A Raglan Story

As this is our sixth visit to the sleepy seaside town of Raglan it would be safe to assume that there is little more I can tell you about this place. Except there is. There is one more story that I haven’t yet told, not because it wasn’t interesting or charming, although I’ll let you be the judge of that in a moment, but because it didn’t have a proper ending. That was until very recently.......

We hadn’t been in New Zealand for very long, maybe five months or so, and we were going through a difficult patch. We had just had our first Christmas since arriving and work was particularly challenging. Never let anyone tell you that moving to a different country is going to be a breeze. It isn’t, and on more than one occasion you will find yourself questioning whether it was all worth it and wouldn't it be easier to jump on a plane and head back. This was one of those times and the pull of home was particularly strong. In short, we needed a break. Somewhere to get away from it all and just hang out. Be. We chose Raglan. 

I can’t recall now whether we actually chose Raglan or whether it was recommended to us. Either way we couldn’t have picked a better place to unwind and put things into perspective. The pace of life in the little coastal town never gets above 'relaxed' and with plenty of cafes, shops and bars to wander in and out of its a perfect place to put the stresses of city living into perspective. But I’m getting ahead of myself.....

As we normally walked to work, it was unusual for us to have the car with us but as we were heading off to Raglan at the end of the day it made sense to park in the office underground car park and try and get ahead of the evening traffic, rather than waste an hour walking home to collect the car. Being early risers, and one of the first into the office, was on this occasion an advantage as we had the pick of the office car parking spaces. 

As was typical when wanting to get away from the office as soon as possible on a Friday evening, the tasks built up and we spent the last few hours of the working week frantically try to wrap up, issue reports and send the final few emails. Eventually the last tasks were completed and we met in the reception before heading down in the lift to the car park.

“Have a great time you two,” said the office receptionist, “and have a safe journey. Enjoy Raglan!”

We were dead on our feet and desperately in need of some time away from Auckland. We'd done well to hide it but another hour in the office and I fear that it would've all come rushing to the surface. No matter, in a few hours we’d be holed up in a bar drinking beer, watching the sunset and putting the world to rights. Our world. It had gotten a bit out of whack and needed knocking back into shape.

The lift doors closed and as we started to descend to the car park we let out a sign of relief.

The car was parked at the far end of the car park and for once I had reversed into the parking space, not for safety reasons but because I’d decided that being able to drive straight out of the spot would save precious time and help us get to our destination that little bit quicker. Every second counted seemingly. I unlocked the car doors and climbed into the driver’s seat. Sarah, meanwhile, was faffing around on the outside and messing around with the passenger side door handle. My time-saving reversing manoeuvre was being wasted.

“What are you doing?” I mouthed from inside the car, “the door’s unlocked!”

What response I heard was muffled by the car windows and partially masked by the sound of the engine. All I made out was it was something to do with the car door handle. Maybe it was broken? Just as I was about to get out of the car, the passenger door opened and Sarah took her seat brandishing a brightly coloured gift bag.

"You could have just given this to me rather than tie it to the door handle, and there was no need to tie it so tightly!" she exclaimed before adding "but it's a lovely thought. Thank you."

“Err it’s not from me. What is it?”.

Well that was a mistake wasn't it! Any proper man would've taken the credit whether it was rightfully theirs or not. Although that would've been risky in this case as I had no idea what was inside the bag.

"Let's get going and I'll open it as we drive," Sarah suggested, keen to make some progress.

Typically for Auckland on a Friday night, the traffic was already getting heavy and our quick getaway  would only be as far as the motorway on ramp. It seemed that everyone else had the same idea. Ah well. As we crawled down State Highway 1 the bag was opened and the contents examined for a clue as to who could've left it tied to the car.

Inside was a box of Lindt chocolates and a gift card with "Relax, Enjoy & Have Fun" in brightly coloured letters. A lovely, thoughtful gift but no clues as to the intended recipient. The bag itself had a pattern with little bicycles on but no other marks or writing that might give some clue as to it's rightful owner. Even Columbo would struggle with this one.

