Tales from the Borderlands

I’m not sure if there is actually a world record for this, but if there isn’t, there sure should be. If only Norris McWhirter were alive. He’d know.

What am I talking about? I often think that myself, but on this occasion there might just be something in it. You see at the moment, with our borders tightly closed, although admittedly not as tight as some would like, New Zealand must hold the record for the world’s largest lock-in. But, rather than hunkering down in a dingy pub with the curtain closed and doors locked for fear of discovery, we have a whole country to run amok in. We just can’t get out.

That’s actually not strictly true but it’s as good as. We can leave, it’s just that on return we have to go to a Government managed facility and spend two weeks in quarantine. Maybe that’s not as bad as it sounds, but I’m sort of imagining Faulty Towers but with infectious clientele.  

But what’s the point? Where is there to go? With New Zealand being one of the few countries that has the virus under control, spending two weeks on holiday in a country that hasn’t doesn’t seem like the most relaxing of times. It's not as much fun as it should be sitting in a beach bar if you're worried about catching a potentially deadly disease. Even Australia, that was just a few weeks ago being touted as the country with the model response to Covid-19, is now back into lockdown, or at least part of it is. . Only last week Melbourne went back into lockdown. Over 5m people, just about the population of New Zealand, back into their homes. Having felt freedom my heart really does go out to them. But they've done it before and will do so again. It's only six weeks and the middle of winter. Crack open a bottle, put your feet up and watch telly.

Yes there are still those who clamour for our borders to be re-opened, suggesting clever solutions to a problem that doesn't need solving. Not yet anyway. It would be fantastic if we could come-and-go across the ditch as we please, or jet out to a Pacific island for some much needed sunshine and warmth but not if it means putting either ourselves or others in harm's way. 

When I was planning this blog yesterday - yes I know it's hard to believe but I do actually plan them (well a little bit anyway) - I was going to mention the opposition party's stance on the Covid-19 response. But, as they say, 24 hours is a long time in politics - or in the case of their departing leader Todd Muller 54 days. The hows and whys behind his departure less than three months after toppling the previous party leader is the subject of a whole blog so I'll leave it there. Maybe next time. 

I for one, and I’m sure there are many others, are happy with way things are at the moment. Borders closed except to those who have a legal right to be here and a mandatory quarantine in place. Sort of like a huge Jurassic Park but with less dinosaurs. Actually, I think a much better analogy is zombies. We’re all tucked up safe inside whilst the hoards of infected are banging on the window trying to get in. At least that's the way that the media and the opposition party are playing it. Pitting Kiwis against Kiwis. Stirring up fear and resentment when it really doesn't have a place here. Or at least they were until 07:30am this morning when their leader went and quit. Have I already mentioned that? I might have done but I think I got away with it.

Unfortunately not all zombies are content with room service and satellite TV. Some, and it is a very, very small proportion, decide to make a run for it and break out of quarantine like some half-arsed Steve McQueen. Except for them its a trip to the nearest supermarket to stock up on essentials and not escape from an evil and murderous regime that spurs them up and over. Or through. One person resorted to cutting a hole through a wire fence. He didn't get far - as far as the local Countdown supermarket where he was caught on CCTV buying toothpaste. Honestly, what is it with these people that personal hygiene is a more urgent than super-strength lager? The shame of it. If you're going to get caught 'on the lam' at least make it worthwhile. I hope they get to keep their ill gotten gains - if only for the benefit of their fellow detainees. Needless to say the press were outraged. How could this be allowed to happen? Wasn't somebody watching the perimeter. Where were the dogs? Well it's not a prison, the perimeter was fenced off until someone cut a hole in it and dogs would only find something more interesting to do. 

I don't really have that much sympathy for those being detained at a border facility. Firstly, the facilities are pretty nice hotels in Auckland, Christchurch and Rotorua. These are not barracks or hangers, which is where some other places I won't mention would put people, Secondly, all this is paid for by the Government...or us tax payers. Yes it's not great but please make the best of an awkward situation. Thirdly, these are the rules and the price of entry into a Covid-free country. You knew this before you arrived so suck it up buttercup. Fourthly, think about your fellow Kiwis. You're not doing this for your own benefit, but for those five million or so people who got us to this point. We all stuck at it, stayed home, didn't see relatives or friends for over two months and hardly touched a drop. Well not much of a drop anyway. All we are asking for in return is for you to stay inside for two weeks. Get your show gel delivered to the door if it's that important. And then fill your boots. Go to the pub, catch a movie, swim in the (very cold) sea, eat in a restaurant or shop in a mall. It's a small price to pay.

Right, time to valet park my high horse. There's a lot of news to catch up on - there is a blog to plan after all!

