Even bars, usually the first refuge for a football fan, steadfastly refuse to show any of the action. Admittedly, the time difference doesn’t help, with games mostly happening during the night, but what about highlights? For now, the FIFA World Cup in New Zealand is only for the diehards and foolhardy who eschew a decent night’s sleep for some sorely missed football action.

For those that tuned in last night would’ve witnessed another kind of quiet revolution. The sight of an England football team playing as a team and not a collection of over privileged individuals. Under Gareth Southgate’s watchful eye, the England football team are composed, organised and determined. They may not have played the best teams yet, so I’m fully aware that these words may come back to haunt me, but they look world class. World-beaters even, and with the big names all misfiring at the moment, who knows. Maybe “You won’t win anything with kids” but let’s just see.

It’s fair to say that I haven’t wholeheartedly supported an England side since 1990 after which fame and fortune seemed to take the shine off those who appeared in the famous white strip. It just seemed....well a little bit seedy and as if the players were doing us a favour by turning up when they could’ve been lazing about on their yacht. And maybe that’s still the case. But it doesn’t appear to be the way.

Wouldn’t it be great if both New Zealand and the England side under Gareth Southgate prove that there is still joy in football beyond celebrity status, and that skill counts for more than tabloid column inches. The signs are encouraging.

Run/Commute

Well it had to end at some point and, if I’m been honest, it was too good to last. You see for the last eleven years I have been able to walk to work. And not just that, it’s never been more than a twenty minute stroll door-to-door. I must admit that I have, on occasion, taken the simplicity of my commute for granted. There were days, for example, when I just couldn’t be bothered and found any excuse to jump in the car. It didn’t even have to be a great excuse. Rain forecast? Well better take the car just in case. Or I may get a parcel delivery so I’ll need to take the car to bring it back if I do. Feeling a bit off colour. Better save my energy and take the car. Totally shocking and absolutely without honour! Thankfully though, those instances were few and far between. For the most time, I’ve enjoyed over ten years of blisssful pedestrian based commuting.

Even when we made the switch to New Zealand, we made sure that our home was within walking distance of the office. Yes it was mostly uphill, but a twenty minute walk is much preferable to having to get in a car. Even when it is raining. The closeness to work did however shrink to ridiculous levels when I changed jobs at year or so ago with my twenty minute commute getting reduced to just seven. Yes seven! It was so close that I timed it to the nearest minute. Or if you prefer, 600m. It was in fact, so close that I was seriously worried that I’d turn up one day accidentally wearing my slippers and pyjamas!

I knew, however, that it was only temporary as it was a project office and not my main HQ. Even so, when we were finaly told a a few weeks ago that we were moving out it came as a bit of a wrench. If you ever caught me off guard, I might admit that it was a little too close but I was now suddenly faced with a much longer commute. Relatively speaking anyway. You see now, rather than sauntering down the hill to the office ,I’d have to find a way to get my butt 4km across town. Not a huge distance, almost too short to drive, but a much different proposition. But I had options.

The lack of parking at the new office meant that taking the car was out. Not that I would’ve particularly enjoyed that option anyway. Eleven years without relying on a vehicle is a hard habit to break. Walking was a possibility, but even at a reasonable pace it was still going to take an hour to complete each way. How about public transport? Well there was a bus service that would work but it was renowned for being totally unpredictable in the evening rush hour and, given the torturous route that it takes, only marginaly quicker than walking.

I did briefly consider cycling to the office then I remembered that Aucklanders are lunatics when you put them behind the wheel and I was likely to end up in hospital if I dared mix it with the incompetence of car bourne commuters. Six weeks in traction wasn’t enticing me so there was only one thing for it. Running! It had the advantage of being quicker than both walking and public transport whilst being totally free, save for extra wear and tear on my running shoes, was relatively safe.

I won’t bore you with the logistics, but making the change to running to the office has had its challenges and it’s fair to say that I’ve learned some valuable lessons along the way. So in case you ever find yourself in a similar predicament here’s my handy cut-out-and-keep guide to the weird world of run commuting......

Flat Out

Route selection is a critical part to regular run commuting. If you are blessed with a multitude of options chose carefully. It might sound like a good idea to take the shortest route, but if this is chock full of hills or is likely to be busy with pedestrians, then it's best to find another way. My direct route is just like that. A full 1km shorter but littered with signalised junctions, pedestrians and two decent sized hills. 

