Hero or Villain?

This could be the most controversial blog I ever post. You see I’m in turmoil. Being brought up in Cleveland, or if you prefer North Yorkshire, Captain James Cook is a bit of a local hero. A rags to riches story as a farmer’s son overcomes his lowly status and eventually sets off to discover the world. And there’s the problem. The world didn’t need discovering because it was already there and, bad luck old chap, there were locals who inhabited this New World. Still, they weren’t British people, or even European so therefore it didn’t count. Carry on and plonk a flag and claim the land in the name of King and Country.

Visiting Ships Cove, at the start of our four day hike along the Queen Charlotte Sound, and the huge memorial to Captain Cook is a reminder to how his exploits really changed the face of Aotearoa. James Cook arrived here in 1770, lay anchor and set about ship repairs and traded with the locals for fresh supplies. Quite how he managed to find his way from a small island in the northern hemisphere, to an as yet uncharted island in the South Pacific one can only wonder. But like any story, there are two sides. Inconveniently, Polynesian sailers had already achieved such a feat some 300 years previously. If James Cook’s voyage is worthy of marvel, then spare a thought or two for the Polynesians who did the same without the might of the Royal Navy behind them. With just stars, clouds and ocean currents as a guide, these sailors navigated across the huge Southern Pacific discovering small islands and atolls before finally settling in Aotearoa. One of the last land masses on earth to be discovered.

Next year marks the 250th anniversary of Cook’s discovery and it is already building up to be a controversial milestone. Celebrations and protests are planned and this is where I begin to struggle. Why shouldn’t some be allowed to celebrate the anniversary of his arrival? It is, after all a significant part of New Zealand history and marked a turning point for the country. Similarly, James Cook is a local hero to me. He’s from where I’m from. I’ve visited the museum dedicated to his life and exploits during his three voyages around the world, have been to his home town and have bought an ice cream from the shop next door to where he was brought up. Incidentally, if you’re wondering where the actual house that he was raised in has gone to, it’s in Melbourne. In Australia in case you were wondering. It was sold and moved brick by brick and is now a visitors centre in a city park. It’s quite an odd feeling to step out of the scorching Melbourne sun and into the coolness and of a stone walled cottage, whilst a young student, no doubt earning some money to pay their way through university, tells you all about sash windows as if they were some exotic thing from a far-away land. Which I guess they are. 

But just as he’s my hero, I can also appreciate the destructive impact his arrival had on New Zealand. Whilst he might not have been a brutal colonialist, unlike some I could mention, his arrival nevertheless heralded the arrival of the Europeans whether the inhabitants liked it or not. And, as history will remind us again and again, you can’t trust us. 

So it was with those thoughts in my mind, we set off along the shoreline towards Furneaux Lodge, the first stop on our four day hike. Just as the European in me wants to celebrate the occasion and, I’m almost ashamed to admit, gives me a small sense of pride that a young lad from North Yorkshire circumnavigated the globe not once, but three times, I can also appreciate why others may not feel the same way. 

Best not to dwell on it too much, I can’t change it, and there’s four hours of walking ahead of me. So, with the deep blue of the Pacific ocean surrounding me, and the heat of the sun above, I press on through the New Zealand bush towards Endeavour Inlet. Blast, there’s always something there to remind me!

Sounds About Right

When you’re head down in work and so busy that you don’t find time to look up (hey stop sniggering you lot, I do work hard!) it’s easy to forget what lies on your doorstep.

That’s why for this long-weekend we hopped a plane....technically two planes, but the second might be more accurately described as a bus with wings....and headed to Picton in Marlborough.

Admittedly Marlborough is not exactly on the doorstep of Auckland but it’s a damn-sight closer than a lot of other places. And what’s the point of living in New Zealand if you don’t take advantage of living in the second most beautiful county in the world. I’m not going to name names, but there are people we know who had lived here for over ten years and have never been to the South Island. Stayed resolutely in the North, let alone walked/tramped across its stunning coastline, alongside its rivers or up its mountains. And just as there are those who never venture south, others never travel north to sit on its golden beaches or marvel at the volcanic craziness. Sheer lunacy. Not us though - we want to explore every nook and cranny of this land. Anyway, I digress.

For those who may not be aware, Marlborough is famous for two things; wine and the Sounds. “Ahh, so that’s why your there!” Indeed. Rather than head to foreign lands this weekend, we down in the South Island to enjoy some wine and walking. Or tramping if you prefer.

I’d imagine everyone is familiar with New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc. If not - go and find out. But the Sounds is not a reference to popular music, but I can see how you could make that mistake.

Covering some 4,000 km2 of sounds, islands, and peninsulas, the Marlborough Sounds lie at the South Island's north-easternmost point, between Tasman Bay in the west and Cloudy Bay in the south-east. The almost fractal coastline has 1/5 of the length of New Zealand's coast.

The bags are packed, the maps have been consulted and the scroggin is at the ready, for tomorrow we catch a boat to Ship Cove where we’ll start the 70km hike along Marlborough Sounds to Anakiwa. It’s going to be an arduous task and a test of our physical and mental strength. Sure, our bags are being transported by boat to each of our overnight stops and of course we’re staying in lodges and hotels who will provide us with hot towels, a cooked breakfast and packed lunch. But besides that we’re out on our own. Just us, our keen sense of direction and our wits. I just hope we survive.

But that’s tomorrow. For now we’re Enjoying the last few rays of sunshine and tucking into fish and chips, all washed down with the local brew, Sauvignon Blanc. Well you need some comfort before four days out in the wilderness!

Mexican Vultures and Jam Sauce

It may be the gin talking, but I don’t think I have ever seen more spectacular stars than those I am staring at right now.

Maybe New Year in Wanaka a few years ago came close, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen the Milky Way look as clear as it does right now. And just ‘above’ it, Jupiter glowing with a fierce orange intensity. 

Maybe it’s the lack of light pollution or that the air is so much clearer but it’s amazing to be able to make out both Jupiter and Saturn. It’s almost as if I could reach out and touch them. Except it’s impossible to even travel there.

I suppose it’s quite apt to be staring out into the vastness if space and marvelling at the huge distances between the planets, whilst lying on a tropical island surrounded by the huge Southern Pacific Ocean. It’s almost poetically parallel.

At least we only have a four hour plane ride to get us back to Auckland. A trip to our nearest celestial neighbour would take considerably longer than that and I doubt there’d be enough complimentary Sauvignon Blanc to get us through the journey.