We quickly came to the conclusion that, as we don't regularly drive to work and nobody knew we were driving on that particular day, that somebody must have mistakenly tied the gift to our car. It was, after all, a fairly popular model and colour.

"I feel really sorry for whoever went to this trouble," Sarah noted, "they are going to be so disappointed when they find out that their gesture has gone awry"

"I know," I said, "but it's going to be hard to find out who they were intended for. There's not even a name on the card."

"Well it must be someone from work," Sarah suggested, "because our car was parked in a staff parking spot."

I guess that kind of insight is what you get from years of reading detective novels. It hadn't crossed my mind. As we pondered how we could return the gift to it's rightful owner, the traffic got even heavier and we ground to a halt as the traffic from SH20 joined the masses trying to head south.

"Couldn't this lot have waited a little longer before heading south, " I said as I gestured to the queuing traffic that was trying to merge with ours, "I don't understand the logic of trying to merge four lanes into two. Auckland really needs some better transport planners!"

My frustration was no doubt enhanced by my grumbling stomach. We had no food in the car as we had foolishly decided to get some shopping in the local shops rather than the supermarket chains that litter Auckland's streets. Well no food except the Lindt chocolates of course. I glanced down at the gift bag at Sarah's feet....

"Don't even think about it," came the response, "they're not ours"

"Would it be wrong to have a couple of those chocolates?" I said mentioning my head towards the bag.

"I know but the owner isn't going to know that they were missing," I reasoned

"It's not right"

"It's not our fault they got the wrong car and besides with this traffic it's going to be hours before we get anything to eat. Just one each.....?"

It must've been a brilliant and well argued case because Sarah agreed, albeit reluctantly.

"Just the one though," she added, "no more. Just to take the edge off our hunger."

She carefully removed the cellophane wrapper and opened the top of the box. Just one each that was the deal. That will be enough.

They were delicious.

"You can say what you like about the Swiss but they certainly know how to make chocolates," I said as the sweet morsel slowly melted in my mouth.

"Thank you whoever you are," Sarah added, "and we're really sorry that we're eating your chocolates."

The traffic was starting to ease but we were still inside the Auckland boundary. At this rate of progress we wouldn't get to Raglan until around 7pm, about an hour later than we we'd planned. Naturally, the conversation turned to the evening meal.

"Pizza or somewhere more upmarket," I wondered aloud.

"Let's hope we can just get something to eat!" Sarah rightfully responded. She was right, we'd assumed that there would be a restaurant open. That didn't bear thinking about.

The traffic finally cleared and I slowly crept up our speed without going to far above the speed limit. A speeding fine would not be the best way to start our weekend out of the city.

"I'm sure they won't miss a couple more chocolates," I suggested.

"Of course they will - the box already looks a little empty and we've only had two!"

"We can explain what happened....Just say it was an emergency."

I'll admit that the logic was somewhat flawed. It's not as if, assuming we found the intended recipients of the gift, that we could hand over a part eaten box of chocolates.

"Oh, go on then. Just a couple more each."

I was inevitable I suppose but not before too long we'd eaten all of the chocolates and looked guiltily at the empty chocolate box.

"If we ever find out who they were intended for we'll just offer to buy a new box," Sarah said in an attempt to soothe our guilty consciousnesses.

"Agreed".

We finally left the motorway and as we wound down the back lanes of the Waikato District towards the coast we chatted about the week, work, family, friends and occasionally coming back to the gift that had been erroneously tied to the handle of our car door. Unbeknownst to the gift-giver, it had made our journey that little bit more pleasant and put us in a good frame of mind for the coming weekend.

