Fifteen Minutes

Was it Andy Warhol or Kirsty MacColl who said something poignant about fame? No, I can't remember either. It's surprising how easy it is to get those two mixed up.

Anyway, whatever it was, I rather suspect that my fifteen minutes has been and gone. Did I enjoy it? Well it was a nice surprise - a bit like putting on a coat you haven't worn for a while and finding a lolly in the pocket. Unsucked obviously.

What am I talking about? Well, unbeknownst to me, the Rotorua Half Marathon organisers had chosen to use a photograph of me from last year's race as the promotional picture for the 2016 event. I know - mad.

I first became aware when Sarah showed me her Facebook feed and there I was, beaming from ear to ear in my bright orange Stirling Sport Half Marathon vest (it's really comfortable - honest!) . I first assumed that there was some clever algorithm at play - one that chooses the promotional picture of a Facebook friend to encourage other to enter. Pondering on this theory on the way to work, I'd decided that it would be far too difficult to achieve. How did they link the participants race number to a Facebook account? There are some clever programmers out there, and social media is creeping into every facet of life, but surely this would be too large a step?

The answer came within a few minutes of arriving at my desk when a colleague piped up "How are you on my Facebook feed?," before adding, "It is you isn't it?". And with a quick flick of his wrist, I was face-to-face with my image once again. So it was true then, I was an internet sensation. Who'd have thought it. At my age!

Comments generally fell into one of four categories;

1/. Did you do this yourself? 

2/. Did you enter a competition?

3/. How much did you pay?

4/. Oh, I didn't know you'd won the race!

I don't know whether I should be offended that people thought I'd take the time to mock up a fake advert, or that I'd be so vain to enter a competition to have my image used for advertising material. And the fact that I'd pay for it was quite frankly ludicrous - obviously they don't know that I have Yorkshire heritage. I do, however, quite like the thought that they thought I would be good enough to win the race. Maybe one day?

As far as the photograph goes, I remember it well. I had recently reached the highest point on the course and was running back through the Redwoods - a stunning spot and definitely worth a visit - and although there was still nearly 10k to go, it was pretty much all downhill from here. I was riding a wave of euphoria, or maybe exhaustion, when I saw the photographer and out went the arms. 

It's a great shot, if I do say so myself, especially when most of the other pictures taken of me whilst running make me look as if I've lost control of my limbs, whilst simultaneously taking part in a gurning competition.

My only regret with this brush with fame is that, had I known, I might have made a bit more of an effort. Chosen smarter running gear, had a quick refresh around the corner or done something with my hair?  Okay, maybe not the last one, but certainly a less orangey top wouldn't have gone amiss!

A Virtual Breakdown

You know you're have gone too far when the reason you can't get 'out' on your bike is because the server is down. If even typing that sounds ridiculous, then the truth is even more so.

Of course I don't blame myself, but instead direct my ire at the careless drivers of Auckland. With the days at their shortest, and the city plunging into darkness at 5:30pm, two options face the slightly-keen cyclist. Either get lights and run the risk of being mowed down or retreat to somewhere safe. Not wanting to do battle with traffic - God knows I've witnessed enough near-misses in daylight to know that cycling at night is only asking for trouble - this year I've decided to invest in a bit of technology and retreat to the safety of the garage. And why not? It's well lit, dry and devoid of nutters in steel boxes. 

So with a bit of faffing around..... Okay a LOT of faffing around.... I was all set and ready to take the plunge into the world of virtual cycling. With the training gizmo wirelessly linked to a laptop I would feel every undulation and hill of a virtual course. Want to take a trip down Langdale Valley in Cumbria? No problem, just search for a suitable route and hop on. How about Lauterbrunnen in Switzlerland or test your legs against an alpine climb? Easy. And all while you watch a rendered virtual world, or if someone has taken the time to video the route, a helmet camera view. And it doesn't end there. Want stats? You got 'em. The laptop screen is full of them; heart rate, rpm, speed, slope, distance elapsed. And, yes there's more, if you're finding this virtual world a little lonely you can hook up with other riders and enjoy the virtual company of another cyclist whilst you tour the back roads of France. But without the smell and the endless talk about gear ratios.