And, without warning, I’m suddenly reminded about a poster we had in our downstairs loo in our house in Leeds. It’s text Mexican Vultures Enjoy Making Jam Sauce Using NewPlums taking the centre stage. “What now?” I hear you ask.

If you ever find yourself in need to recall the order of the planets in our solar system then that’s all you need to remember.

Mexican = Mercury

Vultures = Venus 

Enjoy = Earth

Making = Mars

Jam = Jupiter 

Sauce = Saturn

Using = Uranus

New = Neptune

Plums = Pluto

Simple and you can’t go wrong. That is until they find another planet tucked away or Pluto loses its status as a planet. In which case you’re on your own. 

Right enough of glazing into space - I’ll leave that for next week when I’m back in work. For the time being there’s a much more pressing time and space conundrum to resolve. The three hour Happy Hour is about to end and there’s a jug of Cook Island lager with our names on it.....

Notes from a Very Small Island

For most people, when asked about the size of a country, think about the land mass. Land is, after all, what makes a place habitable. But to solely focus on terra firma is to miss out on whole other parts of a nation. For example, what would New Zealand be without its coastline, lakes, lagoons and rivers? 

Similarly, what would the UK be like if it were land locked? Okay, so it wouldn’t have neighbours across the channel to whinge about but it would be a totally different place without its fishing ports, seaside towns, fish and chips and kiss-me-quick hats and candyfloss. 

So, with that in mind, it would be easy to dismiss Rarotonga as a small island, and The Cook Islands as a tiny nation. In land mass terms, perhaps that would be an accurate description, but a glance at the bigger picture tells a totally different story.

Whilst The Cook Islands 15 individual land masses combined cover a little under 240 square kilometres, the total area is a whopping 1,800,000 square kilometres.

Given that the distances between the land masses are huge, it’s does lead one to wonder how on earth the 17,000 inhabitants actually manage to  hold it all together as a nation. Things citizens of other countries take for granted, such as a coherent transport system, communications and financial system must take on a whole new dimension. And how on earth do football teams fulfil their away fixtures? 

We’re spending the next five days in Rarotonga so I’m sure we’ll find out. 

The Chai Latte Incident

The criticism that Auckanders get from the rest of New Zealand is quite frankly unwarranted. Or at least it is most of the time. In our defence, it’s not our fault. Not really. We’re just misunderstood. And to be fair, most of the time it doesn’t really matter. So happy are we in our metropolitan bubble that the outside world, you know the one to the south of the Bombays and beyond the Brynderwyns can do what it likes as long as we don’t need to worry about it. Or heaven forbid, deal with it. Think that’s unfair? Well deal with it! Unfortunately , on occasion, Auckland and the outside world interacts enough to cause us to pause momentarily and look up. Thankfully for both parties it’s fleeting and gone in a puff of realism. 

Fortunately for the rest of New Zealand we keep ourselves to ourselves. Well mostly anyway. There are some occasions where a journey outside the Greater Auckland region is necessary. Compulsory even, especially if your employer is paying. Which rather neatly, brings me onto the subject of this blog. See got there in the end....

As part of a wider study - yes one that went beyond Auckland - a colleague and I were tasked with driving around Northland. Northland, for those not in the know is the part of the North Island that extends beyond Auckland. The land to the north if you like. Quite an apt title really. Just like Southland which is....well you can guess.

Inevitably, after a few hours driving, the need to consume caffeine overtook me so we stopped at the next available spot. And, as we were actually surveying rest areas for weary travellers, it would’ve been a dereliction of duty not to. 

As we pulled off the main highway and into the quiet town street we started to wonder if there was even a café in this town. There was a butchers, a bakers and probably a candlestick manufacturer but where was the coffee shop? Surely we couldn’t have landed on the only settlement in New Zeland without a coffee shop? Surely not? With a population of around 5m, 1.6m of which live in Auckland, small town New Zealand is particularly small - but even the smallest of townships has a spot serving decent coffee. Then, just visible between the swipes of the wiper blades and blobs of rain we spotted it. Disaster averted.

Whilst I went to inspect the town’s toilets - another work task I was all too eager to compete - my colleague went into the coffee stop. Thankfully the toilets were fully functional and, duly noted such for my employer, I returned the main street and stepped into the café. My colleague had already ordered and was waiting patiently for her hot beverage to be delivered. 

I put my keep-cup on the counter top and asked for the usual. 

“A long black with trim milk please”

Yes I know it’s not a very exotic order and rather old fashioned amongst the moccas, flat whites and cappuccinos of the world, especially in a coffee obsessed country such as New Zealand, but I like the unfussiness of it all. Plus it’s hard to get wrong.

“You’re another one!” came the rather unexpected response, “we do have cups of our own you know!”

“Just doing my bit for the planet,” I added helpfully, or so I thought.

Before we go any further I’d like, in the interests of full disclosure, to note that  “just doing my bit for the planet” didn’t extend to not driving around the countryside all day in a large SUV. But every bit counts doesn’t it? Well it was going to have to - driving around rural Northland in anything smaller than the equivalent of a Sherman Tank with comfortable seating was not going to happen. 

Anyway, I was about to exchange further pleasantries when the host pointed to the barista in the corner of the room and nodded to suggest that he would be providing me with my coffee presently. I acknowledged that I understood and wandered over, keep-cup outstretched....

“Here you go,” he noted as he handed me a hot cup of coffee in a paper cup. And not in my carefully considered, environmentally friendly reusable cup. I looked the barista in the eye with a slight air of confusion.

“Feel free to pour it into your own cup,” he suggested before helpfully adding “and there are bins outside” somewhat missing the point.

“The same happened to me,” my colleague reported as I sat next to her on a bench looking out towards the empty, rain-soaked town street and then added “At least you got what you wanted.”

Evidently this town hasn’t yet embraced the delicious delights of a Chai Latte, the Auckland influence seemingly stopping somewhere south of the Brynderwyns. It turns out that my colleague has wanderered up to the counter and without so much of a glance at the drinks menu on the wall asked for her usual. I wasn’t there to witness the exchange but one can imagine it went something like this;

“A chai latte with almond milk please” 

“A what?” 

“Err a chai latte?” 

“We don’t do them, whatever they are”

“What do you have that’s similar”

“Only what’s on the board”

“Oh, what do you have that doesn’t have dairy in it?”

“Black tea.......or black coffee”

“Oh....don’t you have almond mi.......never mind. Black tea please”

“.....what’s this?”

“It’s my keep-cup......you know to save on paper cups....”

No doubt the host muttered something about f*ing Aucklanders under her breath as she turned to enter the sale into the register.

