Nervous? Me?

I don't consider myself to be a nervous flyer. Not at all. Far from it in fact. But here's the thing - landing in a plane into Queenstown brings out the scaredy-cat in me. Right out. Up front and centre you might say.

Now I totally understand that hundreds of aircraft make the landing every week without any problem. I can do the maths and appreciate that the odds of anything happening are slim. Logically they'd have to be or otherwise the authorities, the powers that be, wouldn't allow it. At least I hope they wouldn't. I'd hate to think that they'd take a 'She'll be right' attitude towards aviation standards and risk assessment. On the other hand....

The last time I came into Queenstown it was in an Airbus A320 which, it's has to be said, is not a small plane. And I know that there is plenty of room but diving down from above the mountains to land on a runway that is nestled deep in a valley in a huge airliner seems..... well....a tad optimistic.

There doesn't seem to be a lot of room for wiggle, if you know what I mean. And the mountains seem awfully close to those wings. Too close of comfort.

Well I now know I can top that. I've recently discover an even more exciting way to arrive into Queenstown. In a smaller airplane. The kind where you're practically sitting on the pilot's knee. A tiny twin-prop plane seems lost amongst the giant mountains and whether it passes through the thermals seems to be at the whim of the Gods. The increase in room to the nearest granite mountain wall is far outweighed by the fact that a slightest breeze can skew the little tin box sideways and an alarming rate. I know this to be true because I've got the fingernail scars to prove it. And if the woman who was sat next to me happens upon this blog then in sorry. I didn't meant to shriek and cause you to jump out of your skin. And although the runway seems perfectly large enough to accommodate the tiny craft, when you approach it sideways and at a rakish angle it seems less than certain that you'll hit it. Let's just say it was exciting.

Like I said, I'm not a nervous flyer but Queenstown sure does test me. I'm sure an airport geek can point me in the direction of dozens of more challenging spots to land a fast moving, jet powered human filled bullet. But I doubt it. To get over my fear of my nemesis I've done some background research. I figured if I knew more I'd worry less. It hasn't helped. But in the interests of sharing here they are;

The small planes can only land in clear conditions because they don't have any instruments to guide them. They rely wholly on visuals! I know! I'd assumed that all commercial aircraft had enough tackle to be able to land whatever the conditions. It does beg the question what would happen if fog or most descended in-flight. Then what? It's not as if the pilot can wind down the cockpit window and ask for directions or park up and get the map out. In an age when most mobile phones are equipped with GPS it doesn't seem too much to ask that aircraft are fitted with.... well..... something.

Fact number two. The airport only operates during hours of daylight. Yes, it closes. At night. Now, to be fair, I don't know whether it closes because it is too dangerous to land aircraft in anything but clear skies or whether the air traffic controllers don't like the dark. Either way it's an incredible fact. Maybe it should be renamed Queenstown International Daytime Airport.

Finally, I've learned today they Queenstown only has an airport because it was forced upon the town council. Apparently the New Zealand Government was looking for a site to put an airport in the region and had identified either Queenstown or Wanaka as the most appropriate places. Incredibly both places fought against their town being chosen. Yes against! So now Queenstown is the adventure capital of the South Island, attracts tourists from all over the country if not world, and Wanaka is it's sleepy, laid back cousin. Actually, on that score, Wanaka probably wins.

But, for all that it scares me, and scare me witless it does, it's worth it. The location of Queenstown is simply stunning. And it has been recently enhanced by the additional of some early winter snowfall. Admittedly the snow and lack of forward visibility made the take off this afternoon just a little more exciting than it needed to be. But that's ok. It's all good. And you know what? I think I'm getting used to landing in Queenstown. A few more trips like this and I'll be wholly desensitised. Bring it on I say. Now I just need an excuse to go back. Hhmm, let me see......

  

So by way of evidence I'll leave you with a view of Fox Glacier from the airplane. The airplane that safely landed and took off again without hitch.....