Or at least that's the theory. Initially it was more head scratching than pedal turning. 

"Why won't the training unit recognise the laptop? It's there - right in front of you for goodness sake!"

"What do you mean there's no wireless network? Of course there is! Look my phone's found it so why can't you?"

"Shite, the battery's died on the laptop!"

"Bollocks, the power lead won't reach the power socket!"

After a lost hour of training, I was underway and off around Central Park in New York for my maiden journey.

"Bloody hell I'm too hot. Why am I sweating so much Oh, hang on a minute! I don't need to wear this helmet! Idiot! Right where was I? Blimey, this is hard work. Oh, here comes a hill......"

It was a revelation, and even if the wifi signal in the garage wasn't quite strong enough to get the helmet-cam movies to steam properly, it was a vast improvement over staring at a wall and definitely better than inspecting the underside of a truck. 

That lunchtime at work, I found myself browsing the available routes with the glee of a child in a sweet shop who has been given their parents' credit card, furiously saving them to my favourites. I had become a virtual tourist and tonight I had opted for a quick spin through Colorado before heading to my old stomping ground in Darlington. It was going to be great.

Thankfully my meetings all ended on time and I set off towards home, the Rockies and County Durham, even catching the bus to get there more quickly - the irony of which was lost on me in my haste to start cycling. 

Within minutes of arriving home, I was changed and setup ready to go......

'The server is offline whilst we undertake some important maintenance. Back soon'

"Nnnnooooooooooo".

I waited. Five, ten, fifteen minutes but still nothing. I was dressed up but with no party to go to. Virtually stood up. What were they doing? Twenty minutes and still nothing. It was getting lonely sat in the garage. And cold. The server eventually came back on line an hour later but by this point I'd lost the motivation. The Rockies would have to wait. I can say with absolute certainty that this was the first time that I have not been able to ride because of a server failure. I can also say with equal certainty that it won't be the last. I guess one of the perils of being at the forefront of the time zones, is that server maintenance is going to happen, more often than not, during our waking hours.

Well it's a small price to pay I suppose. I have been back in the saddle since the breakdown and, whilst I can't say I've enjoyed every minute of it, it certainly helps fend off the boredom and helps keep things a little interesting. In fact, other than the real thing, it's almost realistic. The only thing missing is the opportunity to stop at a cafe for some cake and tea. But that could be arranged. I wonder if Sarah would oblige? I'll have to ask.....but then again maybe I do fancy my chances against a truck after all?

Best laid plans

I like to think that I am good at planning things. It is, after all, my job. And there is plenty of empirical evidence, you know actual hard facts, to back up this rather boastful claim.

There are, for example, countless examples of trips away with mates where I have come up with the idea in the first place, sorted out travel arrangements and practically packed people's bags for them. Yes, there was that incident where, having done all of the above, I forgot to take my wallet. But I like to consider that as an isolated incident and besides, it could've been a lot worse. At least we were only in Oslo and not the Amazon. Not a that a credit card would've been much use in deep jungle but there are McDonald's everywhere. Right?

So planning is my thing. Or at least I thought it was until today.....

It was an easy enough mistake to make. Being Sunday, the day most runners go for their long run, we'd arranged to meet a friend at a nearby station. In fact the station closest to their house and only a short twenty minute journey for us. From there we were going to do a gentle 18km run around Onehunga ending back up at the station. Simple.

The train was slightly late, but only a couple of minutes or so, so I was still convinced we would be there first. Let's say promptness is not on everyone's priority list. As the train pulled into the station I saw that my predictions were correct. No friend. It was then I realised my mistake. I didn't specify where in the station and this particular one had two separate platforms. Doh! Never mind we'd just check them both out....

Empty. Both of them. "Typical," I thought to myself, "I'd better check my phone to make sure she'd not backed out and decided to have a lie in."