Okay, we should’ve known better - and maybe checked out the menu before assuming. But how were we to know that Chai Latte hadn’t reached rural Northland? They’re everywhere in Auckland! And so there you have it, another nail in the credibility of the argument that Auckland’s is just like the rest of New Zealand. 

Jaffas anyone?

A Moving Experience

I think I’m on fairly solid ground when I say that Wednesday 29 May 2019 was the most expensive lunchtime shopping trip I’ve ever experienced. I do recall one time, when I was but the office junior, being sent out for milk and coming back with a mountain bike. A pretty expensive diversion from lactose-based errands I’m sure you’ll agree. But I’ve never actually bought a house on such a trip. At least I don’t think so. Surely I would’ve remembered?

Quite how we ended up at a house auction on a sunny Wednesday lunchtime is up for debate but I rather think it went something like this;

“Guess how much money we’ve spent on rent since we arrived in New Zealand?”

I was a simple enough question but the answer to which we’d never really considered until now. And it was startling. Not quite enough to fund a small country but enough to make us wince in pain. Was it really that much? Had we really financed someone else’s lifestyle to that degree? A quick, rough calculation was enough to confirm that it was certainly in the right ballpark. 

That’s not to say that we hadn’t benefited from the arrangements. We have, for the past four years or so, lived in a really nice suburb and had a home with great views and plenty of space. Add to that, we have been able to walk pretty much everywhere and we’re a stones throw from the beach, parks, shops and entertainment. Yet, despite the conveniences of our current location, it was time to dip our toes in the proverbial housing market. Not, you must understand, to buy but just to look. Have a gander. A good old nosey. Well once thing led to another and as quick as you could say “How much!!?!!” we now find ourselves in the odd position of owning two houses.  Well how did we get here? Pull up a chair and I’ll tell you all about buying a house in New Zealand.....

Open Sesame....Street

And so it was that our weekends were no longer as free as they used to be. Rather than galavanting wherever we chose, we spent our weekend attending Open Homes. “Open what?” I hear you mutter. Well in New Zealand rather than be at the whim of a would be buyer, having to drop everything whilst they visit your home and poke around, you simple open up your home for thirty minutes each Saturday or Sunday whilst the hordes descend. Or at least that’s the hope. During those thirty minutes, the estate agents are on hand to handle the  crowds whilst you pop out for a coffee. Quite elegant when you think about it and certainly explains the popularity of coffee houses on most New Zealand town streets. 

So that was us. Find a few places worth seeing, work out a route and off we went. Exercise and house noseying in one convenient package. 

The first few felt a little bit odd. Poking around in drawer whilst the owners were absent  but in the presence of other strangers felt a little bit intrusive. Okay a lot intrusive. At least they’d tidied up. It was sort of through the keyhole but instead of trying to identify a famous person, we were intently focussed on imagining our possessions replacing those in the room and wondering could anyone actually have worse taste in soft furnishings? 

Eventually, either through the laws of averages or a forced reassessment of expectations, you will visit a home that you could actually consider buying. Now the fun really starts.

Going, going, gone

Despite a cool-ish housing market, sales by auction are still popular in Auckland. Sure, there are some that will advertise an asking price or request you submit a sealed bit but how boring is that? No, what you really want when parting with hundreds of thousands of pounds that you don’t have, is to do it through an auction. 

And so this is how we found ourselves, one Wednesday lunchtime, to be sat in a room of people, armed with nothing more than a printed number and a cheque book, waiting for our selected home to appear on the TV screen.

Luckily we were third up. Not too long to wait but enough time to get an understanding of the rules and processes. Unfortunately it was also just long enough to realise what a ridiculous way this was to buy a house. 

To avoid getting carried away, and getting ourselves into financial difficulties, we’d agreed a maximum price before we entered. And, just in case in the heat of the moment we forgot what this was, we’d written it down on a Post-it note. In pink pen.

It took somewhat longer than anticipated but eventually we were up. 

“Can I get an opening bid for this stylish town house in Newmarket?” came the call of the auctioneer.

Deadly silence. Unbearable silence. 

“Really? Who will start me off?”

My hand shot up and and I blurted out the first reasonable number that came into my head. Or at least I thought it was a reasonable number. 

“Okay, why not start there?” the auctioneer noted. We were off.

It would’ve been great to report that what followed was a flurry of bids and counter bids as the room ignited a house-buying frenzy. It would’ve been great. But it also would’ve been a lie. It was noting of the sort. We were one of only two bidders. The other party, a young family complete with baby in a push-chair, were just as keen as we were to buy the house. The numbers quickly spun upwards and with each raise of the hand another $10,000 had been spent. Then there was a pause. No counter bid. The auctioneers hammer hovered.

“Any more bids?” She asked before looking at the family with the push-chair and adding  “Come on madam, imagine walking past this house tomorrow and it not being yours.” But to no avail.

It wasn’t  over yet. We were the lead bidder but hadn’t met the reserve price. In fact we were some way off and would have to make a significantly improved offer. What followed was some tense negotiation, with the real estate agent acting as a go between to the seller who was hidden away in an annex.

We were getting close to our maximum. And even that was rejected.

“I think if you go up another $10k, we can get a deal done”, the real estate agent noted almost confessionally. 

We had a pre-agreed maximum. And an agreement is an agreement. 

“Sorry, we can’t go any higher”, Sarah noted glancing at the pink writing on the Post-it note. 

The estate agent saw the figure we’d written and added “Let me see what I can do” and disappeared into the annex once more.

After what seemed like an eternity, especially with the rest of the room staring at you wondering if this particular lot is ever going to reach a conclusion, he returned.

“You’ve seen off the other bidders so I think if you come up just another $5k we’ll have a deal.”

We stared at each other and glanced at the figure in pink.....It was only $5k........Actually $5k would buy a very nice holiday on a Pacific island or pay for our food for a year. A pre-agreed maximum is......

“Okay.”

And with that he went back to the room and after a short while nodded to the auctioneer. But hold on. We’d only re-negotiated the reserve price. The auction kicked back into life as the room was asked if there was anyone who wanted to put in an improved offer. What tension.

“Going once”

Silence

“Going twice”

Silence. We didn’t dare look anyone in the eye and just started ahead at the auctioneer. Come on bang that hammer. I caught a twitch in the corner of my eye....

“Sold! Congratulations!”

The room applauded, no doubt relieved to be able to get onto more serious business and we were ushered away, being careful not to look the losing bidders in the eye as we left the room.

