Step On

For those of you that don’t know, I’ve always been a bit of a collector… Actually, wait…. that’s not quite right. Let me try that again….

For those of you that don’t know, I’ve always been a bit obsessive. Yes, much better. This was recognised from an early age when I would happily pour my pocket money into collecting whatever thing that was my currently focus of attention; badges, stickers, key-rings, novelty rubbers. The latter of which I must hastily clarify where erasers! What the object de jour was didn't really matter. I was a collector and therefore I shall collect. To the ill informed outsider, this might look like hoarding but it was serious business. Every chance that came along, I would seek out new objects to add to my collection and then, suddenly and without warning, I would stop and move onto something else. 

The arrival of the digital age hasn’t really stopped me, and instead has instead presented even more ways to obsess over things. It is sad to think that the joy of browsing though secondhand shops for a much sought after record may has been taken away by the digitisation of music. I just can’t quite see anyone in the future getting misty-eyed about the first time they streamed an album or purchased a download. But with the increased digitisation of things, comes an abundance of data. And that, my friends, is a rich seam of obsessiveness that just has to be plundered. 

And of all of the digital data currently at my fingertips, my latest obsession has been steps. And by that I mean the act of movement and not the late 90s pop sensations. 

I fear that it is the sign of the times that counting daily steps should be a target of any kind. Isn’t that something that we should just do? But somewhere down the line, someone decided that 10,000 steps a day would be a suitable goal for modern times. And it is no less applicable in New Zealand than anywhere else in the world. 

Quite how New Zealand, with its abundance of sunshine, warm climate outdoor opportunities, became such a car-centred society is partly geographic but also because construction of the required infrastructure just hasn't kept pace with modern life. 

When we arrived, and colleagues found out that we hadn’t bought a car yet, they were all too quick to point out that we’d made a mistake by not going to a car sales yard immediately after disembarking from the airplane. Jet lagged or not. Apparently a car should’ve been a higher priority than finding accommodation. After all, you can’t drive to the beach in an apartment but you can sleep in the car.  Eventually, after about four weeks of constant reminding, we caved and bought a car. I’d be the first to admit that it was useful for helping us get around all of the viewings of rental properties and for getting emergency furniture whilst we waited for our house contents to arrive, but as time went on and we settled into our new surroundings it became used less and less.

These days, outings in our car are limited to a short trip on Saturday morning to the local parkrun. This, our only concession to a car based lifestyle, could be replaced by a bus trip or even running to the start line. But that would require us to get out of bed even earlier on a Saturday morning. Unlikely to happen anytime soon. If we were allowed a do-over, the car would’ve remained in the sales yard and we would simply hire a vehicle when there was no other option. Which is rare, especially as we live in the centre of Auckland.

So, recognising that I was probably a little unusual - hey I heard that! - I started to track how many steps I was taking and like most obsessions, it sort of crept up on me. At first it was a sort of casual interest, occasionally checking an app on my phone to see what I had done. But this didn’t last long as once I noticed that the app gave out badges for particular achievements and in doing so you were allocated points. Yes, I had suddenly found my new obsession. Digital badges for physical achievements. Nirvana! The 7-day badge was a breeze. As was the 14 day award. A month? No worries. The three month badge was obtained without any real problem and before long I was on my way to getting the final achievement - a 365 day streak. 

You would be excused for thinking that as I walk to work, clocking up the steps wouldn’t be a problem - surely my commute in itself would let me get the required number of steps? The problem is that I am only a seven minute walk from the office which is just too close - in many ways. In fact, if you’re interested, it’s 826 steps too close. So I had to devise an alternative. Instead of taking the shortest route to my place of work, I headed in the opposition direction and did loops around the local park. I was spotted by colleagues on some occasions who later queried why I was walking in the opposite direction to the office. Did I not want to be in work? There are some questions that don’t need to be answered.

As the days counted down, the goal seemed to get father from my reach, especially during the last few weeks when as the day of reckoning approached, I became convinced that I would come down with the flu or twist my ankle.

Thankfully, I never injured myself to point of incapacitation, or succumbed to a virus - apparently there was one going around - but that's not to say that there weren’t some close shaves. On those occasions, when my daily obligations didn't allow much freedom of movement, I had to resort to walking in loops around the living room in my PJs until the display on my watch ticked over to the magic number. Crazy? Perhaps. But there was a digital badge at stake.

Soon, the final day was here and before sunset I needed one final effort. It just happened to be a Saturday and with the weekly 5k run usually being competed in the morning, getting sufficient steps shouldn’t be a problem. But I wanted to make sure. I wasn’t going to fall at the last hurdle so I got out of bed extra early and went for a walk around the park. By the time I lined-up at the start of the run at 0800am I already had 6,500 steps in the bag.

Thankfully I completed the run without any problems and somewhere out on the course, I clocked up 10,000 steps for the day. I was done. 

With the year that we've all had, I was quite pleased with my achievement even if there wasn’t anything physical to show for it. But in reality there was. Okay, call me Muttley, a finishers medal would’ve been nice, but I got something much more valuable. Not only had my daily walking  helped me keep physically fit, but was also all the encouragement I needed to get out of the house, get some fresh air and unwind. Lock-down would’ve been much tougher without it.

There was one negative side effect. I couldn't stop. Even though there are no more badges to collect, I still felt compelled to clock up 10,000 steps each and every day. I had tried deliberately not getting the steps I needed, only to find myself once again late at night, doing loops around the living room. I needed to take drastic action. So, with just a few days to go before I broke the 400 day streak barrier, I deleted the app and all of the data*. It's time to move on. But before I do that, I’ll leave you with some of the statistics from the past 12 months;

Total steps taken = 6,020,567

Total distance covered = 4,695km

Average steps per day = 14,649

Average distance per day = 11km

So what now? Good question but I’m not entirely sure. Something will present itself in due course. There's a cycling challenge coming up in February so maybe that. In the meantime, I have been meaning to properly index my record collection. And I really should so something about the organisation of photographs on the computer…..

*but not before emailing myself a copy first of course! I'm not that crazy!

Field of Dreams

I know many people suggest that they wish their dreams would come true, but in this case I’m willing to make an exception.