But no new messages. "Hhmmm," I pondered, "I'd better check the original message to make sure it was 9am...."

"Oh!," I quietly exclaimed before promptly going quiet.

"What is it? Is she ok?"

"Errr she's fine, she's just at different station...," I replied, my voice trailing off.

"Well how's that happened?" came the response. 

Before I explain, it's was an easy mistake to make. Especially when you consider that, before selecting this route, I had a number of different options and permutations in my head. When you look at it that way, I'm surprised I only got it a bit wrong...

You see, and I'm sure she will see the funny side of it eventually, I simply got Penrose mixed up with Panmure. I know, virtually identical aren't they! Both start and end with the same letter. And hey, they even both have an 'n' in there as well. It must happen all the time! It's just a shame that Penrose, where we were supposed to meet, happened to be a five minute walk from her house and Panmure was a good 5 miles away. As the crow flies.

No matter, this could be fixed. I was a project manager after all. After a quick call and email to let her know we were fine and not to worry, we jumped on the next train and headed up the line to where we could catch a connecting train. We'd be there in no time. Yup, a quick change in Westfield, hopefully with time to grab a coffee or light snack, and we'd soon be at our new alternative destination. 

Unfortunately Westfield station didn't quite have the facilities we were hoping for. No cafe, not even a snack machine. In fact whilst we're on it, no seats, shelter or toilets. It was so basic I was actually surprised that there was a platform and that trains actually stopped in preference to getting you to alight by jumping for your life. Westfield, and I'm being generous here, was nothing more than an afterthought of a station in the middle of an industrial estate. For those who have had the pleasure of travelling with Northern Rail, think Allens West but without the character.

At least we wouldn't have long to wait.... 

But we would. This was New Zealand on a Sunday. The next train was not for another 45 minutes. There was nothing for it. We'd have to call a taxi. At this point our concern for our stranded friend had waned and we were more than a little concerned for our safety. Not from physical violence, you understand, but from being flattened by one of the many heavy goods vehicles that were scooting around, seemingly oblivious to two oddly underdressed people loitering on the street corner.

Our concern for our own wellbeing was heightened further when the taxi dispatcher stated she hadn't heard of such a station adding, "Are you sure - is there a platform?" After finally establishing that I wasn't deranged or sending them on a wild goose chase for the hell of it, a taxi was duly dispatched and it would be there "Within five minutes". Predictably, the taxi arrived just as the train pulled into the station. 

Another running route was hastily arranged en-route, along with a dozen or so grovelling apologies and mental note of the nearest accident and emergency centre just in case I needed to get a Garmin watch surgically removed. But being such a nice person I wasn't greeted with a barrage of expletives but with apologies; for not realising I was an idiot and for not suggesting I'd got the stations mixed up. I know, remarkable.  

"I did think it was a bit random!," she said before adding, "It's not the easiest place to get to."

I was about to comment that at least she had a shelter for her hour wait but thought better of it. I was quite attached to my Garmin watch after all.

Fortunately the new route was a success and although not half as convenient as the original, once we'd left the busy highway, we were treated to a serene run along Half Moon Bay. Plus an opportunity to nick some lemons and oranges from an abandoned tree. Or at least it looked like it was. Honest. Victory was definitely snatched from the jaws of defeat.

I'll let you decide the moral of the story; whether it's don't accept instructions blindly, always have an exit strategy or all blokes are idiots - even those who seem to know what they're doing. I'm sure you'll have an opinion, although I rather think it'll be the latter.

Numb

I'd forgotten, I really had. But more fool me because the signs were there but I chose to ignore them.

It really should have hit home when we set off from Raglan, the air was cool and the car windows were covered in condensation. But no, I was still oblivious to the fact that the clothing I was wearing was wholly unsuited to the climatic conditions. We continued our journey inland, climbing over the hills to the east of Raglan and started our descent into the mist-bound Waikato bowl, as it often is early in the morning. The mist blanketed fields and forests were stunning to look at, like something out of a Hans Christian Anderson fairy tale. Stunningly beautiful but stunningly cold. 