The alternative, on the other hand, is longer, reasonably flat but more importantly offers an uninterrupted run. 

If you do fancy a challenge on your commute, save it for the journey home when you can have a proper shower and don't have to worry about passing out from exhaustion in front of your colleagues.

If you insist on going the hilly way, enjoy the view at the top!

Space is Your Enemy
There’s definitely a trade-off between getting a backpack big enough for all your gear and having too much space. Why is too much space a problem I hear you ask? Well it is. Trust me - I’ve learned the hard way. The more space you have, the more crap you’re going to take with you each day. It might avoid the meticulous planning that goes into making sure you have everything you need whilst saving on weight, but it’s not fun trying to run with a pack that weighs 7kg. You might think it makes you look hard but two kilometres into your run you’r going too wish you hadn’t brought both pairs of shoes and all of those reference books.

Equally, think carefully about how you pack and try and minimise any potential gaps in your load. A bag with Tupperware boxes bounding around is not only audibly annoying but makes it difficult to run. Whilst we’re on them subject of Tupperware, if you’re one of those frugal types who likes to take their own lunch to work, select a lunch that isn’t going to get too damaged. Salad may be healthy, but mashed soup-like salad for lunch is disgusting. I know this from experience - four kilometres of running is not good for lettuce leaves, not matter how carefully it was prepared. If salad is your thing, as it is mine, then leave off the dressing - put it in a separate pot - and pack any spare space in the Tupperware with kitchen roll. It’s not perfect but it does minimise the liquidiser effect.

Roll With It

One of the big issues is how to get your work clothes to your destination without looking like they've been scrunched up in a bag. Which of course they have. I've tried several ways of packing but by far the most crease resistant is to roll it up. Lie the clothes on your bed, whilst mentally dressing yourself when you get to work to make sure everything is there, and then roll it all up together. Simple but effective. And don't forget to put it all in a dry bag or plastic bag! Your bag might not get wet on the journey but an accident with your accompanying lunch might put a crimp on your day.

Routine is Good
If you are to avoid carrying your entire wardrobe and showering products with you to work every day, a bit of planning is needed. Wait, scratch that. A lot of planning. Get it wrong and you’ll be faced with spending the whole day without any undies. Going commando might seem like a rebellious idea but it''s not worth the chafing.

So on Monday morning I take a look at my diary for the week and work out when I’ll be able to run to the office and when I’ll be finishing up elsewhere. Day one, I carry a fresh towel and some spare running clothes. No need to carry a towel every day and the spare clothes are in case it rains on my sprint to the office. Nothing more unpleasant than putting on wet clothes for the return journey. Well there is but I won’t go into that here. That’s for the pub.

I’ve also stocked up on some toiletries. My bottom drawer looks more like a shelf in Boots than a work receptacle. Gone are the notes, reference books and technical guides and in their place are deodorant, shower gel, moisturiser and other paraphernalia.

But no amount of planning can legislate for unplanned meetings. The pesky things. Just when you think you have your day mapped out, it’s a real pain to get dragged across town to a meeting. Especially if its towards the end of the day and close to home. No point in going back to the office to get changed only to then run back again. At least not to me anyways. If this happens, you will find yourself in the unfortunate position with everything being out of sync; once used running clothes in work, work shoes at home etc. Bloody nightmare. Getting everything back in order takes some doing and, yes despite my advice above, carrying duplicate clothing back to the office to reset the system.

Not-So-Personal Hygiene
So you've finally got to work. Well done, you're now officially a commuting runner and the only thing left to master is a clean down procedure. Take it from me, when it comes to running to the office, there is no such thing as personal hygiene. Everyone knows you whiff! And to make it worse, you know that everyone knows that you whiff! From the moment you step into the lift to the moment you get cleaned you will see people turning their noses up at you.

Which cleaning process you adopt is a matter of personal taste. I did try once to forego the shower and instead opted to use copious amounts of wet-wipes. I thought it would save having to have a second set of toiletries and save on time. I was wrong. Whilst is may have got off the worst of the crud, I felt sticky all day. Added to that was a certain lemony aroma and it made for a rather uncomfortable day. It may be the only option if there are no showering facilities in your building but avoid the use of pre-moistened wipettes if at all possible.