It all started innocently enough. As we were camping, 9pm rolled around so we started to get ready to sleep. Yes I agree it’s a bit early, especially as we were at the start of a three week break, but I’m blaming the fresh sea air. Oh and the bottle and a half of wine we’d just consumed. Besides, 9pm isn’t that late when you consider that we’d been awake since 6am.

Anyway, sleep wasn’t far away and so far I’d been sleeping very soundly and getting a full eight or so hours kip. Not quite uninterrupted as this being camping, meant that my nightly visit to the loo which required a five minute walk in pyjamas and flip-flops across the field to the toilet block. Still it was worth the inconvenience to get to the conveniences because I got to stare at the blanket of stars on display. They were wonderful and so bright against the dark country sky. There’s something to be said for getting away from the bright lights of the city, even if it does mean sleeping on the floor in the middle of a field.

But I’ve digressed. 

Toilet issues taken care of, I was soon tucked back up and lulled back to sleep by the distant sound of a Morepork, New Zealand’s native owl and the distant sound of waves breaking onto the beach.

And that’s when it started. I suddenly awoke again to find myself in the centre circle of a football pitch. The ground looked pretty impressive, even if all of the seats in the stadium were empty, and despite the dark night sky floodlights lit every corner. Just as I started to wonder what it must be like to have this as your place of work, a gentleman in a tracksuit approached me and my partner. He looked exasperated and was clearly in a spot of bother. 

“I don’t know what your plans are,” he asked, “but because of a virus we can’t field a full team today so we’re wondering if you could help us out?”

“Oh, really?” I replied then added, “how so?” figuring that even if this was a dream, a cautious approach was needed.

“I’m the Manchester United coach and we are having problems assembling a team for the match today. We can only play the game if we have the required number of players and it would be a great help if you could sit in with the rest of the squad.”

He obviously saw the concerned look on my face so quickly added, “It’s okay - you probably won’t have to play. Not unless we get really desperate.”

If I was in any doubt, it was at that precise moment that I knew I was dreaming. Anyone who had seen me play football as a youngster would have realised that I was definitely not at a professional standard. That’s not to say that I didn’t like playing football, far from it, its just that I wasn’t as good as I thought I should’ve been. Admittedly, if enthusiasm was the only ingredient required, then I was your man. If it was skill you were after then I respectfully decline. 

I was so enthusiastic back then that I was instrumental in forming a team, for reasons lost to time called The Swans, and setting up a local league in which to play. Unfortunately in my eagerness to set up this new venture, I forgot to look at the practicalities. There simply wasn’t enough players to make the whole thing work, and no-one else seemed as enamoured with the idea as I did. So fixtures were somewhat haphazard and usually resulted in the same people turning up to play whatever game had been arranged. Clever player rotation between the two sides, however, ensured that the games could take place and the match fixtures completed. It did lead to some unusual situations, such as the lead scorer in the league having played for most of the teams, but it didn’t seem to bother me. The Clavering Football league was up and running, even if I was the only one who paid it any notice. 

If the coach from Manchester United ever doubted my skills, or rather lack thereof, he only had to witness my performance on warm but damp summer’s evening. 

I fancied myself of a bit of a winger, modelled in the style of Middlesbrough’s Northern Ireland maestro Terry Cochrane. I had been running up and down the wing for most of the match without much of an impact. Well I say wing. At this point I must clarify that we didn't actually have a marked out pitch or anything. We did have a big field though and that was enough for us and, depending on which way you were kicking, either recently planted trees or a pile of jumpers made up the goal posts. Quite why the council had decided to litter our playing field with trees was beyond us. It was one thing having two trees to use as goal posts but as for the others..... Still it added to the complexity of the game. Dribbling around trees as well as a static defence was good practice and there was nothing like hitting the ball on the volley only to see it hit the trunk of a tree and ricochet into the (imaginary) top corner of the goal. 

So there I was, patrolling the wing when a ball was lofted out of defence and over my head. This ball was mine. I was off like a bullet and tracking the arc of the ball, sped down the wing. All I had to do was trap it when it landed and then cut inside and with a deft flick of my left boot hit it homeward. I had it all planned out. It was a bit of a surprise then when my progress was suddenly halted and I crashed to the ground with a thump only to witness the ball land and run into touch. I had been so intent on tracking the flight of the ball that I forgot to look where I was going and had ran smack into one of the aforementioned trees. Bloody council do-gooders.

Where was I? Oh yes, back to my dream. Let’s just say I wasn’t exactly Manchester United material but that obviously hadn’t deterred the chap in the tracksuit. Well he did say they were desperate. 

I was provided with some kit and me and my partner were escorted to our seats in the team dug-out. What a moment. Me sitting alongside the Manchester Untied team who, again for some unexplained reason, were dressed in a white strip and were now sponsored by Marvel. Go figure. Unfortunately there had been a little bit of an administrative error and my Dad’s name had been sellotaped to the back of my seat. Never mind, I would have strong words at half-time with a team official to get it changed.

My fellow, albeit temporary teammate, turned to me and thanked me for helping them out of a sticky situation. They really needed to fulfil this fixture and my presence ensured that the game could take place. Oh, and not to worry - it was very unlikely that my services would be needed on the pitch. My fellow teammate, whose name I didn’t catch, bared an uncanny resemblance to Chris Riggott, the former Boro defender. 

"So are you blue or red?" he asked.

"Actually neither, I'm a Boro fan," I replied.

"Oh, I'm not sure I know who's in the Boro team these days."

"Neither do I really," I admitted, "I live in New Zealand now so it's hard to keep up. We're only here for the day."

I’m pleased to report that my dream didn’t turn into a nightmare and, as promised, my services were not required so I spent a pleasant afternoon chatting to a fictional Manchester United team and their partners whilst Chris Riggott told me more about the inner workings of the team and what it was like being a professional footballer.

Unfortunately I can't recall the score in the game, or whether it was entertaining, as I was rudely awoken by the sunrise and the noise of excited birdlife. Still, it was a beautiful day and just perfect for a quick run and then a dip in the sea. Now that is the stuff of dreams!

Carry On Campervanning

There’s quite a bit to this campervan carry-on. And with that in mind, it’s quite remarkable that you’re allowed to drive off with someone else’s $80k vehicle having just watched a couple of YouTube videos. There wasn’t even a test or anything!