It took a dashboard light to make me finally make the connection, but it was a slow realisation. At first I thought that there was a mechanical fault with the car. I'd never seen this warning symbol before and with most of the surrounding text in Japanese it was far too difficult to decipher. And besides, I hadn't had my morning coffee so was not up to logical thought or technical analysis of the car's dashboard. But there in the middle was a digital, pixelated ice crystal. If that wasn't clear enough then besides the flashing display there was a zero. Yes, the temperature outside was officially freezing. Could it be right? Surely it isn't that cold.....

Thirty minutes later I found out the hard way and realised the true nature of my mistake. I was about 500m into a 5km run and I could no longer feel my nose, fingers and my toes were a distance memory.   I definitely hadn't run in anything like this cold for over two years and I'd forgotten how much it hurts - each icy breath I took was a painful reminder that I'd gotten far too complacent. 

As the route turned the corner and crossed the edge of the lake on a boardwalk, the cold foggy air enveloped my legs and I suddenly felt under-dressed and a little bit exposed. I even had to glance down to make sure I'd put my shorts back on after a visit to the loo shortly before the run began. "I was in a rush, after all, I thought to myself. Maybe the cold had fuddled my brain....". I began to reason that someone surely would've told me if I hadn't....and then stopped. This was New Zealand and, sure it would've been seen as a little odd but she'll be right. Thankfully I hadn't made a clothing faux pas and I was wearing shorts. Not that it felt like it mind.

It took another two kilometres before I started to feel comfortable and suitably warmed up. The air was still cold but the sun had finally burnt through the fog and was starting to warm everything up. I was reminded of a conversation with a tour guide on Waiheke who claimed "I'd die if a snow flake fell on me" and started to understand his point of view. It wasn't snowing, that would be a cataclysmic event, but it was by far the coldest I have experienced for a long time. 

The weird thing was that I missed it. For a little bit anyway. I guess it's easy to miss something painful when you know it's only fleeting. I knew that, once the sun had got its arse into gear, the temperature in the afternoon would be back into double digits and I'd be on the beach in shorts and a t-shirt.

I have resolved to not be so complacent in the future, take notice of the weather before setting out and put some gloves in the glove box of the car, that's what it's for right? A perfect place you might say. Right next to the sun screen and mosquito spray. 

Way out West

It's easy to forget, when you live in the middle of a cosmopolitan city like Auckland, that nature is still alive and kicking and just waiting to reclaim what was once theirs. And if there was any doubt one only has to take a look at the Waitakeres.

Only a short twenty minute drive from downtown Auckland is one of the most pristine, and in some instances impenetrable, native bush in the North Island. It's practically on the doorstep of over 1.4 million people and yet I wonder how few have actually been there. If we were anything to go by, not many - we've been here nearly two years and have only ventured 'out west' a couple of times. Which is the equivalent of living in Darlington and not bothering your backside to go to the Cleveland Hills. 

We have a good reason though. On the couple of occasions we have headed out to the Waitakeres for a walk, sorry tramp, we have been frustrated by the lack of progress. It's easy to forget that, unlike the Cleveland Hills or many of the moors in the UK, the New Zealand bush is dense and largely untouched*. 

With running off the cards due to injury, temporarily at least, and the late arrival of winter we found ourselves with a free Sunday so we packed our boots, some sandwiches and slice of Lamington and headed up State Highway 16. It's really surprising because it's only in the last 10km of the journey that the concrete jungle gives was to real jungle.... well bush... but you get what I mean. Even an occasional house to remind you that you're still in the Auckland boundary it's hard to shake the feeling that you are leaving civilisation.

Actually on that point, there are some folk that refuse to accept that Waitakere is now part of the Auckland Super City, which was created over five years ago by the amalgamation of seven distinct cities, or more accurately suburbs. Actually it might have been five. I forget. Anyway it was all very controversial and problems, or 'legacy-issues' are rumbling on even to this day. But whether the Waitakere Ranges, or 'The Waitaks' as some locals would have you believe it should be called, are in Auckland or not, they are definitely distinct.