The One About a The Election

I was looking forward to writing this blog. I really was. I had it all planned out. I was going to start ruminating about how, with the dark mornings and nights, it was starting to feel really Christmassy. I was then going to say if it was getting near the festive period then it would soon be pantomime time. Except it wouldn't because it was the wrong time of year. I was then going to deliver my punchline - that there may be no real pantomime but the political antics on the other side of the globe would do very nice thank you.

Except I can't. Not a bit of it. I realised, or rather have come to realise over the course of the last few days, that this is serious. No laughing matter. The choice that the UK is about to make will have a profound impact for the next five years. One way or another. For better or worse.

Ironically I feel more engaged in this election than any other despite being out of the firing range. Each new headline was poured over, performances analysed, stats discussed and predictions made and remade. It was a lot like football. And with each passing day the excitement and anxiety have become palpable. And I'm not the only one. In our office alone there are many who share the same excitement. Some of them have been away from the UK for over ten years yet they understand the importance of this election. Strange.

What makes this one different is that I will be able to watch events unfold, courtesy of the BBC website of course, whilst I go about my Friday afternoon workload. I won't quite know the result before the majority of the UK but it's as good as. Rather than wake on Friday morning and face the facts, I'll see it unfold, declaration by declaration, seat by seat. It really is like watching a really important game of football. Except this result will affect millions. Yes, I know football is important, but even the famous Bill Shankly quote about it being more important than life itself isn't really true. Not in this case anyway.

By the time folks back home read this it may all be over. Polls will be closed and the damage will be done. Except we won't know it yet. In the digital age of instant gratification it is satisfying that there are some things that you still have to wait for. But it's going to be an agonising wait.

So I'll leave the pantomime jibe for another time. And anyway, there are enough political comedy moments here in NZ. This is, after all, the country with a Prime Minister whose recent hair-pulling antics are simply one in a long line of embarrassing moments. If you haven't heard about it just type "John Key hair pull" in to Google and relive the moment when the PM of NZ was exposed for being a serial hair puller. Astonishing. I'm not sure any of our political leaders would be quite a popular if they went around pulling the hair of waitresses in cafes. And, given the amount of exposure a bacon sandwich got, God knows what the visceral UK press would make of a PM who pulls hair. If only that was the only damage Cameron had done.

Anyway UK. Vote. Vote well. But above all vote. It matters. You've got ten minutes.

An Alarming Situation

You may think I am over reacting but I hate the smoke alarm in our bedroom. Yes, I know that in the modern world words like love, hate and awesome are over used and never in their correct context. Is it possible to love a particular song? Is a cup of coffee truly awesome? Do you really hate that dress? D'you see what I'm saying? But I really, really, really do hate the smoke alarm in our bedroom. And this is no ordinary, run-of-the-mill hate. Oh no. This is cold, calculating, focussed hatred and it's been building.....

I used to think that smoke alarms were our friends, quietly affixed above our heads, watching over us, scanning the air for anything that may cause us harm. What great allies. Buddies almost. Or at least that's what I thought until the one in our bedroom went rogue.

It all started a few nights ago when we were woken by an incessant bipping. 1:12am to be precise. As we regained our senses, and discounted the possibility that we had been invaded by a gang of digital clock radios, we realised that that it was the smoke alarm above our heads. It soon became obvious that staring at it was not going to make it stop. Neither was quietly swearing under our breaths. No, we were going to have to get up and physically tackle it to the ground. Or put a new battery in. If I'm being honest, I was all for the tacking to the ground scenario. After dragging the step ladders from the garage we realised the problem. It was out of reach. Even on the top step of the ladder, on tip toes and with arms outstretched we were not even close.

"Bip!" came the response.

Ok, if we couldn't reach it then maybe we could open the cover with a broom and knock the heart - sorry battery - out of the infernal thing. So back to the garage once more.

"Bip!" 

Yes, this would work! The combination of the step ladders, outstretched arm and broom was easily enough reach. Bam! With one thwack the cover easily popped open and exposed the enemies innards.

"Bip?" 

It was worried now - it knew we had it on the ropes. Now for the battery. Thwack! Missed. Thwack! Direct hit but the battery didn't budge. Thwack! Another clean shot but no good. The alarm had a firm grip on the battery. This wasn't going to work.

"Bip!"

The smug bastard.

"Bip!"