And that was probably a good thing, at least if the first few days were anything to go by. It wasn’t the size of the vehicle that was an issue - it did take some getting used to, especially around the streets of Auckland, but we soon got into the swing of things. Nope, it was just everything else.

Firstly there was the space, or rather the lack of it. We thought we had packed up the van cleverly with things we needed within easy reach. Shoes were tucked away at the bottom of the storage bunks, along with jackets, jumpers and other non-essential items. Similarly, food was packed into the top cupboards where we could get to it without having to rummage around.

It didn’t work. To avoid getting too relaxed, we spent the first few days playing a game we invented called Hunt for the Item. This was a hugely engaging game. The rules are simple, it starts by someone saying something like “Have you seen my trainers?” and then the hunt begins for the aforementioned item. After several minutes looking in various cupboards and cubbyholes, the contents of the van are removed onto the grass outside and the hunt continues amongst the debris. Eventually the item is found and the winner declared. The winner gets to feel smug for at least ten minutes whilst the loser gets to repack the equipment and clothing, preferably in a more orderly manner. You would think that this gave them an advantage for the next round but this is not how this game works. Inevitably, the next item is not where you thought it was, and so the whole process is repeated.

Another sport I learned to play in the early days was Things to Bang My Head On. You would think, being at the shorter end of the human spectrum, that this was going to be a challenging game. Not a bit of it. Thankfully the designers of the campervan had thought ahead and put plenty of things just at head height; cupboards, shelves, hooks and the like. Then, just as I was running out of Things to Bang My Head On, I discovered a while new seam of things lower down - handily placed to catch you unawares when you’re rummaging around the lower areas. I became particularly skilled at colliding with the underside of the table. The table was a tricky adversary in light of its unwillingness to move and to be exactly where it was the last time you banged your head on it. 

It didn’t stop inside the van either. I became an expert at this sport and found a multitude of things outside the van to demonstrate my skills. The bike rack (unused) attached to the back doors being one such item. Being able to close the door into your own head requires skill and dedication to the game. I think I peaked when I managed to lacerate the side of my head by allowing the metal flap of the campsite power socket to fall and strike me. Pure genius that will be on display for a few weeks as the scar takes time to heal.

If you saw us changing the van from day to night mode, and back again, in the first few days you would think that we were making it complicated on purpose. After all, all we had to do was place two pieces of wood to create the bed, rearrange the cushions to form the mattress and then put the bedding on top. Easy? You would think so but we spent a lot of time playing out favourite game Hunt for the Item. Where was the other pillow? Have you seen my pyjamas? We did, at least, have time to invent a new game called Bumping into Each Other. 

If a decision is ever made to resurrect the Carry On series and start with the antics of a couple in a campervan then they need to look no further - they’ve found their stars.

But that was then. Now after three days in, we’re experts. To see us in motion in the confined space is a sight to behold. Now getting ready each day we’re like a well drilled military unit. Everything in its right place and stowed away, space maximised and nothing is missing. At least we don’t think so. Honestly, it’s like a ballet watching us prepare breakfast and get ready to hit the road - more like the Morecambe and Wise sketch than Carry On Campervanning. 

With each passing day we get a little better, more organised and less inclined to bang body parts on hard objects. Not that it will stop me looking of course!

The East Cape

Ohope to Gisbourne

Sunday 1 November 2020

Over the years I’ve been told on many occasions that Auckland isn’t New Zealand and that [insert place name] is. Whilst the validity of that statement depends on where your coming from, Auckland is certainly different to most other places in New Zealand.

And that difference is more obvious in the East Cape of the North Island than anywhere we’ve visited so far. How so? 

Maybe it’s to do with geography. The East Cape is remote by most standards with no urban areas or towns. There are settlements dotted around the coast but these are small with only a few facilities. Certainly you have to want to come here otherwise you’d take a more direct route other than the winding SH35 that hugs the coast line. And it has to hug the coastline because there’s limited options for transportation inland. Coastal plateau soon gives way to precipitous, bush covered slopes. Only the foolhardy would chose to try and cut any routes through here.

The kilometres driven are certainly hard won. There’s very few straight bits of road and what road there is doesn’t get the attention it needs. But every corner reveals something new and so you press onwards.

The biggest surprise of the day was the church at Tikitiki. What and amazing place and a testament to the craftsmanship of its creators. I’ve never seen a church quite like it. The structure is definitely European but the extensively carved wooden interior is definitely Maori. It’s an amazing space and worthy of a (significant) detour.

Although we were pushed for time, we managed to squeeze in the walk from Tolaga Bay to Cook’s Cove where in 1769 Captain James Cook visited as part of his circumnavigation of New Zealand. The history is well known and somewhat controversial so I won’t go any further, other than to say he couldn’t have picked a more picturesque place to visit.

Unfortunately we have another 50km or so to go before we arrive in Gisborne where we’ll rest up before making the long trip tomorrow to Martinborough. 

Wagons Roll and the Squeak from Hell

Auckland to Ohope

Saturday 31 October 2020

Although we’re not exactly novices in the campervan lark, it’s fair to say that it’s been a while. Quite a while in fact. Yes, the size of the vehicle may have changed but the principals are the same. Let the road guide you and see where you end up. Bruce Springsteen would be proud.

Well he would be if we hadn’t booked all of the campgrounds in advance and had a strict itinerary to follow. Maybe Born to Run wouldn’t quite have had the same romantic feel to it if the protagonists agreed to set off next Tuesday but only after having checked their packing list, made sure the Sat Nav was loaded with their destinations and the plants had been watered. 

The last time we tried this we were in a VW Combi and headed into the Yorkshire Dales. This time we’re in a modern van with more space. Nowhere near as iconic but more practical even if it is much more difficult to park.

After a bit of faffing around; getting the vehicle from the depot near the airport, driving back into town to pack and then finally setting off, we were on our way! Free but not-quite-so-easy.

If the van was sluggish to start with, it was even more so once laden with our possessions. It wasn’t the acceleration that was a problem but the braking. It took a lot of effort and forward planning to bring the lump of machinery to a stop. Maybe we over did the wine? Ah well, who needs emergency stops anyway? And the bonus is that the more we drink the safer we get! 

Despite the modeninity of the vehicles, boy it didn’t half rattle around, presumably from pots, pans, cutlery  and other camping equipment in the back.