Just before 7pm we passed the 'Welcome to Raglan' sign and a wave of relief came over us. We'd made it. As the main street of the town opened out before us. It was a wonderful sight. Palm trees ran down the central reservation and the street was lined with cosy shops and cafes. Tourists and residents mingled, either just strolling in the late evening sun or enjoying a beer or two on the hotel veranda. A visceral feeling of calm came over us and we knew there and then that we had found our home-away-from-home-away-from-home.

Needless to say we had a great time in Raglan, returning time and time again, and have retold the story about the gift bag to numerous people over the years. In each and every telling people have wondered how the gift came to be attached to our car and what the gift-giver must've thought  when they reaslised that that the gift hadn't been received. Assuming, of course, that they ever found out. Hopefully they haven't been stewing on the thought that the person they had given it to, or at least they thought they had given it to, was ungrateful for not thanking them or even mentioning it in passing.

And as for us? Well despite telling the story countless times over the intervening years, we were no nearer to finding out to whom the gift was intended. We pinned the card to our refrigerator door to remind us to do exactly that "Relax, Enjoy and Have Fun" and that was that. Or so we thought.

We were at a work social function nearly two years since the event and were telling the story once more. At this point we were no longer searching for the rightful owner of the gift but were telling it as an interesting anecdote. In amongst the audience on this occasion was the office administrator and as we got to the end of the story a wry smile spread across her face.

"IT WAS YOU!!" we exclaimed.

"It might have been," she replied coyly.

"But why us?" we asked

"Well, you both seemed to be stressed and really down and in need of cheering up so I thought it would help your weekend get off to a good start," she explained.

We were both speechless. What a wonderful, wonderful gesture. We had wondered over the years whether it was meant for us but had dismissed that because we thought that no-one would've known which car was and certainly not known where it was parked on that particular day. Besides, no-one had even come close to owning up despite the regular airing that that story had received.

For two years we had speculated, suggested and discounted and now we knew. We are still astounded at the gesture and it is a fantastic testament to the thoughtfulness and generosity of Kiwis. The card still takes pride of place on the refrigerator so when things get a little tough or stresful we just have to glance at the note and remember to relax, enjoy and have fun. Oh, and of course it's a reminder that there is no better taste than that of guilty chocolates!

Caught in a Trap

Admittedly there are worse places to be trapped. In fact I’m pretty sure that many would agree that a pub on a Friday night is probably the best place to get stuck. I’d also wager that to others there is little difference. I’m talking about those that, for all intent of purpose, give the impression that they are stuck there but chose to stay of their own free will. Well at least until the landlord starts to lock up and has to resort to throwing then out into the street because dripping hints like yawning and declaring ‘Gosh is that the time?’ had no effect.

We certainly didn’t fall into the later category, and whilst we can’t say we were held against our will there were certainly exceptional circumstances that lead to us drinking more that we should’ve and having to resort to a kebab for our evening meal. Like most misadventures, it all started so innocently....

Our usual pattern on a Friday night, or at least one that has certainly become a habit if we’re not jetting off somewhere, is that after work we will meet up and enjoy a few drinks whilst the stress of the week ebbs away and the weekend eases into view. This is usually followed by a movie, if there is anything worth seeing, or a slow walk home via the pizzeria. I’m sure you’ll agree that’s a pretty pleasant way to welcome in the weekend. 

This Friday, however things were nudged slightly off track by the fact that one of us had to work later than usual. Nothing spectacular but by enough time to make us change our routine and meet at the bar near our house rather than one further up the hill. A pretty innocuous change. Or at least we thought it was.

Unusually for a Friday, our local bar was particularly quite with just a few small groups of people enjoying a quiet and convivial drink. Maybe it was because it was the start of the school holidays or maybe the damp weather had put people off venturing outside. Either way the pub was quiet so we grabbed a couple of drinks and sat down at a corner table and chatted about the events of the day.

In fact we were so deep in conversation that we hadn’t noticed that what few people there were had finished their drinks and left. Just as I was about to remake once again on the quietness.....