One of the most common (and perhaps pointless) questions I’ve been asked as I arrived at my desk dripping with sweat is “Have you just ran to work?” What did they think I’d been doing? How many co-workers did they know who sweated that profusely just by walking? Besides, didn’t the shorts, t-shirt and running shoes give it away?

But they had a point. The sight of a dripping wet colleague isn’t a great thing to have to look at first thing in a morning so it’s important to stop the leaking as soon as possible. Firstly, it’s critical to have a hand towel on hand to mop up the excess water. A damp patch around your desk is not a good look. Secondly, invest in a small fan. The type that plug into a USB socket on the computer are ideal. Or in my case just commandeer a colleagues. They weren’t using it anyway! Besides, they’re hardly going to complain if it stops you from dripping everywhere.....

Once sufficiently cooled, and whilst doing so it's a good opportunity to go through the inevitable email pile whilst munching on some cereal, it's time to take a shower. You might think this is a bit of a palaver, and is it really worth all of the hassle. Well after a bit of practice I've got a pretty good routine when it comes to taking a shower. Or to put it another way, if it was an Olympic event I be in with a medal chance. From leaving my desk to returning, I got the whole routine down to under six minutes. It does help that the nearest shower is only a few hundred strides away, but I don't hang about. Providing you have cooled sufficiently, you should emerge fresh as a daisy and ready to take on whatever the day throws at you, with the added whizz of endorphins.

Hanging Out

The only challenge left is what to do with your recently discarded running clothes. Even if you are not planning on running home, don't be tempted to stick it all in your back and forget about it. Believe me, sweaty clothing left wrapped in plastic for a whole day gives off an ungodly smell when you unwrap the parcel at the other end! It truly hums and is almost impossible to eradicate by washing. It's of utmost importance to hang out your running clothes to dry even if it does risk turning the workspace into a temporary laundry. If you have your own office then you have nothing to worry about. If, on the other hand, you share your workspace with others you might have to get more creative. Sure you could hang it all on the backs of chairs but it would be a pretty easy going colleague who didn't mind sweaty clothes on display.

My system is a little more discrete. Well I think so anyway. The space under my desk is turned into a makeshift clothes line. Out of sight, if not quite out of smell.

What else is the space under your desk for?

So there you have it. Not only have I managed to find a way to reduce the cost and time of my commute, but I've also integrated it into a reasonable fitness routing. No need to do extra when you get home because you've already done it. And travelled to work. A win-win situation.

So what are you waiting for? Even if you are not quite close enough, there might be public transport options that do part of the journey for you. Or how about driving part of the way and running the last few kilometres. It beats sitting in traffic in the city.

And if you do take the plunge, don't forget to enjoy it! Look around and you'll be surprised what you've been missing whilst sitting behind the wheel!

Admittedly, not all runs are equal. This takes some beating.

Anzac Day

It's 5:15am and the clock alarm has just gone off. Whilst this may not be that surprising for a working day, this is not one of them. Today, as is the case across the rest of New Zealand and Australia, is a national holiday. As I slowly get out of bed and wander into the kitchen, still shrouded in darkness, I do wonder why I have risen so early. Surely I'd have been better off having laid in bed longer, after all I get up early enough every day?

And I have done just that on previous occasions, dozing in bed, half-awake, listening to the sounds emanating from the Auckland Domain just a kilometre or so away. You see today, as the title of this post suggests, is Anzac Day. A day of remembrance for those who served and died in wars, conflicts and peacekeeping operations, and a day on which across the country, dawn services are held to commemorate the occasion.

So today, rather than luxuriating in bed, we've got up, quietly got dressed (or at least as quietly as one can in a house with no carpets and little in the way of acoustic suppression) drank our tea/coffee and set off through the dark streets up the hill towards the Auckland Domain.

Even now, as we walk through the eerily quiet streets of Parnell, I am wondering whether this is something that I should be doing. Isn't this a day for Kiwis? What can I, as a British Citizen and a self confessed pacifist, add to the occasion? Is this really meant for me? I'd hate to impose. I decide, rather lazily, that as I'm out of bed and dressed, there's only one way to find out.