I began to wonder "Why is it that these things never go off during the day - when you're out at work for example? But oh no, it is always at night when you are in deep slumber and usually before a particularly busy day. But why now? Was it really the battery? Maybe it just wants some attention? Have we been neglecting it?" It was at that point I realised that I was tired and needed to sleep, badly.

"Bip!"

F*ck!

The only thing to do, at least at this ungodly hour, was to make a tactical retreat, grab some earplugs and go and sleep in the spare room.

"Bip!"..........

We awoke the next morning slightly tired from the ordeal but something was missing. What was it? No noise! "Ha!", I exclaimed, "It's tired itself out!. Well that's sorted that out". Relishing the peace and quiet we went about our morning ablutions; a nice shower, breakfast and a cup of tea.

"Bip!"

Oh no! 

"Bip!"

Good God.

"Bip!".

It was either my imagination, or a lack of sleep but the bipping seemed to be cheerier than ever. Like it was pleased to see us. There was nothing for it - we were going to have to get some larger ladders. Why oh why did we not think to pack our ladders. They would've been ideal. Perfect even. Except they were 12,000 miles away. Not so good. No, instead, when we return from work this evening we were going to have to traipse across town to buy some ladders. Smashing! That "Bip!" was "Bip!" the "Bip!" only "Bip!" thing "Bip!" for "Bip!" it.

It took a good three or four hours to get the bipping noise out of my head. It seemed like it was welded into my psyche. But eventually, by the time I was tucking into my lunch, everything was quiet. Mmmmmm.

Anticipating a trip to Mitre 10 (NZ's B&Q) I arrived home earlier than usual and slowly opened the front door. I wasn't relishing that bloody noise drilling its way back into my psyche. But all was quiet. Peaceful even. "Thank God for that", I thought to myself. The alarm was still where we left it; it's innards exposed for all to see but it was clearly dead. An ex-smoke alarm.

So cup of tea in hand, I made my way to the living room for some unexpected rest.....

"Bip!"

"Bip!"

"Bip!"

"I HATE YOU, YOUSTUPIDANNOYINGBADTARDSOFATHING!!!!"

I wasn't in the least bit happy. I was mocking me. Ladders it was then. Mitre 10 here we come......

Who knew there was so much choice when it came to climbing apparatus? I thought ladders came in two types; step and normal. There were small steps, ladders that extend, ladders that make a deck chair look like a simple piece of kit, ladders that can be bent into all manner of shapes and angles and ladders that promise to make your life complete. Time and patience was running out.

So, to cut a long story short, we are now proud owners of a Laddermaster W244-B. And what a wonderful piece of kit it is - mind at $244 it ought to be - very sturdy, safe and above all just perfect for bringing a ceiling mounted smoke alarm to within reach so we could smash it to smithereens with bare, anger fuelled hands, stamp on the remains and flush them down the loo. Except we didn't. No, instead we calmly replaced the battery, shut the cover, dismantled the ladders and had a bit of a tidy up. Safety first after all.

And besides, I wouldn't give the damn thing the satisfaction of watching us burn to death, half wondering if that wasn't its evil plan all along.

Second Chance

I don't give up easily. Well, OK, I do. Sometimes. But mostly I don't. Unless I have a good reason. And even then there are rules....well more like guidelines really.

Anyway after an attempt to climb Mount Karioi back in January ended in disappointment, the quite frankly unnatural feeling of having to turn back and the sight of life flashing before my eyes as I stumbled head first off the mountain, I just had to give it another go. It was on my hit list, so to speak. Unfinished business if you will. I may not have known when the opportunity would arise but I would be ready. Yes siree. And arise it did, I just never thought that it would be so soon. 

After a friend noted that she hadn't been to Raglan yet, it seemed appropriate that we head down there for the next 'Bank holiday'. Sure we could relax, take in the cafes and bars, meander in the nick-nak type shops and generally chill out.... but not before we ticked off Mount Karioi first.

This time it would be different. We were better prepared, had done more training, had a larger team and most importantly, we were going to take the easier route. Success was virtually guaranteed!