It’s Settled Then

The one saving grace about buying a house at an auction is that the offer is unconditional. And, this being New Zealand, an unconditional offer is a legally binding agreement. No-one can counter bid. No negotiation. That’s it.

It does make the whole process nip along at quite a pace. From the hammer falling we had three weeks to settle. It certainly focuses ones attention on the matter in hand. What followed was meetings with solicitors, bank managers, removal companies, calls to utility providers and a mild sense of panic. In no more than fifteen working days we would be the owner of the property and ready to move in.

As noted in the sales documents, the settlement date was met and the title of the property was transferred to us. Our second home. That was yesterday.

Now I’m sat in the lounge of our rented house, surrounded by boxes of possessions wondering how on earth we ended up buying another house. That was never the plan. I keep telling myself that it makes financial sense to be putting money into real estate rather than someone else’s pockets - and it does -but I really did think that the next time our possessions ended up in boxes they would be destined to make the return journey to the UK. It does have an uncanny sense of déjà vu about the whole thing. Maybe its the smell of cardboard that’s doing it. 

Ah well, the return trip to the northern hemisphere will just have to wait. Instead a short 2km trip up the road will do for now. Right, there’s the beer in the fridge with my name on it.....now if I could only find that bottle opener.....

A Leaky Scandal

If you’re in need of an example of what can happen when a government decides to let an industry self-regulate then look no further than New Zealand’s Leaky Home fiasco. My goodness what a mess, and an expensive one too both financially and socially. An estimate in 2009 put the financial cost at approximately $11.3 billion with between 22,000 and 89,000 homes affected.

So what happened? Well it was a perfect storm of mismanagement, incompetence and ignorance. It’s a fascinating case study, so grab a cup of tea and maybe a biscuit or two. Sitting comfortably? Excellent, so here goes........

Under pressure from the building industry, who for years had been complaining about the high cost of compliance with the building standards and the restrictions it created for generating cost efficiencies, the government set up the Building Industry Commission. The result of this review was The Building Act 1991, which passed into law in 1993. Whist simplifying New Zealand’s numerous codes and acts into one piece of legislation, it also changed building controls from a prescriptive system to a more self-regulated regime. Sounds innocent enough but it had disastrous consequences. It was supposed to free the building industry from the shackles of meeting specific building standards and given them the freedom to provide homes that meet a performance standard; and in doing so drive innovation and speed up construction. It seemed like a win-win. Unfortunately it was badly written. 

In particular there was a lack of emphasis upon the fact that a residential buildings needed to provide shelter to occupants; being both weathertight and durable. And as the weathertightness of a building was fundamental to achieving many of the other provisions in the Code, residential properties were doomed even before a spade hit the ground.

Unfortunately the legislation didn’t really address what would happen if the buildings failed to meet the performance standards and created a power imbalance between the home owner and the supplier. Market forces were a poor regulator and insufficient to protect the home owner and without protection in the Act or elsewhere the outcome was inevitable. 

To compound the issue, the Government dropped the apprentice training scheme for builders and the related building trades. Whilst the effects of this weren’t immediate, over the long term the quality of the workmanship deteriorated and compounded the problems that the Act has already created. If homes can’t be built well enough how can they meet the performance standards intended? Faced with limited powers, Local Authorities reduced the number of active inspectors and became less focussed on this self-regulating industry than perhaps was needed. 

Perhaps the problem wouldn’t have been quite as catastrophic had this not coincided with a fashion for Mediterranean style buildings; houses with complex roofs, plastered exterior walls, internal decks and small or no eaves. These had become all the rage and, now freed from the constraints of a prescriptive building code, architects and builders could get really inventive. The building boom was on and an average of 22,000 homes a year were being built in all manner of shapes, sizes and colours. With home owners’ desire for indoor-outdoor flow, cubism, flat roofs, more and more complicated architectural designs were being produced at an astonishing rate. Unfortunately the building industry wasn’t ready or skilled enough to construct these homes to level of accuracy needed.

The problem lay in the exterior cladding, the skin of the building. Monolithic cladding systems were promoted as being low maintenance and efficient in providing a sealed waterproof outer skin. Such cladding systems typically allowed for little construction or thermal movement so that fine cracks that appeared insignificant, and would have been relatively insignificant in traditional claddings such as weatherboard, allowed continuous ingress of moisture into the framing. These, combined with reduced air movement through the prevalence of sheet cladding or sheet insulating materials for the monolithic look cladding, resulted in very damp conditions which were ideal for rot. 

This would’ve been bad enough, but things were about to get a whole lot worse. In 1995, again from pressure from the building industry, there was a change to the New Zealand Standard for Timber Treatment. This allowed the use of cheaper untreated timber for wall framing. Not a problem if the material didn’t get wet but when placed within leaking monolithic clad buildings the outcome was disastrous. 

It could be argued that the Mediterranean style of building wasn’t necessarily conducive to New Zealand weather conditions. Along with the sunshine, our sub-tropical climate brings high rain and high winds, and in Auckland vertical and horizontal rain. Homes built in the Mediterranean style had features such as recessed windows, flat roofs, minimal eaves, multiple storeys, complex roofs, solid balustrades, balconies and penetrations of the exterior cladding that increased the likelihood of water infiltrating the structure

The lack of teeth in the Act meant that corners were being cut; time wasn’t being spent in the design process, drawings weren’t detailed enough and some builders were unable to make a weathertight structure without proper guidance. Due to the lack of an apprentice scheme, there simply wasn’t enough skills in the New Zealand building industry to construct these complicated homes to a sufficient standard. Equally, Council staff carrying out the building inspections had neither the required construction expertise to ensure weathertightness nor the intuition to look for it.

So the monolithic cladding system’s failed, the untreated timbers became damp and started to rot. Encouraged by the warm and damp, climate, moulds and spores developed within the damp timber framing resulting in building that were too unhealthy to live in. In extreme cases, timbers were so badly decayed that the whole structure became structurally unsound. Beautiful looking, multi-million dollar homes essentially collapsed from the inside out. 

Eventually the Building Act 1991 was replaced by the Building Act 2004, which introduced a licensing scheme for building designers, builders and related trades. Councils were required to be registered with a central authority and were to be subject to regular quality control procedure checks. Interestingly, Council building inspectors remain unlicensed. For the tens of thousands of people who bought homes built between 1990 and 2004 it was cold comfort. The damage had been done and the impacts are still being felt today. 

A government compensation scheme was put in place to help those who were effected but this is only likely to fix around 3,500 of the properties built during that time. The government has imposed a 10 year limit after construction on claims, even though some building experts believe many cases will only become apparent during coming years, as building rot becomes advanced enough. They also warned that houses in drier parts of New Zealand were now starting to show problems, which had simply developed at a slower pace.