Slowly, as the streets give way to bushes and trees, we are joined by others and by the time we reach the top of the hill, and the illuminated Auckland Museum comes into view, it's clear that we are not alone. Not by a longshot. The museum and the sacred ground in front of it, is surrounded by a crowd of people, hundreds if not thousands, who have come to join the service. It is quite a sight and surrounded by darkness, the museum looks spectacular bathed in red light, as does the Skytower on the horizon.

But I'm still unsure as to whether I should be here......

I didn't have to wait long to find out.

Within moments of the service starting my thoughts turn to those in our family who sacrificed everything in the Great War and, as the Auckland Mayor Phil Goff so eloquently stated, fought for peace that they never got to experience themselves. It was then, just as a single tear rolled down my cheek, that I knew that I belonged at the service. Whilst those gathered spoke about New Zealander's and Australians that sacrificed their safety for the service of their country, I thought about others around the globe that, even as we stood there, were engaged in conflict on some foreign field, town city or sea.

And with that, came a feeling of frustration at the futility of it all. What's the point in fighting for peace only to find it given up so cheaply and with little thought of the lessons that history has taught us? I'm sure that if our ancestors could do so, they would turn up and clip us around the head for being so careless. And we would deserve it....and then some. Even from the relative safety of New Zealand, the world seems a much more unstable place and...... I'll stop there, I'm getting angry and this is not the time nor the place.

By the time the Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern laid a wreath and the Last Post sounded across the field, my single tear had been joined by others and I'm thankful that I'm hidden by the cover of the darkness. But light isn't far away now, the sun is starting to rise over the Hauraki Gulf, silhouetting Rangitoto as it does and bringing the Tuis in the trees to song. As the last of the stars fade into the daylight, it's clear that it's going to be a lovely day and a smile breaks out across my face.

I had made the right choice, whats a few less hours out of bed. Besides, I can have a lie-in tomorrow. How does 6am sound? Perfect!

Out of Time

I think I might have to admit that I was wrong. I know, shocking. Having now been given a fresh perspective, and fresh being the key word here, perhaps The Gold Coast does has its charms after all.

We arrived back into Auckland in the early hours of yesterday morning, never a good time to arrive anywhere it has to be said, with the temperature barely above ten degrees. Or to give it its correct meteorological term, Bloody Freezing. How can that be? In a short space of time, a relatively quick three hour flight, we went from the balmy evening weather of The Gold Coast to a city where autumn was in full swing. Our attire of shorts, t-shirts and sandals seemed incongruous with our surroundings. Still it was the middle of the night so the cool weather was to be expected I suppose, and there wasn’t anyone around to wonder why we so poorly dressed. Tomorrow would be better.....

We learned, from a knowledgeble taxi driver on the way from the airport, that Auckland had recently been hit by an unexpected storm. Lashed with heavy rain and winds in excess of 100kph the city had taken a real battering. Trees were down, windows smashed, traffic lights at intersections off causing misery for weary commuters and over 150,000 homes were without power - a far cry from the late summer weather that we had left behind just shy of two weeks ago. 

Although the storm had now officially passed through the next day wasn’t much better, our moods no doubt further dampened by being back in work and ever so slightly jetted-lagged. Whilst the day was reasonably without incident, leaving the office was a real shock. Who turned out the lights? Ahh, of course, daylight savings. Whilst we had been happily travelling around Australia, New Zealand had taken the time-honoured step of taking an hour off the clocks and in doing so, plunged the city into near darkness for the commute home. At least the farmers in Scotland will be happy.

Throughout my journey home, people scurried from bus shelter to shops, their coats wrapped tightly against the still present wind and bouts of rain. Shop frontages reflected hazily in puddles of water on the pavement, enticing commuters into their premises to buy that last minute bargain. If it wasn’t for the fact that it was mid-April, one could be easily tricked into thinking we were on the approach to Christmas!

It has to be noted, however, that this weather is unseasonably cold due to a southerly wind bringing cold air up from the Antarctic but knowing that didn’t make it any warmer. Equally, whilst temperatures in Auckland struggled to stay above 15 degrees yesterday, there were part of the South Island that were enjoying their first bout of snow. Again, knowing that didn’t make it any warmer for us Aucklanders. 