Confidence was so high that we eschewed the usual dawn departure, had a leisurely breakfast, read the papers and generally loafed around for an hour or so before heading towards the hill. It was a stunning day for a walk and the summit was cloud free. Was it really Autumn? If every hill deserves a second chance then this was the weather in which to give it.

Abandoning the car, we set off in search of the path. Rolling farmland pretty soon gave way to steep tree clad bush. And with it the temperatures rose. Well internally at least. Sweat was soon pouring as we gained height; slow metre by slow metre. The considered view is that the best way to climb a hill is one step at a time. Maybe, but when humidity is up in the 80s, a lift in a helicopter wouldn't go amiss.

Determined to grasp the second chance in both hands, or is that feet, we slowly made our way up the hill. A few root steps, a couple of clambers over rocks and a pair of ladders and we emerged at the summit - which handily had a concrete pad on which to sit and admire the view. What there was of it. Yup, Graeme's second law of hill climbing had taken effect. Just because it's a nice day when you leave the car, the odds are that when you get to the top...it won't be. It was still a stunning view - the cloud base making it very atmospheric, if you pardon the meteorological pun.

A nibble on a cheese and ham sandwich later, and we're were off back down. The weather window was clearly closing and the thought of having to negotiate a slippery, muddy slope was driving us down. That, and the fact that a very loud American had just appeared at the summit and was loudly telling us how peaceful it was. Hhhhmmm.

Thankfully the descent was not as tricky as we had feared on the way up and, one unscheduled use of a backside aside, we were soon back at the car.

As second chances go, it was very successful, enjoyable and, more importantly, didn't involve me slipping off a mountain head first into the bush. Which is win-win in my opinion!

Fast Women

I thought that title would get your attention. But it's relevant. Honest! Read on!

Running in a race in New Zealand is pretty much like anywhere else in the world. You enter online, train whilst you wait for the race pack to arrive, check its contents and then, all being well, turn up at the aloted time and run. Most of us mere mortals can only hope to complete the race or, with a fair wind and a bit of luck, nab a personal best. Or a PB as it's known in running circles. Actually running circles would be rubbish and a little monotonous. Not to mention hard on at least one of your legs. But you know what I mean. Anything other than the self satisfaction of a PB is fantasy. Sure one can hope to come first but that would rely on the rest of the field either forgetting to turn up or coming down with gastric flu. Not something I would wish on fellow runners. And can you imagine the mess? 

Well I need wonder no more. Due to my recent efforts in Auckland's annual 'Round The Bays' run, contested by over 20,000 individuals, I can now add the title of 'Fastest Woman in our Office' to my list of achievements. Impressive! Not only that but I was 27th in my age group of women aged between 40 and 49. My sporting career has peaked. 

Before you ask, it was a mistake on my application form. A simple one. When confronted with a box to tick, Male or Female, I got it wrong. Yes by accident! This wasn't a particularly challenging question and I'd like to think that, after years of experience in the field of being male, when presented with a 50/50 choice I would've got it right. But I didn't. And I didn't even notice my oversight when I got the email confirmation a few minutes later. And neither did the organisers. But I suppose amongst 20,000 other contestants the fact that a women entrant was called 'Graeme' would've been difficult to spot. And I suppose it was too much to expect, when a female entrant crossed the line in a reasonable time, that no one noticed she was a bald man with hairy legs.  

It wasn't, however, difficult for my work colleagues, and fellow entrants, who spotted the error within minutes of the results being published. I may have been only second fastest in the office - a fact that I attribute to being out on the pop until 2am - but I was the fastest woman. But only just. You can imagine the comments. "Is there something you're not telling us?", "So that's what you do on a weekend" and "Wouldn't you be more comfortable in a dress?". Ho-f'in'-ho. Anyway, giggles in the corridor aside, I thought that was then end of the matter. Yes it was quite amusing for a while but the world had moved on. Hadn't it? Apparently not. 

Every month the office has a meeting where we talk about recent successes, individuals who have excelled and, of course, those who have been right muppets. You can see where this is going can't you. This lowly award, the wooden spoon of the office world, has been named a 'Munter', the reason for which is more to do with making a fool of yourself than, according to the internet definition of the word, being an unattractive women. Which is ironic really because when I received the office 'Munter' award and the corresponding trophy for my notable run, it could be argued that I was both. 