Even today, if you walk around Auckland, you will see buildings wrapped in white plastic. Before reading this blog, you could be forgiven for assuming that they were simply being protected whilst the owners were having the house re-painted. Instead, it’s yet another building being stripped of its cladding and fitted with weatherboards. There was a reason that the traditional New Zealand villas were built with timber weatherboards.

And this all could’ve been avoided had a little more thought been given to the requests of the industry. There was already a perfect example of what might happen on the opposite side of the Pacific. In the 1980s, just ten years previously, British Columbia in Canada had the leaky-condo crisis where, you guessed it, regulations were relaxed and problems emerged with water penetrating the outer skin of building designed in the Post Modern style. Or as some might call it then Mediterranean style.

So the next time you hear an argument to let an industry self-regulate, and indeed are tempted to agree, just consider for a moment what are the potential outcomes? Who is going to benefit and what are the risks? Leaving it to the experts is one thing but what happens when market pressures start to influence decisions? In the end someone has to pay whether it’s the person buying the home or the tax payer burdened with clearing up the mess.

On the Way Home

Calgary Airport, Alberta

3 May 2019

So are New Zealand and Canada similar? I guess in a way they are. Both are relatively new countries with stunning scenery, interesting wildlife and friendly inhabitants who enjoy the outdoor life. But the similarity ends there. Whilst New Zealand has a South Pacific - European feel, Canada leans more towards the US model than I imagine it would dare to admit. And with that comes a totally different outlook and....well vibe. Alas that’s a topic for another day.

In the meantime, we’re heading home with memories of a great trip and some regrets for the things that we didn’t have time to fit in. It’s okay, I’m sure we’ll be back, preferably in the summertime when the trails are open and we can stride out into the mountains without a care in the world....well except for the risk of an encounter with a bear of course. 

Wild Wildlife

Banff National Park

Tuesday 30 April 2019

It’s fair to say that I wasn’t quite as excited to see goats or mountain sheep as my fellow passengers on the train between Vancouver and Banff. Whilst we were genuinely excited to see bears, we couldn’t quite muster the same level of excitement when goats were seen through the train window. People were so excited that the carriage nearly tipped off the rails when all the passengers, bar us, dived to one side to snap a picture of the animal. The goat, in turn, looked rather non-plussed and went about it’s business of eating the snow encrusted grass.

Nope it was bears that we were interested in. Whilst in Tofino on Vancouver Island, we booked on a boat trip to see bears in their natural habitat. And seem them we did. The Captain of the boat, a small six person craft, was fairly certain we would but couldn’t guarantee a sighting. After a quick journey into the inlet, there it was. A male black bear, scouring the shoreline at low-tide looking for food. It felt like a real privilege to watch, whilst we slowly drifted on the water, to see him going about his morning routine of looking for early spring food. Possibly even a second breakfast. 

Later on the trip, as chances of a second sighting were growing dim, we came across a mother and her yearling , again wandering along the coastline looking for food. Amazing stuff. Or at least we thought so.

Later in the trip I was recounting the sightings to an assistant in a Cafe and she noted that she gets them sometimes in her garden during the night as they try to go through the trash. “Wow!” I exclaimed, adding “Doesn’t that frighten you?”. “Oh, for sure”, she replied, “It makes me think that I’m being burgled.”

It wasn’t quite the reason why I thought she should be frightened. I imagine, and I hope that I never find out, that if I were to come across a 250kg hairy mammal in my garden I’d be less worried about getting some of my valuables being stolen and more concerned about my family jewels being removed. 

It was the same when I mentioned later in the conversation that we’d been excited to see a beaver. “Hhhmm, they such a nuisance aren’t they?” came the response, adding “They sometimes dam the river at the bottom of our garden and flood our neighbours.” Deflated I murmured something about being impressed anyway, particularly as they were much better at damming rivers than I was at their age!

So Canada, let’s make a deal. I’m happy to let you get excited about the sight of goats and in return please let me get excited about large mammals. Providing it’s from a safe distance of course!

Thank You for Not Smoking

Horseshoe Bay - Nanaimo 

Tuesday 23 April 2019

Whilst the debate over the abolition of smoking in public spaces rages on in the UK, Canada has taken another step and has legalised the use of Marijuana. But before I get too far into this blog, I should state that I have no particular leanings either way on the legalisation of cannabis. It’s not something that I have spent a lot of time considering. So to me, trading smoking in enclosed public spaces for getting high in a public park seems reasonable. I’m not going to do either so that’s as far as my internal deliberation got. Now if they were to allow it in the workplace I might be interested! It would certainly make Mondays go with a bit more swing.

Despite my fence sitting stance, I can say that it does give Vancouver a rather pungent odour. Rather sweet and sickly and it takes a while to get used to it being normal. 

It doesn’t seem to have had a negative effect on the streets of Vancouver. It would be interesting to see what the crime statistics are since the legalisation, or for that matter the level of pizza sales in the downtown area. There are a lot of pizza joints, I wonder if they have always been there? 

It also lead to a rather unusual request. 

We were setting off from Horseshoe Bay on a car ferry towards Vancouver Island, and had just settled down to our second breakfast (well it was 10am!), when the ship’s tannoy crackled into life. “May we remind you that this is a no smoking vessel and that smoking is prohibited anywhere on the vessel. This includes the outdoor areas. Could the person who is smoking marijuana on the deck please stop because we can smell it in the bridge and the Captain is getting stoned, and believe you me this is not something that anyone wants. Just to be on the safe side, however, we have ordered pizzas.” 

Well it was something like that. I may have misheard. Thankfully we got to our destination in one piece and without any mishaps, although the vessel did seem to take a rather circulatory route!

Automobiles for the People

Tofino

Tuesday 23 April 2019

Yes for sure, this is certainly a car dominated society. They are everywhere and they are huge! Vancouver, our first destination on the trip, may be going through a public transport revolution, there are still cars everywhere. The city fringes are dominated by shopping malls with accompanying acres of parking. The streets are super wide, many accommodating six lanes of traffic. As a pedestrian, just trying to cross the constant stream of cars can be a risky proposition. And if  anyone thinks Auckland streets are hazardous, Vancouvers are on a whole new another level. Even if you do get the light to cross the intersection, you still need to give way to turning vehicles. Further afield, simply put, you not going to get far without one.