Created some 20 million or so years ago from volcanic eruptions, the bush-clad Waitakere Ranges are a sight to behold. Steep sided hills, narrow valleys, rushing rivers and impressive black-sand beaches are squeezed into a 25km strip running down the western coast of the Auckland region. In some cases, where 300m tall cliffs plunge into the Tasman Sea, it gives the impression that whoever was left in charge of designing these hills simply ran out of space exclaiming "Ahh bugger it!" and heading off for a well earned weekend break.

What ever the reason, the terrain makes the area very difficult to traverse. Thankfully there are hundreds of walking tracks scattered around the ranges meaning you are never spilt for choice. And if you decide that you've seen 'me all, you leave the path at your peril. Although you're technically only 25km from Auckland, once you leave the track and head off into the dense forest you're on your own mate!

We had not such intentions and steadfastly stuck to the way marked 'Montana Heritage Trail'. Boring it may be, but at least we were guaranteed to turn up for work on Monday morning. Anyway, the trail had  treasures to reveal, such as wonderful bird song, huge ferns, occasional glimpses of the sea in the distance and the majestic Kauris. For the uninitiated, Kauris are massive trees. No scratch that, humongous trees, that grow nearly perfectly vertical and have trunks the size of something that's very big indeed, some of which have been standing for over 1000 years. There would've been a lot more were it not for the intervention of humans who immediately recognised their use for superb building material, and the devastating Kauri Die-back disease that threatens these forest giants. And the fear of spreading the disease is why there are disinfectant stations at entry/exit points and boardwalks to prevent contact with the tree roots. It might seem like a bit of a faff but who would want to be responsible for destroying a tree that has stood for millennia. No, not me either.

As was usual for a walk in the Waitakeres, an advertised 8km tramp soon became 9km and the digits on the GPS unit were nudging 10km by the time we got back to the car; the sandwiches had long since been eaten and the Lamington was but a distant memory.

It was a worthwhile diversion from running and served to remind us why we came to New Zealand. Work is work but the Waitakeres are something else.

 

* you can insert your own joke about virgin bush here but I wouldn't dream of stooping to such low levels

Parkrun

One of the first tasks when we arrived in New Zealand, other then to buy a bumper tub of sun block, was to find somewhere to live. And that was no mean task and the subject of a whole different blog. It would be wrong to suggest that it was a prime consideration, but it wasn't entirely a coincidence that we ended up living a short distance from the local parkrun event. And now, because a new venue started up, we are fortunate enough to be within running distance of two events.

For the unaware, parkrun is simply a phenomenon, and a simple one at that. Just register online, print off your bar code and you can take part in weekly free 5km runs around the world. Not at the same time obviously, that would be well impressive, but take you pick and get out there. The fantastic thing is that all sorts of people take part, from the ultra-fit to those who are pulling on a pair of running shoes for the first time. All are welcome and all are cheered on.

Each event is free and entirely manned by volunteers and without them parkrun simply wouldn't exist.  That's why every regular parkrunner is encouraged to volunteer three times a year. Encouraged but not enforced. Which is why I'm ashamed to admit that I've been in NZ for nearly two years (yes it really is that long!) and haven't once volunteered. Well that wrong will be put right today as I head off soon to Western Springs to man the bar code bucket. Incidentally, Western Springs must be one of the strangest locations for a parkrun. It's next to Auckland Zoo and it's quite unnerving to be running and hear the occasional toot from an elephant or roar of a sleepy lion.

The whole thing feels like an extended family and it's great to be part of a local community that meets up and just runs, jogs, walks or pushes a pram around a 5km course.

Which is why I find the recent news from the UK about the Little Stoke parkrun very disappointing, where the local council has decided to charge runners for using the park. As a free to all event, the organisers had no choice but to pull out.

Perhaps equally disappointing, however, are the negative comments I social media from non-parkrunners. The arguments go something like this;

"Why shouldn't parkrunners pay? - they are causing additional wear and tear to the park."

