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An Update...

2011-06-03T14:17:00.000+12:00

The poor old blog has taken a bit of a backseat of late. There are several reasons why I’ve not been on the ball. Settling into city mode may have been one, been in any city breeds contempt in my opinion. Its not like the last six weeks have been uneventful, anything but, its just I struggle to get enthusiastic about museum exhibitions, coffee, wind and unknown hobbit actors. Saying that, although these things are high priority in Wellywood at the minute, there is much more to Lonely Planets coolest little capital in the world.

It may have recently gained this accolade but you get the impression Wellington has been pretty trendy for a while, If I had have been on the ball I would have packed my backpack with the contents of a Marie curie shop at home and flogged them out the back of the motor on Cuba st. Most of the young crowd looks like a mixture of: Bowie (Ziggy stardust era) Dr hook…Captain hook…and Adam Ant. Last week I saw at least three Brian Jonesalikes and at least twelve Dylanesque curly hair, ray ban sporting, uber trendy dudes. At home, this would probably annoy the hell out of me, for example. The Rolling Stones have probably tripled their lifetime’s earnings in the last five years with the royalties on the ubiquitous glittery, retro, lip toting t-shirts. It seems every kid wearing tight fitting trousers has to sport a ‘keif’ adorned loose fitting tee. Ask them one lyric from 'Street fighting man' and they’d struggle. In fact, half of these bastards probably think Mick Jagger is the name of a skip hire company or Charlie Watts discovered electricity.

Here in NZ's trendy capital however quirky fashion fits seamlessly with quirky fault line defined buildings, and an overriding art school atmosphere. There are more coffee houses than litter bins and each one of them is full, Wellingtonians love their kava and so they bloody should, being a barista here in Wellington is taken serious business. If kiwis could sort out their bacon, I recon the breakfasts here could be some of the finest on the planet.

Aside from falling into a city slicker lull, I’ve been writing a new blog…daily. Impressed with New Zealand’s vast array of fine craft beers I decided to take up the challenge of writing a daily tumblr blog for a year. With the hope of bringing some continued support to those affected by the Canterbury and Japan earthquakes. It possibly hasn’t taken off how I would have hoped, I’m probably not going to raise a penny but if one person follows a link to a donation site then it’s been worth it. Regardless of this it will still be a personal, humerous insight into some cracking brews. If you like beer I’d appreciate your comments and support….. Raise1glass.com

Life in Wellington as they say down here, has been “choice, bro.” Sharing a flat with a fabulous Canadian, an ever jubilant scouser and a classic comment making Dorset man (if there is such a thing) Dorsetolian perhaps…a bloke from Bridport, you get my drift. Simon’s beauties up to date range from…”are these chilies ok when they’ve turned red” or my personal favourite was during an overheard conversation about the news:

JEN: “ A man who worked as a human cannonball has died in the UK!”

SI: ”Oh yea…that’s terrible…..what was he doing at the time?”

I’ve had my faith restored in Americans after being introduced to two southern rebels spending there days in NYC and writing a fabulous blog about there times in NZ…http://brbnyc.wordpress.com/

Continued to be amused by a knife wielding Dane, and had my opinions of the chatting ability of Lancashire lasses galvanized. Although she recons she lives in North Cheshire…Tomato… Tomatoe I say.

Regardless of all this fraternizing one of the great New Zealand traditions I felt moved to write about in the last few weeks I posted separately below…A fantastic ever growing tradition that left me feeling rather humble.

As for now I’ve been joined by a fellow Yorkshireman its great to be able to say ‘put wood in’t hoil’ and to get an intelligent response. I usually get a painful expression and asked if I need a lie down. At the minute wee spending our time on New Zealand’s beautiful South Island, this country is continuing to dazzle and amaze me at every bend in the road….pictures and more scribbles to follow.