So rent one we did. Due to the unknown territory, we opted to hire a mid-sized SUV. Not for the space of course, but for the safety features we thought wee might need when negotiating mountain roads. To us, a mid-sized SUV wasn’t a seven seat 3.0L tank. This thing was huge. Or at least it was in comparison to what we thought we were hiring. By North American standards, however, it was tiny. 

It’s fair to say that we were a little apprehensive about driving in Canada. Not because we were afraid of the standard of the infrastructure, but because we hadn’t driven on the ‘wrong’ side of the road for nearly five years. Well not in a car the size of a tank anyway.

Luckily, my skills had been honed by years of driving in fictitious American cities in numerous video games. Actually, thinking about the carnage that I typically caused from my absent mindedness,  that perhaps shouldn’t be taken a reliable indication of my driving skills whilst in a foreign country. Nevertheless, once we got used to the road rules, or rather the lack of them, we soon got the hang of it. 

Actually, whilst I’m on the subject of road rules what is it with Canadian speed limits? 80kph (50mph) on a modern highways seems to be woefully slow and it was only through the selective use of cruise control that I was able to stay anywhere near the posted speed limit. But we were on holiday, is a beautiful part of the world and absolutely in no rush to get anywhere quickly. All good.

And so, as the asphalt rolled under our not insubstantial wheels, I got to thinking. I know, but still. British Columbia has given, and I assume by extension so does the rest of Canada, a huge amount of land to the motor vehicle. Small towns are split apart by six lane highways, parking lots dominate town planning and pedestrians are strictly second class. We should probably be grateful for even getting footpaths, even if they do suddenly end for no apparent reason.

Is this then, the natural conclusion of a car dominated society? Is this where New Zealand will end up if we continue down the same road? Pun totally intended. Let’s hope common sense prevails. It’s a real shame that we couldn’t have made this journey by train and really have enjoyed the experience. And just as that thought left my mind, I spotted the exit we were looking for, indicated and pulled off to the right. Only another 150km to go and we’d be where we needed to be. 

Above: Our mid-sized SUV third from the right

Sir, is this Scenery?

Banff, Alberta

Tuesday 30 April 2019

My Dad once told me about a school trip he organised to take some kids from Peterlee to a nearby country park. Once the bus got beyond the outskirts of the town and as urban buildings gave way to green fields, one of the kids pointed out of the window to the countryside and asked “Sir, is this scenery?”.

Well goodness knows that pupil would make of the scenery in Canada, well British Columbia and Alberta to be precise - I can’t vouch for whatever lies to the east of the Rockies. 

Vancouver, our arrival point, is a fairly pretty city. It’s no Auckland but nice nonetheless. An I a similar way it has harbours, a few islands and typical coastal city type facilities. Just like Auckland Domain, Vancouver has Stanley Park to provide some greenery bathing. We really enjoyed our few days here and it’s really only once you get beyond the city boundary that the landscape really explodes into life. 

We spent a few idle days in the mountain resort of Whistler and despite the low clouds and snow fall it is in an undeniably stunning setting. Were it not for the dozens of snowboarders milling around it could be Keswick. 

A short cable car ride up the mountain really opened up the vista and we were only thankful that we had decided to get a return ticket and didn’t have to negotiate the snow-clad precipitous slopes to get back to our hotel. It would’ve been quick but not necessarily pain free.

Equally, the train we took from Vancouver to Banff travelled mostly on a single track and spent a great deal of the time hugging the side of a mountain like its  life depended upon it. Which it probably did, as did ours. The train, dwarfed by the snow-capped peaks that towered above us served to emphasise that this was scenery scaled up by a factor of “Wow!”. 

Admittedly, New Zealand has similar views but the lack of infrastructure means that you will need serious kit to see the best of them. Not to mention a pretty good level of fitness and a keen sense of direction. Not for the faint-hearted and certainly not views you can see whilst sipping Sauvignon Blanc and eating cheesy nibbles.

And just like New Zealand, British Columbia is blessed with an expanse of coastline on the Pacific, and with that beaches, harbours and miles of coastline to explore. Sitting on a beach or bench and gazing out to sea has to be one of the more grounding and calming ways to while away some time.

In just a few weeks we have seen beautiful coastline, rugged mountains and glacial blue rivers. Canada, or at least this part of it, is certainly a beautiful country and is reminiscent of New Zealand. As with all things one is encouraged to offer an opinion. So which is better? Hhhmmm, I’d rather not say. 

Somewhere Over the Pacific

Wednesday 17 April 2019

One of the unexpected side-effects of living in New Zealand us that a lot of places suddenly seem ‘just around the corner’. Not that they are, of course, its just that to get anywhere else needs quite a bit of effort so places that may previously seemed far-off suddenly don’t. Or, to put it more succinctly, only one flight away. That’s why, with a few days off for Easter we ended up travelling to the other side of the Pacific and checking out Canada. 

It really couldn’t have been any simpler;  finish work at 4pm, a short drive to the airport, get on a flight out of Auckland at 8pm and wake up in British Columbia. The only troublesome aspect being that you arrive at 2pm almost exactly six hours before you left. Luckily I’ve always liked Wednesdays so that worked out all right! It certainly was a bit odd arranging to meet a friend at 6pm when we didn’t actually leave New Zealand until 8pm.

A while ago, when we first announced our plans for our Easter trip we were told, on more than one occasion, that Canada was just like a scaled up version of New Zealand. That is, sea, mountains, lakes and an over reliance on motor vehicles as a primary means of transportation. Whether or not this or the other unsolicited opinions we had been given were true, we were sure looking forward to finding out.

Summer’s Almost Gone

To borrow a popular UK advertisement for a moment, Carlsberg doesn’t do summers, but if they did they would probably look a lot like a New Zealand summer.

With average daytime temperatures usually hanging around the mid to high teens they are not particularly scorching. Unlike our neighbours across the ditch where thirty plus is not uncommon. Frankly, they can keep ‘em. 25 degrees is perfect for me. Warm enough to feel comforted and still be able to be active but without the feeling that you’re slowly being dried into dust. In fact, temperatures here are so consistent during the summer months that you need to make sure that you have plenty of shorts to wear because you’ll be wearing them every day.....and night. And this being New Zealand, no-one will take take a second look if you walk into a restaurant or bar in flip flops, a T-shirt and shorts. It’s all good.

Then there is the rain, or rather the lack of it. Even in Auckland, which is derided by the rest of the country for being a little damp, I can count on one hand the number of days rain this summer. Even though it’s pouring down as I type this, New Zealand summers are fairly consistent. Planning an outdoor event? No problem, just go right ahead. It’ll be fine. Even if it does rain, it’ll be intense, short and warm. And once that’s passed, the sun will be back and you get about getting about your business. No point wearing a coat, far too warm for that. Just get wet and dry out. 