"They are clogging up my park on a Saturday morning and spoiling it for everyone else."

"If other groups, such as local football teams have to pay then why not them?"

"Running is an obnoxious elitist sport and those who take part are fools."

"It's like a cult. They've been brainwashed."

"Why do they need to run together? They're like a herd of Lycra-clad elephants."

That last comment is a particular favourite as it came from the mouth of Giles Coren who, and I had to look this up, is the restaurant critic from The Times. Well that explains that. I like food as much as the next person but being paid to write critiques about food must be one of the most pointless and soulless jobs in the world. No wonder he's bitter. I'd like to see Mr Coren run today and see how he does against local legend JJ who will finish no doubt in just over 15 minutes. If he's taking it easy that is.

I have taken part in parkruns in the UK, Australia and New Zealand and in fields of runners from 30 to 300 and have never witnessed any the behaviours or attitudes stated above. But let's take a look at each point in turn....

Firstly, I admit that I am a couple of kilos heavier than I should be. I blame the Sauvignon Blanc, but even with this extra weight I very much doubt that my running shoes are going to cause any additional wear on the park's paths. In fact the opposite. I have to replace my shoes every 400km or thereabouts, so shouldn't I be sending my bill to the council? And even when parts of the course are on grass, the last time I checked it grows back.

As far as clogging up the park goes, it is total nonsense. Parkruns start at 9am in the UK (or 8am in NZ and Oz whilst it's cool) and the whole thing is done and dusted within an hour. Most people wouldn't even know we'd been there as we are long gone before other park users are still swallowing the last remnants of their breakfast toast.

So why shouldn't parkrun pay to use the park like everyone else? This is perhaps the thorniest of the issues as other users, football teams being the most often quoted example, are sometimes charged. Firstly, running is a low cost exercise and doesn't need much in the way of additional equipment. In fact none. Maybe the use of the loo before, after, and in my case during the run. That was a close call I can tell you and a parkrun that I'm not going to forget in a hurry. I wasn't so much pacing myself based upon time but how many steps I had before I could relieve myself. I'm not shitting you. Unlike... let's not go there. But we all pay our taxes, and taxes go towards the provision and upkeep of facilities and services. Like parks for example. So rather than ask why shouldn't parkrun pay to use the park, shouldn't the question be why should anyone pay to use the park? It's been paid for once so why again? If we start charging for runners then why not dog walkers for emptying the dog bins, families for the use of the toilets, picnic benches and litter bins, and pensioners for the use of the benches. Heck, let's just privatise the lot and charge an entrance fee.

Running couldn't be further from an elitist sport. Yes there are elite athletes but how many sports are there where it is quite usual for 'ordinary joes' to line up along side the world's best? Just enter one of the larger events and there is a good chance that you will be running with, if not alongside, the likes of Mo Farah. It's the equivalent of going to the local park and having a kick about with Lionel Messi. Elitist? I think not.

Now the next point, I have some sympathy with. For the outsider looking in, it must look at little strange. How else would you explain the fact that it's freezing, dark and lashing with rain yet there are still runners pounding the streets. Very odd behaviour. And parkrun has their fair share of obsessives - those who would rather risk injury than miss a parkrun. Yes I'm looking at you Mr Hickey at 188 runs and rising! I have to admit, however, that it's not unusual for me to arrange holidays to coincide with being at a new parkrun venue on a Saturday morning. Yes us running types are obsessives, but cult-ish? 'Yeah, nah' as they say in NZ

Finally, running can be down either solo or in a group. And that's the beauty of it. I'm as happy running in a group and having a chat than I am running solo. Running solo, without the distraction of music, is great therapy and an opportunity to clear you mind, marshal your thoughts and put your life in order. Hhmm, maybe that explains why my runs are getting longer and longer. But running in a group is equally fantastic and one of the great joys of parkrun. It's a social occasion, chance to meet up and exchange stories and go for a coffee afterwards. Ask the local cafe businesses if they mind people running on a group and I'm sure they'll say not at all!