ANZAC DAY

2011-06-03T14:13:00.000+12:00

I rose at 5am this morning. Today is ANZAC day. Intrigue, admiration and a sense of duty have propelled me from sleep. Typically it’s a damp Wellington morning as I step out. I head down Cuba Street, one of Wellingtons busier thoroughfares, it becomes apparent there isn’t another soul about. The silhouette of a broken shop manakin is the only human form that I share this ungodly hour with. Towards the bottom end of Cuba, others begin to appear. Couples link arms against the wind, heads down. By the time I reach Lambton Quay people are converging together. The familiar sights of a pre dawn modern city abound. A Bakery truck driver checks his delivery sheet; Joggers do their bit to wear down Wellington’s walkways. As Lambton begins to curve towards Molesworth and Parliament, the Hollow thud of an artillery gun stirs everything into action. What had been a precession of sleepwalkers now becomes a mass of people striding out to reach their destination. Every bird in the neighbourhood squawks into life as if they had been waiting for this confirmation of daybreak. I round the corner to see a mass of people stood silently in the breeze. These are the ‘dawnies.’ Men and women, young and old, representatives from many creeds and nationalities here to pay their respects to the fallen. I pick my spot towards the side of the crowd as a Turkish ambassador makes an address about the Gallipoli landings. As he finishes the crowd in front of me parts slightly. Two young women no older than 18 are making their way out of the throng, heading to the back. They carry in their arms an infant, each wrapped in pink ‘Dora The Explorer’ duvets. Following the service people part ways, head to work, head for breakfast, head back to bed. By the time I’m back at the flat many of Wellingtons inhabitants stir and awaken to enjoy their public holiday, some blissfully unaware or unconcerned of the vigil that has been held in their countrymans honour.

..."Staying near a dock in Hawkes Bay...watching.."

2011-03-20T12:55:00.001+13:00

I’m lying on fresh, crisp white sheets staring into space. The ceiling above me is split into six panels and each is as blank as the linen under me. One of them is completely smooth whereas the others have a cracked texture where the plaster has begun to peel. The room has a view out over Napier’s colourful rooftops and to the stark blue Pacific beyond. I am back in a hostel where just short of five months ago this whole Hawke’s bay adventure began. Yesterday I got sacked. Tomorrow I’ll be organizing my things, Saturday I’m at an 80th Birthday Party. Sunday I’ll be in the capital. My life has again swung, from that of a seasonal worker, in temporary work, and settled accommodation, to someone on the move, constantly planning ahead. The axe fell pretty suddenly, and before I knew it I was sitting around, watching TV whilst eating the lunch I had packed for the apparent working day ahead. It was 8.45am.

As I sit and go through the emotions of the loss of a job and my sudden, abrupt, change of state, I can’t help but think about those people on February 22^nd. At 12.50 they where finishing their lunches, flicking through tonight’s telly listings, walking the dog, going to town to buy a gift. By 12.52 many of their lives where over, or changed insurmountably. I’ am not for one minute comparing my situation to the plight of those people in Christchurch. However, its made me realise, even more, that there are events in life that you can’t predict, and the twists and turns that come from those moments you just have to roll with. As John Lennon simply prophesized, “life is what happens to you while your busy making other plans.”

As I lie here I notice, in this twin dorm room, there is a sound next to me. Another body is beginning to awaken. Constricted by a fear of waking this mystery person I look over. It’s a man, about my age. He too looks like he had too many last night, his arm flung over his eyes and his clothes scattered about the floor. What amazes me is I didn’t notice him when I returned after midnight, or worse he came into the room after me, and I never woke up. I try and asses his nationality by the tone of his snoring! He’s certainly not a German, his bag is too hastily packed and, the many Germans I have met on his trip find it too expensive to drink heavily in NZ. Going on the stench emitted by the pair of us, this guy has had a skinfull. He’s possibly of European decent. I stick with the generalization he is either British or possibly North American, although his traveling gear bears no signs of U.S gaudiness or the ubiquitous Canadian Mountain Coop. This ridiculous CSI guessing game starts to wear thin and I tire of laying awake. As soon as I jostle, Lazarus sits bolt upright;

“Good morning” in a wonderful Irish lilt, the way he sounds you would think he’s been up five hours, had a jog, a refreshing swim, nice breakfast and is throwing a greeting to a fellow guest passing on the stairs. I reply in a muted, hung over tone but try and convey some positivity.

“what time would it be out there”

he quizzes.

The question amuses me, its as if in this tiny sleep box, time has stood still, while the rest of the world goes about its business. His name is Paul, we have a good chin wag, and decide its time to raise from the dead. He too took advantage of some drinks offers at a local Irish bar. Although I’m guessing, he didn’t sing ‘House Of The Rising Sun’ on the karaoke, with a Chilean, as I hazily recall. After straightening my self out, and re living the embarrassment of putting Eric Burdon to shame. I head into town, its well after midday. Today, I decide will be a day of great progress, all my clothes are in need of a good wash, I have 101 things to do, but first….Caffeine calls.

A Scotsman, an Englishman, a Czech, a Spaniard and a French Canadian walk into this orchard.