The rattling we could live with - it was part of the deal you could say - but there was a squeak.

SQUEAK!

And not just any squeak. This was the squeak from hell. 

SQUEAK!! SQUEAK!!

It was as if two overly enthusiastic mice were squabbling over who took the last piece of cheese. 

SQUEAK!! SQUEAK!!

SQUEAK!! SQUEAK!!

And had somehow found a mouse sized loudhailer to inform us of their plight.

Loud music drowned out some of the cacophony and I found by concentrating on driving I could largely ignore it.

SQUEAK!! SQUEAK!!

SQUEAK!! SQUEAK!!

SQUEAK!! SQUEAK!!

SQUEAK!! SQUEAK!!

“FOR THE LOVE OF GOD PULL OVER!!”

Unfortunately the same couldn’t be said for my co-traveller. Needless to say, I pulled over.

A quick pit stop later, we’d identified the source of the squeak. A catch on the foldaway bed. How something so small could make such a racket was beyond me. But it was. 

We were back on the road and could finally relax, and soon rolled into our first stop Ohope Beach. The beers were opened and we sat and watched the rolling sea.

Ahhh. The holiday had stated.

DIY

We’ve just had a long weekend in New Zealand, or Bank Holiday if you prefer, and for the first time in a long while we actually did some DIY. How long? Well at least six years, probably longer as our home in the UK was fully DIY’d. Well nearly. There was one room that we never got around to painting but as it was the spare guest room - it’s embarrassing to admit that we had a five bedroom house - it never seemed to warrant the effort to get rid of the bluey-purple shade that the previous owner had bestowed upon the walls.

And so, as home owners in two hemispheres, the long weekend meant that we needed to partake in the national pastime of life laundry. Or so a friend of ours reliably informed us. To be honest, I'm still not sure she was telling the truth and suspect that, jealous of our plans to head to the beach, somehow managed to convince us that we we really wanted to do was to get some home improvements done. So, even though the forecast was for a glorious spring weekend with temperatures in the low twenties, we caved to peer pressure and found ourselves in the DIY superstore choosing paint and other related products so we could tidy up our deck. The beach would just have to wait. Oh, how times have changed.

Actually, DIY has played an important part in our life as homeowners. Sure we enjoyed the end results, but it was the journey that really mattered. Think I’m overplaying it? Well let me take you back to the heady days of the early nineties as a small town kid and city girl bought their first house…..

14 Granby Place, Leeds 6, was the place to be. Well it was if you were buying your first house on a council wage. Not that we were complaining - it was the perfect location for us. Headingley had a great little shopping centre and was only a ‘short’ walk from the city centre. It had two local cinemas within easy reach and two great pubs a leisurely stroll from our front door. Oddly, they never seemed quite as close on the way back.

Bought for around £40,000 it was a modest affair, so modest that it lead to one of our friends asking when they were going to finish the rest of it! Cheeky bleeder. Despite the lack of space, we loved it. It was what was known as a back-to-back house. Typically these were built as terraces and only had a front aspect, the rear of the house being identical to the front and belonging to someone else. Except ours backed onto the grounds of the British Legion and therefore didn’t have a back property. A blind back-to-back so to speak. Confused? Well try this Wikipedia page for help.

Our first house - just before we sold it

Where was I? Oh yes, DIY. Well as the previous owner of our property had some really random thoughts on internal design - gloss painted kitchen counters being one that springs to mind - we needed to do a lot of work to bring it up to standard. With only five rooms it wasn’t a huge undertaking but there were two fairly signifiant obstacles that stood in the way. Money and skills. Both were sadly lacking in equal measure. 

Fortunately for us, we had some friends who were very keen to try this DIY lark and were all too happy to give up weekends to travel a couple of hours south from the north-east to the metropolis of Leeds, on the strict understanding that we fed them KFC and/or pizza. Oh, and provided liquid refreshments. It was a pretty sweet deal and, it has to be said, enormous fun. A great excuse to have some mates down for the weekend to have the craic and some beers - providing the second and last coat of paint was done before Sunday night and the house returned to something approaching normality. 

Usually we managed this - even if it meant putting ornaments back onto freshly glossed shelving. Well, who would notice and what were the chances of us ever wanting to rearrange stuff anyway? Exactly. Besides, we needed to get the post decorating photos done before they returned to the north-east. It did lead to some pretty late nights but schedules were schedules. 

I did have a moment of doubt when it was time to tackle the kitchen and it seemed like a big ask to get it done in a single weekend. Like the rest of the house, the kitchen was small. So small in fact, that we managed to get it all of the new units into the back of a Ford Escort and transport it from Ikea safely along the M62 motorway. Sure, the steering was a little light making cornering tricky and the brakes weren’t all that effective, but we got it home. 

The next Friday night, right on cue, the team arrived and set about tearing the old kitchen out. It was an impressive sight. Bits of wood were flying out the front door as the old units were demolished. Quite how we managed it without anyone getting a lump of plywood in their eye is a miracle. Almost as much of a miracle as how we got three adults into a room the area of a small coffee table.

Wisely, my partner had decided to relocate to Liverpool for the weekend to let us get on with it. We certainly learnt some new skills that weekend. For example plumbing, electrics and how it was really important to finish any tricky tasks before you start drinking. One minor flooding event aside, caused by the wrong pipe being capped off before the water was turned back on, the kitchen was completed in the allotted timeframe. Well it would’ve been had we not misplaced a brass olive compression washer so couldn’t finish the final pieces of plumbing. It had gone 9pm and the shops shut several hours ago so it would have to wait. Never mind, there was always next weekend and another excuse for a night out in Leeds 6.

The dedication shown by my friends to our little property still fills me with joy. Nothing was too much trouble. One one occasion, one of the team was due to fly out to South America a few days later on a working holiday. What better way to mark the occasion than cleaning out and white-washing the walls of a cellar - or sótano if you prefer. 

The main bedroom before....

...and after

I like to think that being one of the first of the group to own a property, that the walls and ceilings of our little Headingley home were a training ground for their future endeavours in home improvements. Certainly the plastering in the cellar steps would bear this out. It was even too rough to call it rustic and I was so glad that it was in the cellar and not needed anywhere else in the house.