A Footballing Disaster

“You should get your eyes tested ref” was the oft quoted but rarely heard chant from the terraces. I can honestly say that in all of the years I’ve watched football I never heard that infamous insult shouted once. Sure I’d heard a lot worse, so bad that I won’t repeat it word for word, but let’s just say ithe comments questioned the validity of the person in charge's parental heritage. 

Not that I have seen a football match for some time. Watching European football is just not really practical from this side of the world and I haven't plucked up the resolve to go and see a live game here. I know I should but it just hasn't gotten high enough up my list of things to do - it’s hovering somewhere between going to see an opera and wild camping in the Waitakeres. Sounds great in theory but just not practical.

Maybe it's about time I come clean. You see I don't really care for football all that much. Not in real terms anyway. Whilst I don't mind watching the odd game or two, and can happily sit through every single game of the World Cup without a bother, if it doesn't involve my team then I'm not interested. Not really. And, and here's the kicker, if I haven't seen my team play for over six years are they really still my team? There was a time when I knew the ins and outs of each and every player in the squad, bedroom walls were adorned with team posters and coveted Panini sticker book albums were covered with autographs. Now I couldn't name a single person in the squad and I only know the name of the manager because the previous manager has just been sacked and replaced with a well known 'old-hand'. Being on the other side of the world, and half a day out of sync will do that for you. 

But they are still my team. The Boro result is still the first result I look for on a Sunday morning, even though I know it's going to cloud the rest of the weekend. Thankfully there's not as much of the weekend left as there used to be. Back in the day I had the slow trudge to the station and melancholic silence on the train back to Darlington to endure. No amount of Castle Eden Bitter can take the edge off a defeat on a Saturday afternoon I can tell you.

That isn't to say that it's all been bad. There has been some ups with the downs. Unless of course you are one of those fans that attaches themselves to a top team and declares their undying support, despite the closest they’ve ever been to the ground is a poster on their wall. To everyone else, the downs are only really there to give the ups some perspective. There's nothing quite like being in your home ground and watching your team score a late winning goal against a bitter rival, or witnessing two miraculous hard fought comebacks late at night in a European cup game. I would happily take every single drab defeat and goaless draw for just one of those electrifying games. Just as its great to experience the exhilaration of a 91st minute winning goal, it’s just as exciting and more nerve wracking to cling onto a one goal lead for the last twenty minutes of a game. Parking the proverbial bus as the opposition fires ball after ball in the your battered box. Time does seem to stop as each second slowly ticks away. "Five minutes added time!!! Where did that come from.....for fu....."

So what does all this ball-based reminiscing have to do with life in New Zealand? Well, on Friday I happened to have my eyes tested. Not for a future career path in refereeing but because I was about to change my prescription sunglasses. As I settled into the chair, surrounded by optical paraphernalia, the optician turned to me and asked "So where about in the UK are you from originally?". Even after is years away from the UK, and despite not have that strong an accent, it was still obvious that I wasn't a local. 

Now it is at this point, I am ashamed to say, that I normally say "Newcastle". I know horrific isn't it but I will quickly clarify before I’m ostracised from my home town. I say "Newcastle" not for any particular allegiance to the northern city but it's the nearest place I assume that any Kiwi stand a chance of having heard of. And at the end of the day, what's 30 miles when I'm 12,000 miles away. Plenty I know.

But today was different. I was feeling frisky. Maybe it was the sunshine, maybe it was the though that I was about to spend $900 on a pair of sunglasses or maybe I had a spring in my footballing step because we'd won mid-week. 

"Middlesbrough" I responded with pride..... shortly followed by "just south of Newcastle". Well better to be safe than sorry.

"Oh, I've heard of Middlesbrough!"

"Really?" I said somewhat surprised at the response of the optician before noting he must have family relations in the North East of England then adding, "You've heard of Middlesbrough?"

"Yeah, wasn't there a footballing disaster at Middlesbrough?" said the optician 

"No, I don't think so" I replied, a little surprised at the claim and half wondering if I'd been away so long that I'd forgotten a piece of footballing history. 

"Yeah, I'm sure of it - didn't the stand collapse or something?" he added.

The penny dropped. He was thinking about Hillsborough not Middlesbrough

"No, definitely no footballing disasters in Middlesbrough, unless you count what happens every other Saturday." I replied, chuffed by my sparkling wit and then adding, "You're thinking about Hillsborough!"

"Am I? Well if you say so, but I'm sure I'm right."

There was no deterring him so I left it at that. 

If you will excuse me a sentimental moment, that is the beauty of football. At the end of the day it's not the winning or losing that matters but the fact that it provides an anchor to a place and people, a connection to family and friends. Shared experiences, both good and bad. Excitement and boredom and every single emotion in between. And all usually within the same half.