2011-02-13T18:30:00.000+13:00

The alarm clock stirs me at 4.55, today will be my first day of paid work in New Zealand. It’s a clear, cool morning. The birds are still asleep and I stretch from my slumber bizarrely humming ‘rainy night in Georgia.’ When I step out from the caravan It’s not yet light enough to see the creek, although I can easily make out the outline of a cat stalking sleepy sparrows. I get the toast in and the kettle on, when the toast pops it startles me. For the inexact length of time it takes to blacken bread, I’ve been staring at the handle of the cupboard and its flowery motif. No doubt with the glazed expression and slack jaw of someone gassed during a painful dental procedure. Eventually caffeine and carbs shake me into action, I wash, dress and pack my bag. My stomach turns with that first day knot of anxiety. My interview had only been 18hrs before. I say interview, it was more like the dressing down of a sailor being press ganged into Nelsons navy. My interviewer a well weathered Scotsman, with the trill of a Clyde ship builder and the profile of He-man’s nemesis, Skeletor.

“ya sim oookay,

but thr as one thang…. I duunt lik bluudy anglissh.”

It’s the only interview I’ve had where Braveheart was mentioned three times. I didn’t say that I think Mel Gibson is an utter twat, is yet to make a good film and the ridiculous statue of him at Bannockburn should be melted down and re formed into a replica of Andy Murray. Such a fine replica that tennis commentators would find a solid piece of metal alloy far more interesting and receptive to questions than the man himself.

With this whiff of Anglophobia still fresh in my mind I headed out. Keen to impress. Lets face it, I had thousands of years of English history to be personally responsible for, should I fail to do the job properly!

That was a few weeks back, the Scot has thankfully mellowed. He enjoys my jokes. I’ve softened him with comedy. He appreciates the fact I understand him and his one-liners. Strangely up until this week I was the only natural English speaker there. The team is made up of Spaniards, Chileans, Germans, of course, Czechs and a French Canadian. The absence of Kiwi’s is noticeable and a big problem in this part of the world. Many of the picking gangs are made up of Pacific Islanders, as are most of the packhouse jobs. Backpackers account for most of the others. It’s apparent that there are not enough people in Hawke’s bay to harvest such a crop. Moreover the work is, by its nature seasonal, and hard. I say hard loosely. I’m not calling the New Zealanders lazy, but listening to conversations between managers, locals and the man on the street the problem here is a microcosm of the western world. Why would a man on $500 a week in benefit get up at 5 to work for 6 months of the year? To bring home maybe $150 more. It simply won’t happen. As such the population of Hawke’s bay swells at this time of the year, it becomes a multi national community, working to send fruit overseas. The fruit block I worked on last week was crammed with 50,000 apple trees. Bizarrely the local supermarket still sells Granny Smiths and Royal Gala’s from the USA.

Hawke’s bay’s other main draw is wine. It is one of New Zealand’s premiere wine making areas, it’s loaded with vineyards and cellar doors. Keen to learn, loaded with intrigue and a designated driver, four of us headed out…..

…. to get pissed for nowt!

Essentially, and when it comes to things like this I’m a cynic. I’m no way an expert but Wine tasting’s must account for very little of a vineyards income. All it serves to do is add to the la-di-da drama and romance of wine.

We arrive at Trinity hill it’s a modern building, slightly industrial with a bubbly Brummy pouring the plonk. It’s nice, I feel like buying a hat. The chap is informed and friendly. And for 10 seconds I’m suckered in to all this pomp and circumstance, until I realise, in order to cram even a small selection of wineries in to our itinerary we need to get a move on. I down the Syrah and gather everyone together. We zip between Clearview, Te Awanga, Te Arawa, and Elephant Hill which resembles a tennis centre and sports complex. Needless to say it has won me over to the pleasures of white wine and has lovely embossed labels. Designed by a Dutch man I’m told!

Our final Stop Is Craggy Range a purpose built winery. It’s a magnificent temple to the grape. Modern, luxurious and stinks of wealth. A Man in an Aertex shirt gets in to a big old American car. We enter the huge glass frontage, I half expect to see a sign for a retrospective on Van Gogh it resembles a contemporary museum so closely. We head to the bar where, for the first time, we are charged for the tasting. I (being of Yorkshire heritage) scoff, a $45 million dollar winery and we are being charged for a thimble full. It better be good. The suave looking young man behind the bar is eye candy for the girls. He’s from the Cotswold’s and knows less about wine than me. He reads from a card behind the desk and tells me what I should be getting from this fantastic product. I went on a whisky tour once, the elderly chap taking us round had worked at the distillery his whole life, he knew every barrel by name and number, the product inside out, I believed every thing he told me. I wouldn’t believe this prick as far as I could throw him, he is there because of his award winning smile. And this is where I go back to my original point, why cant he just leave us to it, pour the grog, and shut the fuck up. Wine, and most good things for that matter, should sell themselves.