As we moved from house to house, the decorating and home improvement services continued but we never took it for granted and looked to return the favour whenever we could. I do rather suspect though that our skills we more of a hindrance than help but hopefully it was the thought that counts! 

Now we’re property owners in New Zealand we are going to have to spend some time on DIY but we're hoping this is limited to the odd splash of paint here and there and nothing major is needed. We hope not, firstly for the inconvenience of it all but also because our tools are all in a friends garage in the UK. There's no way we're buying a second set. Besides, the offer still stands. Should we find ourselves in need of DIY assistance we’re happy to accept help. Although I think it’ll take more than a few pizzas and beers to get the gang this far south!

The deck after a day spent sanding and painting

Election Night

Well here we go again. It’s election time in NZ. Yes again. We have one of the shortest parliamentary periods in the world. Three years. Yes three. No sooner have you got your feet under the table and your readying for the next election. No time to get owt done.

So MMP. What’s that all about? Well for those who have misplaced my handy cut-out-and-keep guide from 2017, MMP is New Zealand’s democratic process that’s what.. and according to Wikipedia... 

“Under MMP, New Zealand voters have two votes. The first vote is the electorate vote. It determines the local representative for that electorate (geographic electoral district). The electorate vote works on a plurality system whereby whichever candidate gets the greatest number of votes in each electorate wins the seat. The second vote is the party vote. This determines the number of seats each party is entitled to overall – in other words, the proportionality of the House.

There are two thresholds in the New Zealand MMP system. The first is that any Party which receives 5% or more of the Party vote is entitled to a share of the nominally 120 seats in the House of Representatives – even if the Party does not win a single electorate seat. For instance in the 2008 elections, the Greens failed to win any electorate seats but won 6.7% of the party vote and thereby earned nine seats in Parliament.

The second threshold is that any Party that wins one or more electorate seats is entitled to an additional share of the nominally 120 seats in House of Representatives based on the percentage of the party vote – even if it doesn't win 5% of the vote.“

Well I'm glad that’s cleared that up then. Let's see if I can do any better....

Simply put, the number of votes cast for a particular party determines, more or less, how many seats they get in the House of Representatives but the minimum entry is 5% of the vote. 

See, wasn't my version much easier to understand!

Anyway it’s election night and we’re sat outside at our local bar watching the live feed on TV. Democracy, beer and the goat outdoors. Could this be the perfect combination? To be fair, it’s fairly quiet. Just us, a couple sat a few tables away deep in animated conversation and a birthday party table. Well I assume it’s a birthday party judging by the balloons and other celebratory paraphernalia. I could, of course, be wrong and but I think my instincts are right on the button. 

It’s been a funny old election campaign. Postponed by a month by the pandemic but still somewhat overshadowed by it all. Polls were published, talked about, debunked and praised. Charts, tables and what-ifs dominated the pages of New Zealand’s media. Had the Jacinda bubble burst?  Would Covid-19 be kept at bay until Election Day and could Judith Collins keep on message? No. Yes and god no.

On that latter point, Judith Collins seemed to really go off the rails in the last week, accusing fat people of being lazy and having a pop at Tasmania. No-one really knew why and it remains to be seen whether this had any impact on the outcome of the election. Actually it probably won't. Not because the remarks were offensive, because they certainly were, but because voting actually started two weeks ago. You see, rather than ask the entire population trudge down to a polling station on a single day, the polls are open for two weeks in New Zealand. It means that you can pick a day that suits you best, including weekends, and fit the democratic process around whatever hectic schedule you undoubtedly have. Or wait for the weather to improve. Who said democracy had to be hard work. 

And it seems to work. As of yesterday, 1.7m had voted in advance. Okay that might not seem a lot but to put it in perspective, it represents nearly half of all registered voters. And it's not just the early voting that is helped by a longer polling period, it also helps overall turnout. Last year nearly 80% of eligible voters made their mark.

I hope this is all making sense so far. I'm two pints to the good so I'm not so sure anymore. Not that I make much sense at the best of times....

Back home and the chilli is on and the wine is chilling. A chilly fest if you like. It's been a while since we watched live TV and it a revelation. Plus we don't know the outcome yet. But really we do. It all seems to be going really well for Labour with the numbers far exceeding both expectations and the polls. It could be a disastrous night for the National Party, or so the pundits in the studio tell us. Only time will tell.....

Well that was a bit one sided and not at all exciting. Being a Boro fan I'm much more at home with a nail biting finish, and one that usually ends in crushing disappointment. Leading from the start and finishing even further in front when the whistle goes just doesn't seem right to me. What happened to the mid-game slump? Where were the unforced errors? And how come no-one got sent off? Not at all satisfying. 

Never mind, with the New Zealand election cycle only being three years, there will soon be another opportunity to experience the thrill and excitement of Election Night. 

Around the Sun

In just a few hours, I will be 50. Actually, I'm lying. Knowing the time it takes me to start and finish a blog, by time you read this I was probably 50 a few weeks ago. But hey, you can't rush the creative process. Which is a good job because being creative against a deadline doesn't work. To quote the great Douglas Adams, "I love deadlines. I love the whooshing noise they make as they go by."

Anyway, I digress. Which in it's own way probably explains why it takes me so long to finish writing them. Blast there I go again. At this rate I'll be 51 by the time you read this and you'll have wondered what all the fuss was about.  Where was I? Oh yes, my upcoming birthday.

It's always struck me as a bit odd the we congratulate each other on the arrival of another birthday. It's not like we had that much to do with. It just sort of happens. Yes, I have had the odd near miss over the years when out mountain biking - collisions with gates, rocks and a bread van come to mind. Oh and a particularly startled sheep when I was once forced to take evasive action by jumping over the stupid animal. But other than looking both ways when I cross the road and curbing my cheese intake, I've got here pretty much by default. Now I've written that, I'm suddenly all too aware that I may have counted my chickens too early and a sudden sense of dread has descended. Maybe I should've left this until I actually do wake up in the morning. 

Which brings me to another point. When actually is my birthday. No, I haven't gotten that old that I've forgotten already, but it's a question innit? When is it really? The reason I ask is that I was born in the northern hemisphere pretty and in Greenwich Meantime. So when it's my birthday here, it's not in the UK. And as I was born around lunchtime, technically, I'm not 50 until sometime on Monday morning. I don't suppose anyone is going to mind if I open my cards a day earlier but let's keep this between you and I just in case.