Stepping off the plane yesterday really does feel like we stepped into another world. The modern-day equivalent of stepping through a wardrobe into Narnia. Thankfully it isn’t expected to last and in a few days the fast moving system will have cleared and temperatures will be returned to their seasonal levels, daily highs of 20 degrees with evening lows around 15, so it’s not quite time to put away the shorts just yet.  Frankly it couldn’t come soon enough. In the meantime, I’ve got photographs from The Gold Coast to keep me warm....well those and a fleece jumper and woolly socks!

The Gold Coast

If I was ever wondering what a Sim City city would feel like in real life then I couldn’t have come to a better place than the Gold Coast in Australia. Although that is not why we came to the Southern East of Queensland - we came here to watch some of the Commonwealth Games - it was certainly a fantastic opportunity to see how a purposely built city would look and feel. Kind of like Milton Keynes but with sunshine.

Firstly, everything is spookily modern and easily accessible. The newly constructed tram whizzes up and down the coast whilst buses fill in the gaps that the tram doesn’t serve. Cycleways line the boulevards and offer an ideal way to get around the short distances from amenities. Tall high rise buildings line the coast like modern sculptures, as if in worship to the seemingly ever present sun. Looking out towards the city and the many towering residential appartments, it’s hard to believe that this area was once favoured as a secluded holiday destination and has only recently boomed, well since 1875 anyway. With bars, restaurants, casinos, amusement parks and other resort paraphernalia its hard to imagine a more less-tranquil place. If you catch my drift.

Thankfully, and through good luck rather than good management, we chose the more secluded part of the city in which to base ourselves for the few days that we were here. Perched high up on the 14th Floor of a resort complex it offered an almost bird’s-eye view of the city and the hustle and bustle below. Add to that a (partial) view of the sea it was the perfect spot to retreat from the noise. And to see how the city-planners had mapped out the city. 

If this all sounds rather negative, it’s not meant to be. It’s just that as Europeans, being brought up on history and culture, The Gold Coast couldn’t seem further from home. It would be a great place to spend a week with kids if the sea and sunshine were you’re thing. Equally, one could imagine retiring here for the perfect climate and convenience of amenities. And, despite this not being our kind of place, as a work colleague warned beforehand, we have a great time. Our days soon settled into a pattern; early morning strolls along the beach as waves crashed onto the shore or leisurely runs along the coast, a dip in the pool to cool off, followed by breakfast from our crow’s nest of an apartment. An early lunch at the local beachfront cafe followed by a snooze before finally getting ready and heading off to the Commonwealth Games. With that kind of itinerary, one could easily see why living here would be ideal. Just don’t expect to have easy access to any culture or history. And if that comes across as though I’m a pompous-Pom then I apologise, but would like to add that just as the sun, sand and sea are part of some people’s upbringing, then culture and history are part of mine. That doesn’t make it right or superior just different.

As for the games? Well as far as the home nations go, and I’m looking at you England particularly, it hasn’t been good. It’s not that we’ve let our Australian cousins take the majority of the medals, although that does sting a lot, we just didn’t seem to turn up. There were some outstanding performances but few and far between. This was only ever a side holiday for us, a quick getaway if you like, but for others getting to the games from the northern hemisphere comes at a great cost, financially and in time. And to not turn up is not good enough frankly. But that’s the age of media-driven sport I suppose. The pride of representing your country doesn’t have the attraction it once did when Olympic sponsorship is dangled as a carrot. 

Back in the really world, as I look down on the perfect Sim-City-made-real city, I start to wonder. Surely the tram would’ve been better laid along the coast rather than a few blocks inland? Maybe the cinema would’ve been better on the main land rather than on a linked island? How about a ferry service or a bridge across that harbour? Hhmmm. Give me a mouse and I’ll soon have it sorted. Sure there might be some disgruntled residents whilst I make the adjustments but they’ll get over it. Well they do in the game and I’m sure that this would be no different!

Way Out West

If Michelle Shocked had happened upon Western Australia prior to penning her popular ode to Alaska, she may very well have written about letters being returned to Kalbarri rather than the titular Anchorage. Western Australia, just as it is with its US counterpart, is the largest state in the union. Or more accurately, the largest Ferderated State in the Commonwealth of Australia. And at a smidge over 2.5 million square kilometres it not surprising that it’s by far the largest, covering nearly a third of the continent’s land mass. But that’s ok, with a population of a little over 2.3m there’s a lot of it to go around.