I have never in my life put a brogue in my gob, therefore have never tasted “Shoe leather” So I can’t give a definitive answer as to whether I can taste it in this wine. Nor can 99% of this room, yet when bloody Tom Cruise behind the bar blurts out a list of Verbal diarrhoea, such as.

“You should be tasting…Shoe Leather, Star Anise, Frangelica, Lemon Peel, Turkish Delight, Tom cat piss, WD40.”

The whole room nods like the Churchill dog..

”mmm Yea I really get a sense of that”

Its complete bull but we aren’t the only ones. An ex girlfriend used to pronounce Châteaux Neuf du Pape, Châteaux Neuf du poirre. Much similar to a New Yorker saying Prawn, because she felt it sounded more refined. Wine snobbery is big business. It keeps these bastards in business and trounces the little guys into submission.

We leave with a thirty dollar bottle of red.

Has or Have

2011-01-15T22:51:00.000+13:00

So its 2011, twenty eleven. How nuts is that, Humankind is still here just about. Nostradamus was wrong, the millennium bug is ten years out of date and ‘death by asteroid’ theories seem to have gone out of fashion. Looking back over the last decade however it’s been pretty dull. Look at the 20^th century, Within 70 years we went from men pratting about with wood and canvas to a man on the moon. A computer the size of a billiard table to an Iphone. I think there’s been a slowing down, the laziness of the Nintendo generation has halted progression….

..what I’m trying to say is,

“I want the bloody hoverboard I was promised!”

By 2011 H.G wells and Arthur C. Clarke were envisaging space colonies and unparalleled travel, attacks from Martians no less. What do we have on the virgin week of the second decade of the new millennium…?

….Justin Bieber.

Jam jars are still a pain to open,

And after fifteen years, or more, of knowing how bad chicken nuggets are for us, we are still shovelling them into our filthy mouths. So I say;

“ey! Scientists, forget telling smokers how quickly there going to kill themselves, I want a fucking lightsaber before I’m thirty!”

Enough moaning though, My first day of the new year was spent snoozing in the sun, on the back of a flatbed trailer in the middle of a sheep paddock. Post Full English! The finest hangover cure ever devised. Although up most of new year’s eve, watching a led zeppelin covers band, the dawning of 2011 was a pretty laid back affair. The holiday period has been a tiring one and I was more grateful of a lie in over a bucks fizz. Berries are the order of the day for a NZ Christmas and manning the roadside stall here at the berry farm has become a tad monotonous, although, it has been punctuated by the odd character and an infamous word game. I came up with the idea of throwing ridiculous words into the sales patter, whilst trying to flog berries. Its unbelievably addictive and more interestingly, pretty easy. The man and woman on the street has a one track mind come xmas time. I recon we could have got away with far more risqué phrases than we did. Ellla a fellow wwoofer, tried to drop Alice Cooper into convo and failed miserably, blurting out into hysterics almost immediately. Ben faired better he managed to squeeze Sasqwatch, ball sack and toe fungus in. My gold top word was foreskin. An old dear and an even dearer old chap turned out to buy their xmas berries.

“Nice day” I welcomed

“Lovely” She replied

“Now you do know these berries are very good Fore-skin.” I exclaimed completely straight faced.

The old lady, unphased, replied;

“We know, full of antioxidants, keeps things from sagging…ha”

By this time id managed to stifle the inevitable eruption of laughter. Ben however was creased double at the back of the stall shaking like a man possessed. The couple left happy with their purchase, and their xmas chit chat, with a couple of friendly stall holders!

We laughed, aloud.

For two hours.

The roadside stall in itself is in an interesting place, a real people watching centre. It’s on a main thoroughfare between Hastings and Havelock North. Two towns that couldn’t be, on face value, further apart. My first impressions of Hastings, when I arrived on a dank November eve, were pretty grim. By daylight, Softened by the summer sun they are improving…slightly. It’s a grid iron, one storied town, although in terms of human inhabitation its relatively modern, it feels old. The central street is transacted by odd, one way streets and car parks, that serve the usual big superstores. An Ice cream kiosk sidles near a pet shop, sandwiched between a DIY store and a Subway. The latter still has faint daubings of xmas lettering on its windows. Hastings redeeming factor is that it feels lived in, it has a history, things have happened here. Hard working faces and a railway line prove it.