So all in all, a hungover run around the Auckland coastline has been quite entertaining. And it's certainly made me check tick boxes on internet registration forms more closely. I won't be making that mistake again. Until next year that is. Well I have a record to keep. And besides there are all those men to beat...... 

http://fairfax.tiktok.biz/roundthebays/2015/00775

 

Mixed Messages

I'd like to think that, particularly over the course of the past eight months or so, that I have demonstrated that I am a flexible sort of chap. You know, adaptable, not phased by changes and definitely not a whinger. I'd like to think that anyhow.

And on the whole I've done rather well, taking things in my stride and just getting on with getting on. Yet here we are at the arse end of March and something is definitely up. Or down. Falling that is.

Yes it's March and the leaves are coming off the trees. Onto the ground. This, coupled with the fact that it's getting darker earlier and a little cooler, is frankly making my head hurt. March and April should be accompanied by re-growth and promises of all things summery. Instead my thoughts are turning to Christmas and my birthday. But they're not just around the corner like they usually are. Nor is Halloween or bonfire night. It's confusing. If I didn't remind myself on a regular basis I'd convince myself it was October not March.

I can't explain why I'm struggling so. It wasn't a problem in October. No the real one. Yes the thought of a spring birthday was a novelty but I didn't for a moment think it was autumn. Not once. So why was that? 

In comparison autumn is much harder to grasp as a concept. And what about midwinter in June. Yes I know. Odd. I've been grappling with this for over a week now and I finally have a theory. Well I would wouldn't I? It's this - I think Autumn really reminds me of home. The northern hemisphere. It's a part of the year that I really connect with and this is just like it. Except it's March. Oh and 20 degrees. But everything else points to it being Autumn. Which it is, but not in its usual calendar slot.

And as far as I know there's no way to square the circle or, to put it more succinctly, sort my head out.

So I've decided not to even bother. I'm going to go with the flow and let my head do what it wants. If it wants it to be October then I'm going to let it and live with the consequences. It's going to get messy. I can tell. For a start, I'm going to get funny looks in Halloween garb in May. It'll be worth it. And followed by pumpkin soup, bobbing for apples and trick or treat. Actually that might be a problem. 

This will shortly be followed by bonfire night in June. Sure I might get in trouble for setting fire to things in the local park but at least my head will stop hurting. Fireworks shouldn't be a problem though.

Yes that should do it. I'm going to celebrate the usual Autumn stuff. And while we're at it, I'll have another birthday thank you. A proper autumny one with dark skies, hopefully some drizzle and of course presents. The more the better, it is after all, for the good of my health.

The Waiting Game

Faced with the terrifying prospect of an 'empty' weekend, which just happened to coincide with the arrival of a cyclone, I suddenly realised that I had time to sit and do nothing, not only that, it was totally justified. Who on earth would want to go out with the rain lashing down and wind blowing a gale? Exactly. Time then to sit I front of the TV and play video games. And to mark this special occasion I decided to treat myself to a new game. Well there was certainly no way I was going to trek out to the shops to buy one, not unless I wanted to dress from head to toe in Gore-Tex and cling my way to the bus stop, stagger onto a bus, and then drag my sorry self to the nearest Warehouse. Nope. But this is modern life and there is absolutely no need to leave the comfort of the sofa. I'd simply download one. Easy-peasy.

So with a cup of tea in hand, still in my pyjamas, I selected the game Gran Turismo 6 and waited. 

"Hhhmmmm 15GB, this might take a little while', I mused to myself adding, "I should've started this earlier".

Not to worry, the day was yet young. I'd just potter about and in an hour or two the game would be ready and waiting. Still beats going outside. So after a very pleasant hour or two doing some filing I went back to the console in anticipation of taking a few laps around the Nürburgring. 

"10% complete! Is that all? Bleedin' hell this is going to take all day". 

Back to the filing, and then for good measure I balanced the home accounts.

"25% complete. Well now we're getting somewhere". 