Ten years ago, we rented a large property in the middle of nowhere, somewhere in the Yorkshire Dales, and celebrated by inviting friends from the four corners of the UK. Well mostly from four corners of the top half actually. It was a great event and far exceeded expectations and I'm still amazed that we managed to get a take away Indian meal delivered, although it was a bit of an ordeal for the delivery driver. Ten miles or so down a single track path in the dark is probably something that he wasn't expecting on a blustery October evening. He did well, especially as he had a phobia about sheep, so I'm sure we tipped well.

If you'd told me then that I would be celebrating my 50th birthday in New Zealand I'd have thought you'd lost your mind. In fairness, I didn't expect to be celebrating my 50th here even five years ago. But that's life. If we knew what was up ahead then some days we wouldn't bother getting out of bed.

Which brings me onto another point. 2020 is sure one hell of a strange year to have hit 50. Plans that we had at the start of the year have been thrown out, re-written, thrown out again, and finally put on the proverbial back-burner. Even in New Zealand, where the pandemic has been relatively under control, there was a reluctance to plan too far in advance, just in case. That's why tonight, we're having a low key celebration at the local pub rather than risk anything too grand. In hindsight, we could've hired a venue, booked a band and had a right good knees up, but the risk of getting stuck with 200 sausages on cocktail sticks was off putting. Having them for lunch the day after would have been novel but I'm not so sure I could stomach two weeks of them. Wow, my stomach literally just turned at the thought. 

Meat-based snacks aside, I appreciate that I am really fortunate to be able to celebrate with some friends - it was unthinkable just a few weeks ago - as it still is in many other parts of the world. So in some ways, although we can't celebrate with family this year, being in New Zealand does give me some opportunity to mark the occasion. In about an hour I will be toasting my success at getting to the pub in one piece and counting down the hours until the big 5-0.

And the best bit is that we can do it all again next year in the Northern Hemisphere, once the travel restrictions are lifted and getting around becomes a little easier. Who is up for that? Cool. I'll bring the sausages.

A Bridge Too Far

I know I'm generalising here, but Kiwi's aren't overly fond of thinking ahead and much prefer just see what happens. Living in the moment does have its attractions; never be late, never be disappointed and and always have things turn out exactly as you planned. Sounds great. But in direct contradiction to the way that we run our life. Whether it's because we're Engineer's and Project Managers or because we don't mind being disappointed, we need to think ahead. 

We have tried on several occasions to live life on the edge and just wing it, but alas it didn't turn out well. A few years back now, we were on holiday in Colorado and were travelling around the state for a few weeks checking out the sights and attractions. For some inexplicable reason, we just couldn't relax. The holiday just refused to get going and we spent each day wondering what was up with us and why we weren't enjoying ourselves. It wasn't the place. Admittedly, the sight of a gun counter in the first supermarket we went in did put us on edge a little but we were over that. The people were super friendly and the scenery was fantastic. 

Yet the holiday was heading towards being a huge waste of time and money. Suddenly, whist relaxing, or at least trying to relax, in our room in Breckenridge the cent dropped. We needed to plan the trip. As soon as it was said, it was obvious. Staring us in the face really. Up to this point we were doing  what everyone else did and just set off in the morning and see where the road took us. 

Sure we ended up in some interesting places - the most notable being a particularly rustic hotel in Ouray. Not sure what we were expecting for $15 a night but it was an experience. Why? Well put it this way, we weren't alone in our room - there was definitely an uninvited non-human guest sharing our space. And the communal bathroom? I still shudder at the thought of having to wade through four inches of water to get to the sink. So we sat down on the bed with the maps and planned the rest of the trip. Once done, it was as if someone had flicked the 'relax' switch. Now we were on holiday.

The historic Western Hotel is the oldest hotel in the state. And no doubt the cheapest!

Since then, everything has been planned and nothing left to chance. Unable to travel outside the country, next month we're hiring a camper van and doing a tiki-tour of the North Island. I did suggest that, as it was off-season, we could just head off and see where we end up.  There was a long silence and before we both broke out in laughter at the ridiculousness of the suggestion. Even in a place as laid back and safe as New Zealand it wasn't going to happen. 

So we're planners and we know it. I do sometimes envy those who can just see where life takes them but that's not me. Jealous? Well a little bit but it can have it's disadvantages. 

Take an example a few years ago. I happened to note casually to colleagues that we were off to see the All Blacks play Australia in the Bledisloe Cup that evening. They were astonished. What? How? But it's sold out! I had a cunning plan, I told them. I noted when the tickets were being released and....well here's the cunning part.... went online and booked them! I know. Flippin' sneaky or what. The cheek of it. I mean, it's not like I queued up at the ticket office for hours. No instead, coffee in hand, I sat in my PJs and just bought them. Strewth, whatever next. 

Lack of planning in New Zealand is not a new phenomenon. The Auckland Harbour Bridge, often noted as one of Auckland most iconic features, is a case in point.  

The bridge took four years to construct and was opened in 1959. Before then,  the quickest way from Auckland to the North Shore was by passenger or vehicular ferry and this was simply not acceptable to the few commuters. By road, the shortest route was via the NW motorway, which was only partly completed, with an overall distance of approximately 50 km.

The recommendations of the design team and the report of the 1946 Royal Commission were for five or six traffic lanes, with one or two of them to be reversed in direction depending on the flow of traffic, and with a footpath for pedestrians on each side. Nonsense, said the National Government of New Zealand, what poppycock. The Northshore was a rural area with a population of only 50,000, few jobs and a growth rate of less than half of the rest of Auckland. They're country bumpkins so what would they want with such a large structure. Obviously I'm paraphrasing there but my guess is I'm not that far off the verbatim discussion.

So with a cry of "austerity measures ahoy!" the pedestrian and cycling facilities were dropped and the number of lanes reduced to four. That was plenty for farmers and their animals. 

The bridge took four years to build (fun fact bridge fans - it was built by Cleveland Bridge and Engineering Company from Darlington in the UK) and was completed in April 1959, three weeks ahead of schedule, and opened the following month. To mark the occasion, 106,000 walked across the new structure and I'm sure the irony wasn't wasted on some of the assembled crowd that this would be the last time that people could actually cross the bridge on foot.