With the sun popping it’s head above the horizon at 6am and settling down at night a 9am, at least up north in Auckland, the days aren’t fantastically long, but enough to get stuff done outside. And you’ll be outside an awful lot. Whether it’s in the mountains, on the beach or just wandering around. I do miss the long UK nights when it doesn’t get dark until 10pm but the Kiwi hours of daylight are a fair trade off for the more stable weather. And I certainly don’t miss the 4am wake up call of daybreak in the UK thank you very much.

But weather alone does not a summer make. Fortunately New Zealand is surrounded by water, which means beaches and sea. Plenty of them. Even in the most populated city of Auckland it’s absolutely no bother to find an empty beach. A little imagination and local know-how is all you need to get away from the popular spots and crowds. Just remember to take plenty of water, sunblock and a towel and your all good. There will almost certainly be a Pohutakawa tree to shelter under.

So it’s with great sadness, that I have to admit that summer is almost over. With the arrival of April comes the onset of Autumn. Darker nights are just around the corner, less stable weather and with that rain. Once the clocks are put back an hour tomorrow, it will be time to put away the garden umbrella, stow the beach towels for another year, turn off the anti-mosquito spays and give Bernie the Barbecue a clean down. Temperatures are not going to dip below 20 degrees for a month or two so it’s not all bad, and to be fair Auckland doesn’t get that cold. But it’s not summer. Pretty soon the sea temperatures will drop leaving only brave or foolhardy souls to endure being in the water without a wetsuit. Sure shorts are still ok but you might want a fleece jacket until the sun comes gets it’s act together.

It’s a long old haul to spring from here. At least if October seems like a long way off, there’s alway the option to escape to a South Pacific island for a few days. It’s the Cook Islands for us this year. A few days soaking up warmth mid-winter is just enough time to recharge reserves and set you up for the final push.

But that’s for later. Still time enough to enjoy the last hurrah of summer. Or Autumn I guess. It’s hard to tell. It has gone a bit cooler - last night was the first time in a long while that we didn’t have to sleep with the bedroom window open - shoulder seasons aren’t really a thing here. It’s sort of summer then it’s not. At the moment shorts and t-shirts are still ok and will be until they’re not. And by then a week in Rarotonga will be coming into view....and from there it’s only a short hop back to summer. And like I said, Carlsberg doesn’t do summers, but if they did they would probably look a lot like a New Zealand summer...,,

I Want to Ride My Bicycle

You don’t really know a city until you have seen it for the seat of a bicycle. Or at least that’s what people tell me. And when I say people I actually mean cyclists. And when I say cyclists I actually mean keen cyclists. 

I’ve certainly seen a fair but more of this fair city recently. You see February was Bike Auckland Challenge month in which like minded souls tried to convince those less minded to get out on two wheels and roll out those miles. Or in the case of New Zealand, kilometres. And kilometres means points. And naturally points add up to a team score and at the end of the month the points are tallied and the team  with the most points wins. Or at least that’s the theory.

It’s all of course friendly and non-competitive . Except it’s not. I know you will find this hard to believe, but I became a little bit obsessed. Not too much, just a healthy obsession. So it became routine each morning to log on and scrutinise the points table and wondering how on earth an obscure team had a managed to jump above us in the table. I mean, they weren’t even close yesterday. Had they been riding overnight? Heck, they weren’t even engineers! How was it even possible? Maybe someone in our team wasn’t pulling their weight. Yes that must be it! Slackers. Who was it? Hang on a minute, that team there has ringers in it. How could an employee have done 180km in one day? Who were they - Chris Froome? Let’s check their Strava account..... hey, they’re not even based in Auckland. That’s not on. Deep breath..... Better have a cup of tea and a lie down. Wait, I’m already in bed. Phew that was a close shave.

And so on it went, throughout February. 

As it turns out, it was really good timing for me - I picked up an injury in December that prevented me from partaking in my normal running routine. Actually I’m not being entirely honest there - I didn’t pick up an injury as such. Rather I ignored an ache in my foot, figuring that it would go away. After all isn’t the best course of action for an injury to keep doing the thing that probably caused it in the first place! Exactly.

To cut a long story short, a niggle in December became an ache in January, and eventually an ache became a pain. Pretty soon no amount of Neurofen was enough to mask the searing pain I felt whenever I put my foot down on the ground. Which as it turns out is quite a lot. Who knew?

So I was told to rest up. And this time I knew my physio meant it. Not like the last time when I assumed when my physio said stop running for a few weeks they actually meant run less.... for a day or two.

Thankfully cycling wasn’t ruled out...or at least they didn’t tell me that it was. But then again I didn’t ask - it’s a lot easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.  

Boy does cycling take up a lot of time. Whereas a short 5k run can give you a quick and vital fitness top-up in less than thirty minutes, you have to comitt a full hour or so on two wheels to get the same benefit. 

And it’s not just that. Whereas a run is a great time to switch off and put things into perspective, try that in a bike in a city and you’ll soon be swapping switching off for checking out. Sheesh car drivers are ignorant. On the plus side, it really helps develop a kind of sixth sense and just trying to figure out what on earth is going to happen next becomes all encompassing. Where a gentle roll down a hill should be a time to relax and take in the scenery, instead it’s a tense time. As the speed picks up, so does the risk of something unforeseen happening.

Take just last week. I was travelling down Onehunga Mall at a relatively relaxed pace, eyes scanning the road head, and well away from the parked cars with doors that suddenly open. One risk avoided. A cross roads intersection was next. A van and car were waiting patiently on each of the side roads to let me pass..... except ahhh no. The driver of the white car decided that I wasn’t really there and proceeded to cross the intersection. Right in front of me. It all happened it slow motion, even though it was anything but. Travelling at 40kph in shorts and a thin top through traffic really does focus ones attention. The sudden emergence of a car into my path was a problem.....

There is a temptation to overstate the danger, especially when it’s a shock such as this, but I knew it was bad because the driver of the van put his hands to his eyes and mouthed fu....well you can imagine. There was nothing else for it. I slammed the brakes on....

At this point it’s worth mentioning that road bike brakes are, well, piss poor. Or at least they are unless you have disc brakes fitted. Which I didn’t. And the thin and large wheels don’t make for great manoeuvrabilityx So I slid sideways. Thankfully my years of mountain biking, and before that BMX, has given me reasonable bike handling skills. I used the skid to my advantage and slid behind the car as it crossed my lane and went on it’s way, the driver oblivious to the distress and potential death they had nearly caused. Meanwhile, the guy in the van dropped his hands and I like to think watched in awe as I skilfully averted the distater. 