“Hello there, we’re filling in for the usual band and this is the first time we’ve actually cleared a room before we’ve even started to play”, a voice boomed over the bar’s PA system and then added “In fact it’s the first time we’ve actually played to an empty room!”

Not wanting to upset any feelings, we realised that now was our chance to escape and grab a bite to eat. They obviously hadn’t seen us in the shadowed  corner table. We could just slope off and exit by the side door.....

“Nah, there’s a couple in the corner over there”,  said the bar man and just to reinforce his statement pointed straight at us.

“Phew, our honour is intact. Well there’s no point in sitting there, come up closer”, the lead singer said and motioned for us to sit at the table right in front of the band. 

“Crap!”, I said under my breath although a little too loud that I became worried that I may have been overheard.

Being British, we did what were were told and took our drinks and sat right in front of the band. 

“The last time this happened we got very, very drunk!”, Sarah cautioned. 

She was right. The last time this had happened we were in Thirsk and watching one part of the Wonder Stuff perform in a tiny venue. Our poison that night was red wine and the following day was a blur. This did not bode well. Determined that lightning wouldn’t strike twice, I regulated my imbidement.... just in case.

At this point I feel that I need to point out that our entertainment for the night was not new to us. Not at all. You see, they were regular performers in our other local where they play rock and jazz standards on a Sunday afternoon. We have been known to while away an hour or two, sat in the afternoon sunshine, sipping beer and listening to two talented musicians going through their repertoire. Usually with several dozen likeminded souls. 

Not this time, we were on our own and formed the entire audience, except for the two bar keepers, who busied themselves presumably for the surge in patronage which showed little sign of showing up. Of course we weren’t physically held there but every atom in our British being screamed STAY WHERE YOU ARE! The last thing we wanted to do was to hurt the feelings of strangers by getting up and leaving. That could only be interpreted as us not liking their musical skills or thinking that they were poor examples of the human race. At least this how our British upbringing would’ve interpreted the situation. So there we were. Stuck. The force of British etiquette kept us welded to our seats. Nothing, short of an earthquake, would make us get up and leave now. And even then it would have to beer a pretty strong shake. At least we were entertained as the songs flowed from the musicians and the beer from the bar taps. 

“What kind of music do you like, any requests?” the singer asked. Not wanting to push the boundaries of audience participation too far we suggested they were on the right track and kept listening. And drinking. Well it was hard not to as rock and blues standards, skilfully played, followed one another as the captivated captive audience sat spellbound. Well we were either spellbound or simply too afraid to move for fear of the singer asking “and just where do you think you’re going?”.

Speaking of the singer, he was clearly enjoying himself as beer followed beer and his inter-song dialogue got ruder and swearier as the night wore on, probably sharing more personal facts than he would have otherwise liked. Judging by the expression on the guitarists face this was not an unusual condition for his partner to be in and he was actually surprise that he was still sat on his stool.

“Right folks, we’re going to take a short break and we’ll be back with the second part of the set.”

Now was our chance. The singer had popped out for a cigarette and the guitarist was at the bar. It was make or break time so we gulped down the last of our beers and......

“Hi guys, thanks for listening to us,” the guitarist said, plonking his beer down at the table before unnecessarily adding, “it’s quieter in here than we would like”. Drat. Oh, well might as well buy another beer then.....

After a short conversation the signer returned to the room and once again they sat at their stools and picked up where they left off with a storming cover of “Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright”. Thankfully, as the second set played out, the room finally started to fill as people people braved the wet weather and bought drinks. A couple even sat at our table making us less like rabbits-caught-in-headlights and more like willing audience members.

We could have left there and then but what the heck, we were dry, sat at a table, being entertained by talented musicians whose musical tastes were not a million miles from ours and the bar was almost at arms length from where we sat. Besides, we were already on the tipsy side of drunk so getting up and leaving now wasn’t going to change that.

As the band launched into another song, a Rolling Stones classic,  we bought another beer.

“You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes you just might find you get what you need....”

Indeed. Couldn’t have put it better myself......