Of all of the interesting facts about this place, the sparcity became very apparent when we set off from Perth and headed up to our holiday destination in Kalbarri. It wasn’t the lack of other vehicles that really hammered this home, or the fact that there were very few signs of human habitation during the 500km trip. Instead it was the roadside signs warning drivers about the lack of water and offering advice on how much one should be carrying in order to travel through the state safely. Now you don’t get that in North Yorkshire. And why would you? North Yorkshire, the largest county in England, has an area of a little over 8,600 square kilometres and has a population of 1.2m. If one could pick up North Yorkshire, and I’m sure there are plenty around that wish it were possible, and drop it into Western Australia one could do that 292 times and still have room left over for Lancashire.

So with less than the specified amount of water on board, but plenty of beer and wine, we set off north towards Kalbarri. Making a few stops on the way for sightseeing and that great British tradition of second breakfast, meant that we couldn’t make the entire drive in a single day. Well, not if we wanted to only drive in daylight hours anyway. Yes, I realise that the car did have headlights but judging by the dead kangaroos on the roadside, travelling at night is not for the faint hearted. Well not if you happen to be driving the equivalent of a motorised skateboard. The car we chose for our journey may have been fine in downtown Perth, but looked decidedly weenie compared to the rest of the vehicles on the road. These looked they had just stepped out of a Mad Max film; covered in red dust, piled high with outdoor equipment and with huge radio antennae that look like they could make contact with outer space. Which is probably just as well because if they had been anywhere other than the coastal highway then survival comes at a heavy cost. Literally. So alongside these, and the huge road-trains that service the minining industry in this part of the world, our Hyundai i30 looked puny and we were pretty sure that if we came into accidental contact with a ‘roo then we would come off decidedly worse. So a night-time stopover it was. 

Tired, sweaty and a little dusty, we pulled off the main road into Cervantes. “Cervantes,” the guidebook boasted, “is a delightful coastal town with stunning beaches and grand vistas.” Well it was on the coast. And it did have fabulous beaches. But that is as far as our agreement with the guidebook went. More accurately, and I am being charitable here, the guidebook should’ve read “Cervantes is a windy hole of a town with sandy beaches that spend the entire time trying to enter any open orifice. The views are spectacular, or at least they would be if you could see them through the sandstorm.” Maybe we arrived at a bad time. Or maybe we were just tired and needed some comfort. Either way, Cervantes didn’t help. After an astonishingly good meal in the local tavern, we returned to bed and were back on the road again at first light. 

Pretty soon there was a decent amount of distance between us and Cervantes and with the open road in front of us, we covered the distance with remarkable ease. Having absolutely no traffic on the road, and not a single set of traffic lights, junctions or for that matter bends between us and our destination we arrived into Kalbarri in next-to-no-time. Well, okay nearly five hours but with a place this big that’s the equivalent of “just popping to the shops”.

Kalbarri is an entirely different proposition to Cervantes. Admittedly they do share one attribute; they are on the coast. But that is the only similarity. Where Cervantes appeared god-forsaken, Kalbarri is a thriving beach community with shops, restaurants, a tourist information centre, playgrounds and other community paraphernalia. With so much going on, it’s easy to forget that you’re hours from anywhere; surrounded by the Indian Ocean on one side and a semi-arid dessert on the other. How the Indian restaurant managed to serve up such fresh and delicious meals is one of the wonders of the modern world. 

Our one and regrettably only full day in Kalbarri has been jam packed. It started by watching pelicans being fed on the local reserve, segued into a wilderness walk to a local look-out (view point) closely followed by a dip in the pool, a short nap, snorkelling in the aforementioned Indian Ocean and we’re soon to set off to witness another spectacular sunset. Something that 90% of Australia doesn’t get to see. Just today we’ve seen pelicans, kangaroos (living ones!), a huge nameless lizard that wandered across our path, parakeets, and coral fish. 

It’s been so good, that we wish we could wake tomorrow morning and do it all again. Instead, we’re taking the short drive back to Perth, only this time with plenty of water. There’ll be plenty of stops on the way and who knows, there may be even time for a second breakfast somewhere down the trail. But not in Cervantes that’s for sure!