Close shaves aside, I've actually grow to like cycling again and get a kick out of planning just where I’ll ride next and how far. And I’m getting better. Where once 20km was a typical distance, I’m regularly knocking out 80km. I’m not particularly fast but you don’t get points for speed. Far is better than fast in Bike Auckland Challenge month. And even if speed points were up for grabs, why rush? Auckland is such a beautiful place to roll around. And besides, there’s always next month to pick up the pace.....

Bug Bears

I’ve got a theory......

When you arrive somewhere new, it’s only natural to seek out the familiar - something that you can relate to and ground yourself in your new surroundings.

For some it’s a familiar food, for others it’s a television or radio programme. Whatever gets you through the day. Just a little bit of something to keep you on your upright axis. After a while, and how long will depend upon the strangeness of your environment, you start to compliment your old familiar favourites with new sounds, smells, tastes and experiences. Then, without you even realising it, you have a whole new set of familiar things and have grounded yourself in your new environment. You’ve got a brand new comfort zone.

I know this to be true because it happened to us. Little by little we started to appreciate the new the things around us as we slowly adjusted and settled in to our new surroundings. It could be the way certain destinations were announced on the train each morning or the odd beep that New Zealand pedestrian crossings make. These things slowly began to become familiar and intertwine with our everyday lives.

All of which is a rather elaborate, long winded and no doubt unnecessary way of introducing you to the Bug Bears. Shortly after we arrived, NZ Bus began running an ad campaign on their fleet to promote more considerate travel. I can’t comment on whether it was an effective campaign as we didn’t see behaviours before, but it certainly had an influence on us. Not that we were particular unsociable bus passengers, at least we don’t think we were, but it became a welcome sight as we travelled around our new city.

Settling down into our favourite seat - doesn’t everyone have one of those? - the first thing we looked for was the Bud Bear poster. Which Bug Bear would we see today? Would it be a new character or an old familiar? How many others could we name? Well is passed the time anyway.

Then, without warning, they were gone. Replaced without ceremony with a new campaign. I’d like to think that we cared. But we hardly even noticed. We’d moved on and found new things to become old things. 

Gone but not forgotten, so here for prosperities sake are the Bug Bears......

Bloody Ray and his aisle blocking antics! Move down the bus and let other people on. Evidently, aisle blocking is a thing but is not something that I saw a lot of, and even if it was, does it deserve to be number 1? I seriously doubt it. Which takes us to.....

Now this, I can relate to. There is absolutely no excuse for dropping stuff in the bus only to leave your fellow,passengers fuming as an empty can rolls up and down the floor of the bus. Do us a favour Lenny and sort yourself out. Put your mess in a bin when you get off the bus - you can’t miss it - it’s the one that has been conveniently placed right opposite the bus door when you get off. You know, the one that you almost always walk into....

Freddy is just a slob. Princess drool for the bus travelling age, no doubt content is his laid back and nonchalant attitude at the expense of everyone else. Again, not something that was prevalent so maybe it was a preemptive strike?

Now this.....this.....should’ve been way up top. Number 1. Prime spot. In some ways it’s comforting to know that Barney is the same the world over. Or Bertie or Belinda for that matter. Yes it’s great to get a double seat to yourself, but not when others need the seat. Looking out of the window and trying to pretend that you haven’t noticed what’s going on doesn’t let you off the hook. Maybe we should instigate the German beer keller tradition and start sitting on the knees of Barney?



Don’t stuff your face Marvin! It’s rude and a little unpleasant. Actually not really a thing, or at least I don’t think so, but it was obviously important enough for NZ Bus to warn us about. It does remind me of a trip I once took in Greece. But that involved fish and high humidity so let’s leave that for another day.



It’s a bit unfortunate that NZ Bus chose a female bear for this one. After all we’re all guilty of this particular bug bear. But why let a little bit of sexism get in the way of s good chuckle. 

OMG Jase! What are you playing at? Get you head off that poor guy’s lap! Again this is not something that I have experienced in Auckland so maybe it’s confined to the late night buses - I like to be tucked up by ten. There has been occasions when I’ve nodded off, especially after a few beers in the afternoon, but I’m pretty sure it will only have been a close friend that I drooled on. Or at least I think so....

Now this really bugs me. It’s not the noise that gets on my goat, not that you can have a goat in downtown Auckland, but instead it’s the hint of a song. As soon as I hear the faintest hint of a song I immediately try and figure out what it is, who recorded it and in what year. Mind you, even If it was played at normal volume I’d probably struggle these days. Speaking of volume, just how loud does music have to be before your ears start to bleed? Just asking. 

Yuk! Pete stinks! Actually, I have a confession to make. I may be Pete. You see on at least one occasion I have boarded a bus on the way back from a run, dripping in sweat and grateful for a lift home. I have tried to minimise the pong by sitting away from everyone else and not leaning back on the seat but I’m not sure this was enough. In fact I know this wasn’t enough. It’s generally been okay at the start, as the bus was empty, but I can only apologise for anyone getting on at later stops. Sorry. I’d like to say it won’t happen again but I rather fear that it might.

I still wonder why they stopped at Number 9. Surely that could be found at least one more. Ten is a much more acceptable number. So NZ Bus, if you looking for inspiration and a reason to bring back the campaign here’s a few from me;

No Hop Henry - why is it that some people refuse to embrace the cashless system for bus travel in Auckland? It’s not difficult. After a small and modest outlay for the card you save heaps every time you travel. And being a tourist is no excuse either. We have similar cards for other cities in Asia Pacific and it’s so much easier than holding up a bus full of people whilst you rummage around for the correct change. 

Single Door Sally - buses have two doors for a reason. You get on at the front and off at the rear door. Trying to get off through the front door whilst others board the bus is just plain stupid. And holds up the bus.

Lost Lionel - Here’s a tip for you Lionel. Bus drivers aren’t tour guides. Getting on the bus and asking directions is not a cool thing to do. New Zealand is a very friendly place so rather than annoy a bus load of people and distract someone who is trying to keep to a timetable just ask someone in the street. Chances are they will know exactly where you are looking for and may even offer to take you there. 

So there you have it, The Bug Bears. Out and not-so-proud. Right there me, I’m off to catch a bus to town. It’s a shame the bears won’t be there to keep me company on my short journey. Perhaps they will. In fact No Hop Henry is almost certain to make an appearance....