So just as I don't understand the need to own a dog, push a pram or turn up and kick a ball around a field, I appreciate that there are those that don't understand the attraction of running around in circles. We all have our quirks and that is what makes us human. Whether we prefer playing football, baking cakes, doing crosswords, watching tv or running in the park let's celebrate that. Whatever 'that' might be.

For me it's running. I understand this makes me a little odd in the eyes of others, but there are hundreds of thousands around the world who would understand, clap and cheer me on. So I say leave parkrun alone. We really are not doing any harm. Stop being so bitter about something you've not experienced. Surely there are more pressing matters in the world to worry about?

Safety First....at Last

Although not a lot of people are going to realise this, but tomorrow is a momentous occasion in New Zealand's history. Okay, so its not going to make newspaper headlines, such as the potential changing of the flag, the antics of Kim Dot Com or the arrival of yet another member of the British Royal family, but it should.

For tomorrow is the day that New Zealand stops killing its own people. See told you. It's huge. Yes today the much needed yet much delayed Health and Safety at Work comes into force. It may not sound like much, especially to those who have lived or worked in the UK, but this a huge step forward.

Yes, there are times when health and safety in the UK appears to have gone too far, but it is never as bad as the press would have you believe. And if a few headline grabbing stories are the price of keeping avoidable deaths ....well avoided...then so be it.

So what is it exactly? Well from tomorrow, it will be a legal requirement for designers to consider the impact that whatever they produce will have on people constructing, using and maintaining it. It sounds like a simple and, as some might think, a common sense approach to ensuring the safety of others. But if it was common sense then why, up to this point, does New Zealand kill nearly four times more people per capita than their close neighbours Australia and nearly 8 times more  than the UK? 

Sometimes I think Kiwis have a death wish. It's not as if they are deliberately reckless, they are genuinely the kindest, friendliest and considerate people I have met, it's just that they appear to be unable to consider the consequences of their actions.

You think I'm exaggerating? Well how about this event as an example. During a recent office meeting it was announced that, who ever was responsible for putting hydrochloric acid in the eye wash bottle, could they please stop because it was a potential safety hazard. Pardon my Anglo-Saxon, but fucking potential? To be fair, the person who did this was thoughtful enough to write in pen on the eye wash container 'Do not use - contains acid' but I would imagine that, if you had need for some eye wash, then the last thing you would think to do, before pouring acid on an already serious situation, would be to read some scrawled biro warning. 

Still not convinced? Well how about the recently circulated photo of a colleague who convinced an excavator driver to 'give him a go' of his earth moving machinery. How do we know? Well he had the forethought to have a photo taken to send to his workmates in the office proudly claiming 'And you thought I was just taking measurements - look what I'm doing on site!' I imagine that the fact that this machine was at the top of a eight metre slope only added to the spice of the occasion. She'll be right.

Then only last week a car plunged three stories out of a multi-storey car park into the street below. Surprised passers by reported that the car appeared to fly through the air before flipping and falling onto its roof. Thankfully, or should that be miraculously, no one was killed. I can only imagine the shock on the driver's face, as the car plummeted towards the ground, thinking as he fell "Now who would've thought that those barriers weren't designed to take the impact loading of a small family car?"

So, as you can see, it's a much needed piece of legislation and brought in not a moment too soon. It's been a painful process getting it through parliament with numerous redrafts, edits, objections and debate. 

But what's clear is that, whilst you can legislate against reckless behaviour, it's going to take a lot longer to change attitudes. Putting safety first is a new way of thinking for many and to undo years of bad practice is going to take time. But it's a step in the right direction and one that I am happy to help with. Who knows, maybe in a few years time someone like me won't have to spend two hours in a meeting convincing a client that putting manholes in the running lane of a State Highway is probably a bad idea and that the extra cost to avoid doing so is one worth paying. Maybe. It's a nice thought.

But until then, well done New Zealand. You've made a huge step and have shown that you are committed to putting safety first and you know what? I think she really will be right!