Auckland Harbour Bridge under construction

Owing to the rapid expansion of suburbs on the North Shore and increasing traffic levels, it was soon necessary to increase capacity – by 1965, the annual use was about 10 million vehicles, three times the original forecast. In 1969, only ten years after opening, two-lane box girder clip-on sections were added to each side, doubling the number of lanes to eight. The sections were manufactured in Japan so, inevitably maybe, became known as the 'Nippon clip-ons'. And, surprise surprise, the cost of the adornments far exceeded the cost of building a bridge with enough capacity in the first place. Austerity ahoy indeed!

Fast forward to present day and the bridge now carries 180,000 vehicles per day, and it has to be said, not a single farm animal. To help with the management of the flow of traffic, a moveable concrete safety barrier has been installed to allow more lanes for the inbound morning traffic and similar for the evening return home. Two specially designed machines move the barrier by one lane four times a day. It was the first in the world and a true example of Kiwi ingenuity.

Unfortunately, the clip-ons have been plagued with problems. Several major rounds of repairs have been completed and in 2007 a report surfaced that noted "the clip-ons were at risk of catastrophic, immediate failure in circumstances such as a traffic jam trapping a large number of trucks."

A second crossing has been discussed but has remained on the drawing board for the time being.  With a design life of 50 years for the clip ons, time is indeed running out for the structure. 

This hasn't been helped any by recent antics. Last month, a rogue gust of wind (or rouge winds according to a report in a local paper - now that I would have loved to see!) caused a heavy goods vehicle to tip and crash into the bridge structure inflicting significant damage. The bridge was closed whilst inspections and testing were carried out and commuters asked to stay at home. Or get the ferry. Just like the old days. The lorry had collided with one of the supporting struts and had proper bent it (sorry for the engineering term there but I'm sure you get my drift). A replacement wasn't on hand so one had to be made. 

As I type, the bridge is still closed during the evening and traffic is limited during the day. Despite many working form home due to the Covid-19 restrictions, queues are huge and calls for the construction of a second crossing are getting louder. 

In all honesty, I'm not sure a second crossing is needed. At least not in the form that is currently being suggested. I'm not going to get into specifics but pumping more cars per hour into the city centre is not going to be good for the city. Or more importantly the people who live and work there. Instead of a knee-jerk reaction to give cars yet more space in our city, how about we plan and think about what we really want for Auckland of the future? Like what? Oh, I dunno. Maybe sort out the public transport connections and get a train service into the North Shore and allow people to cycle and walk across the bridge and we'll be sweet. Heck, maybe even allow a cow or two to cross. 

5am Tuesday morning

5am on a Tuesday morning and an audible reminder that New Zealand is back to normal. Almost.

Oh my word, why is the alarm set so early? In fact why is the alarm set at all? Our post-lockdown routine doesn’t demand such annoyances. Ah of course. I have a meeting in Wellington. Face-to-face was requested so that’s my day. Or two. Fly-in-fly-out was out. Or FIFO if you are into the whole brevity thing. A night away just adds to the joy. An unwelcome break in routine. I know it’s only a short trip but I judge the day by the place I rest my head at the end. Suddenly wish lockdown hadn’t ended so I wouldn’t have to do this. Feel guilty at that thought and blame tiredness.

Reluctantly I slip out of bed and head downstairs to the kettle and caffeine. I am a morning person, always have been, but remark to no-one in particular that this would be a whole lot easier in the summer. And if rain wasn’t lashing at the windows. Sure the days are now getting noticeably longer but there’s little evidence of this at 5:05am.

Doing my best not to disturb my partner - she wisely opted for relegation to the spare room - I make my coffee and head back upstairs to gather my thoughts. Having to travel by air is casting a dark shadow over my day. Haven’t done this for so many months. Haven’t missed it. Haven’t needed to. Welcome back to the modern business world. The convenience of air travel. Yeah, right. I’ll snap out of it. Or at least I hope I will. 

A warm shower eases my melancholy revelries a little. Warm water and a hot drink. Is that what keeps society going? Feel lucky. 

Dressed now and downstairs. Can’t face breakfast but I know that it’ll be a few hours before I’ll get another chance. Cereals. Fuel. That’s all. It’s 5:30am and a little closer to a more civilised time. Fleeting thought for those who have to work at night. The day-sleepers who’s nights are coloured headache grey. Like the taxi driver who is hopefully on their way to pick me up. Airport drive in sleepy silence no doubt. 

Work phone already airplane mode. Not looking at you mate until I land. You can wait. Whatever news your carrying can remain your secret. At least until it gets light anyway. 

Final check of the bag. Laptop. Wallet. Boarding pass. All present and correct. I know I put this all in there last night but I’ve slept since then so need to double check. Could’ve fallen out during the night. Maybe I dreamt the whole thing and didn’t actually pack this stuff. Best to check. I know I’ll check again before I leave the house. 

Grab a jacket from the chair and stuff it

in my bag. Wellington will be an overcoat colder than Auckland. Possibly two if the wind is blowing from the south. One will do. One is better than nothing. I’ve made that mistake before. Only an Aucklander would forget to take a coat to Wellington.

5:40am and my phone screen lights up. Taxis’s arrived. A little early but that’s okay. One less thing to have to think about. One less thing to go wrong: Plan for the worst and expect the best. Right, game face on. Door open and off we go. 

Dirty Politics

WARNING - This blog contains political views!

Still reading? Then I'll continue.

They say a week is long time in politics so if that's the case then the fortnight at the start of July must have seemed like an eternity for The National Party, the official opposition party in New Zealand. Quite how a political party could shoot itself in its own foot to such an extent that they nearly lost both legs is worthy of further investigation. Intrigued? Well let me explain.

Although the Covid-19 pandemic is still raging around the world but thankfully New Zealand, so far at least, appears to have it under control. Partly this is because we went into lockdown at a very early stage but also because we have strict border restrictions in place - to the extent that anyone arriving is placed in government assigned hotel and is required to remain there for two weeks. After which time, assuming that they test negative for the virus, they are allowed to leave and join the rest of the country. 