To make sure that I maintained the maximum possible bandwidth, I went round the house and disconnected all the internet aware devices; computers, tablets, phones, radios and.......scales. I know. Don't ask. We were up to 50%. Yes getting there. I could almost smell the burning rubber and petrol. I've got to say at this point that I'm not a petrol head, in fact I couldn't be less bothered about motor racing if I tried and I'm one of the rare few it would seem who thinks Jeremy Clarkson is a total tool. But there is something about racing games. Maybe it's the simplicity; drive as fast as you can around a predetermined course, or the challenge of just you against the clock. Or maybe it's because they pander towards my pacifist leanings. Actually I suspect it's because I like the scenery but whatever the reason I've always liked them since the day I played Pitstop on the CBM64. Make no mistake, GT6 was going to be a stonker. Let's see where we are.....

"95% complete. Only three hours and nearly there....."

Why is it that the last 5% takes longer than the other 95? What is it with those bars that fill up as the download progresses. Are they elastic, exponential or just wrong. It seem to spend my entire adult life watching the bleeding things. Ironic I suppose. If I had a little bar over my head you could see it slowly fill up whilst I watched little bars fill up on the screen. And the more technically advanced, or reliant, we get the more and more we have to watch little bars fill up. I'm just waiting for the day when the humble toaster has a screen with a little bar that fills as the bread toasts, you just know it's going to happen......

"On my god, it's stuck on 99%!"

And then I started to get impatient. OK even more impatient.

"Has it crashed?". The sudden fear of dread filled my being. Maybe the console has frozen. Should I intervene? Maybe if I waggle the joypad? Nope. Press a button? No that was far too risky. What happens if it accidentally cancels the download? Would I have to start again?  "Just take some deep breaths Graeme and go and do something else to take your mind off it". So I did.

When I came back into the room, and hour or so later, it had finally finished downloading. "Thank god for that. Well it was a particularly large file..." I started to reason, buoyed by the fact that I was about to settle down for a good few hours of mindless racing. Just a quick install and then we'd be off. Just one more button press.....

"Installing", popped up, followed by "320 minutes remaining"

What? I frantically did some calculations in my head. 320 minutes is like over five hours. Five hours to install the game? What was it going to do - inspect every bit and byte? Surely it was some mistake. Ah yes! It'll soon realise the error and update the estimated time - I know computers seem clever but they can only count to 1. But the figure wasn't coming down other than by a second at a time. Five hours? That would be mostly the rest of the day. This was awful. It reminded my of computing way back when I would sit there and carefully type in code, one line at a time, from the back of a magazine only to find a syntax error somewhere in line1043. Then 2013 followed by 2087. Frustrated, I would enlist the help of my mother to carefully read each line whilst I checked my syntax. For errors. I was beginning to think that it might've been quicker to type this code in rather than wait. But I had no choice, I'd started so I was damned sure going to finish.

The installing took up the rest of the day and ate up the rest of my precious gaming time. "Ah well," I thought as I turned off the machine later that night, "at least I can have a go first thing in the morning," and turned in content at the thought.

Like an excited kid on Christmas Day, I leapt out of bed.... well as energetically as a forty-something can before his first coffee of the day, and headed up stairs to boot up the console. It was there! The shiny new GT6 logo! "I'll start the game and go and put the kettle on!" I thought, "I should get a few laps in before Sarah wakes up." The game burst into life....

"Installing update....5GB. Time remaining 4 hours"

Nnnnnnooooooooo! Modern gaming is rubbish. I willed the time to reduce more quickly but it was having none of it. This was worse than waiting for a game to load off cassette in the 1980s. At least then you had the loading screen to look forward to. Here there was just a black screen with a slowly moving line for entertainment. Is this progress? I think not. I huffed my way down to the kettle and stomped around whilst waiting for it to boil. Like my blood.

At this point I would like to apologise to the rest of New Zealand for clogging up the Internet all weekend. For those who couldn't chat with loved ones from around the world, order any online goods, book flights or simply catch up on world affairs I'm really sorry. The pipe was full of GT6 data. Was it worth it? I don't know but I'll let you know when it finishes, probably around Christmas.