It's all gone rather well, much to the annoyance of the opposition party. With an election on the horizon, and facing a competent and popular Prime Minister, the only option available was to poke holes in the border controls. Pretty soon stories began to emerge about systems and procedures under strain, detainees being allowed to mix with general hotel residents and people allowed to wander out at their own will. The government's position wasn't helped when two women were given a compassionate exception to leave to visit a dying relative but someone forgot to test them before letting them travel across country. When tested later, one of them tested positive and revealed that they had lied about their condition to ensure that they would be allowed to leave. This irresponsible behaviour put the once firm-footed government on the back foot. The opposition and press were having a field day. There was even a case reported where a homeless person was able to join a queue and enjoyed a two weeks vacation in a quarantined hotel - all expenses paid. Good on him I say but it did cast doubt on the strength of the controls at our borders, even if we were talking about a handful of such cases in tens of thousands of arrivals. But the borders were clearly under pressure. Arrivals we doing what they we meant to and arriving and quarantine hotels in Auckland were reaching capacity. Time then for the rest of NZ to help out. Cue NIMBYism . How dare they put people in hotels in <insert name of city here> without consulting me? 

With tensions running high Hamish Walker, a National MP, noted "It's absolutely disgraceful that the community hasn't been consulted on this. These people are possibly heading for Dunedin, Invercargill and Queenstown from India, Pakistan and Korea". Quite what he thought to achieve by these racist comments is hard to fathom. Thankfully they were condemned from all quarters for what they were. 

National Party leader Todd Muller said: "I've spoken to Hamish, expressed my disappointment and I certainly don't condone what he has said". Todd Muller, I should note at this point, was the newly elected leader of the opposition and had been in post around 45 days at this point after successfully ousting the previous leader on the back of poor polling numbers. 

It's a good job then that Walker decided to clarify what he'd meant. "Calling me a racist is Labour's default tactic when they are unable to defend their blatant failures, this isn't about race it is about the countries these Kiwis are coming from," he said.

Well that clears that up. Not! And it wasn’t even accurate. According to a Reuters tally, US and Brazil have the highest number of Covid-19 cases followed by Russia, India and UK. But who needs accuracy when spreading racist misinformation.

The furore was just about dying down when the news came that the opposition party had been waiting for. Someone had leaked the names and addresses of the residents who had tested positive for the virus to the national media. This was not good news and no matter which way you looked at it, it cast doubt on the governments grasp of the controls at the borders. Our last line of defence against letting Covid-19 back into the general population seemed to be crumbling.

Muller said the breach was "quite staggering, it talks to a government that's slipping off the side of a cliff, in terms of managing this issue, the border, the information pertaining to it.”  He went on to say “If they can't manage personal information, bluntly, they can't manage the border and they can't manage the country." He wasn’t finished. Is it a deliberate leak or is it accidental? It doesn't really matter at a level ... it's loose, it's shabby and it's a reminder these guys can't manage important things well - they need to step aside and let a competent government take over."

Ouch! Can’t say that the government didn’t deserve it. It was a serious breach of security and only the professionalism of the press had stopped the details being published.

The National Party's spokesperson for health, Michael Woodhouse, waded in and said this was "yet another serious failing that showed the government was not capable of managing Covid-19. This is unconscionable and unacceptable that those suffering from the incredibly dangerous virus now have to suffer further with their private details being leaked," Woodhouse said in a statement.

The Government was taking this seriously, as well it should, so launched an official inquiry into the matter. Mike Heron QC was appointed and, under the State Sector Act 1988 and the Inquiries Act 2013, was given powers of the State Services Commissioner "That will give Mr Heron the power to, if necessary, require the production of documents, summons witnesses and question parties under oath," the Prime Minister noted. If found to be deliberate, criminal charges could follow.  Make no mistake, this was being taken very seriously and the government. It was not looking good for the Government. But something was about to change all that. Big time.

Just two days later, with the outrage still building in the media, Todd Muller revealed that he had been told by Walker that he was responsible for passing the private details of Covid-19 patients. Holy cow you couldn’t make his stuff up! After all that indignation, the National Party were behind the leaks in the first place. But why do it?

Walker admitted that he was extremely upset to be labelled "racist" after issuing a press release raising concerns about an influx of people arriving from India, Pakistan and Korea. So to prove he wasn’t, he sent on the list of names to the three main media outlets, under the promise of anonymity.  Two slight problems. Firstly, the media didn’t publish the names, or disclose the origins of the people on the list. Secondly, the information he sent to media did not prove that his initial press release was factual or not racially motivated.

The spectacular own goal was about to get a lot worse for the National Party. Shortly after Walker's statement coming clean, former National Party president Michelle Boag put out her own media release saying it was her who had passed on the information. And it didn't stop there. Shortly after, it transpired that Michael Woodhouse had also been sent the information but had done nothing about it, opting instead to criticise the Government for the not being able to handle sensitive information. The irony meters broke that day. Yes there was no doubt that dirty politics were back and in full swing.

Not surprisingly, Walker and Boag resigned from their posts immediately. The National Party leader Todd Muller soldiered on, answering questions about what he knew about the leak and, more importantly when he knew it. Had he known before the leak was made public? Why didn’t he notify the government as soon as he realised that sensitive information had been released to the media? It perhaps wasn’t a surprise when he folded under pressure during an interview and it became clear that he’d lied to cover up the other lies. Why did he lie about what he knew and when he knew it? Oh, it wasn’t a lie “I just wasn’t a clear as I perhaps could have been.” Well I don’t know about you, but I’m convinced.

The inevitable happened After just 53 days in the post as the National Party Leader, Muller resigned with immediate effect, stating "It has become clear to me that I am not the best person to be Leader of the Opposition and Leader of the New Zealand National Party at this critical time for New Zealand.”

I’ll stop there, that’s enough politics for one blog. There is more to tell, such as the return of Judith ‘Crusher’ Collins and a crash in polling numbers but I’ll leave you to seek that out yourselves. 

And the inquiry into the leak? The report was quietly issued at the end of July and concluded that the leak was "deliberate and politically motivated". Well that’s that then. Only time will tell if the National Party continue to operate their dirty politics campaign. You would hope that they have learnt their lesson and spend the next month on the run up to the General Election trying to win back the trust of the New Zealand electorate. History teaches us otherwise.