Havelock North however is known as ‘the village’ to locals, it has coffee shops and the most BMW x5’s I’ve ever seen. Juicy women drive Fat cars and lick Sticky sweet residue from their forearms. A remnant from local Hawkes bay stonefruit, bought hastily on the go. These ladies rush around..but only to pick up the kids. Its main nightspot is known as Diva…it’s the most aptly named bar in the universe! I shouldn’t take a swipe at either town however, they have been my home for the last few months. I just treat them like you might two friends with differing interests. If, like me you need a piece of hard to find plastic to attach to the dashboard of your car. Go talk to men in Hastings. Risotto rice, it’s a Havelock thing.

The signs they are a changin'

2010-12-24T18:53:00.000+13:00

I was awoken the other day by my mobile phone, not literally, It didn’t leap onto the bed and vibrate ridiculously on my chest…that would be just weird. Nor did I wake up to its alarm, but the annoying sound of a mobile with a dying battery. It’s the worst sound bite ever, it sounds like a miserable owl. Mewing and blahing away,

Mmmwamwamwaaaa….. “charge me please” in phone speak. Checking up on the ashes score had taken its toll, and been on the road a few days it had hardly had any juice. Wide awake and assaulted by the mesmerizing dawn chorus I leapt up out of my five star bed ( the passenger seat) and headed to the kitchen (the boot.) to put on the kettle. It’s a perennial theme but you always forget something when you stay in the outdoors and although I had the tools to skin a kiwi, plane a door and assemble a light aircraft I had forgotten cups. Cups the most basic of objects, but your ultimately lost without them. I toyed with the idea of using a shoe for the morning coffee instead, I sat, half asleep watching the sun come up, sipping coffee from a plastic wine glass. I pondered over the days itinerary, packed up and hit the road. I had broken the trip from Northland down to Hastings into chunks staying on various campgrounds, in the car ,and visiting a few touristy hotspots. To keep my self entertained while driving, I’ve been making a mental note of funny or weird road signs. I’ll share my top 3…..

3. For sale 3bdrmd two bathrmd kiwifruit.

2.REAL free range eggs.

1. Work to begin 2011…Pavement rehabilitation.

PAVEMENT REHAB.. what the fuck is this all about. There was never anything wrong with the term…..roadwork’s. Pavement rehab!!

So is alcoholism and depression so rife in western society that even walkways need counseling. It’s not that pavement rehab isn’t a good term for it but I’m very much of the if it ain’t broke don’t fix it crowd. Mankind obviously peaked 50 years ago. We had people building computers from scratch in great rooms, inventors, genii, musical and sporting heroes. Now the world decides to employ people to make sure pavements don’t feel discriminated against. Or to test for minute sea level rises in Holland while North and South Korea play nuclear backgammon. We’ve all lost the plot.

Talking of plots, returning to the point. I arrived In Hastings safe and sound and made my way to the Hanna family Boysenberry farm. This was to be my fourth wwoof host and a group of people I would be spending the majoritory of the harvest with. Now for those not familiar with a Boysenberry, I certainly wasn’t before. They are like a Bramble on steroids, a huge hunk of a Blackberry. Sweet and slightly sharp. The farm is a fabulous place and although an early dawn start is required most mornings the day’s are breezing past. The evenings, more interestingly, have been used to sample some fantastic Hawkes bay wine or crack walnuts to sell at the roadside stall. The cracking area, a walnut Nirvana. Imagine the softest wooden, weather worn table. Out on a porch with magnolia door frames and wind chimes. The nutcrackers polished handle dulled from years of soft hands and firm grips. As perfect a set up for the task if ever there was one. Lately the evenings excitement has been peppered by the ashes, and mainly describing to my fellow wwoofers, Canadians and an American, what a cricket bat is, why Shane Warne is fat and why the Aussie cricketers are the only sports men in the world not to rub their sun tan cream in. Why is that!?! They come out after lunch looking like an horrendous version of the black and white minstrels. (Not that the Black and white minstrels were good, but at least they were professional!)

I think my cricket enthusiasm is rubbing off though, they boo when Ricky Ponting comes on screen, much like you would when a pantomime villain enters from stage left. Moreover they have started to draw sharp intakes of breath at the right time and shout an undistinguishable phrase like ‘howazeeeeethtrrtrt’ when someone is caught out. The way this is going I might even win them over to getting rid of the appalling phrase that is ‘soccer’ and start adding u’s back into word’s, in the English language, that were perfectly good to start with! I sign off tonight, on Christmas eve in a sunny and blustery Hawkes bay. Hope you all have a very merry Christmas and a fantastic New year wherever you are on Planet Earth.

I’ll leave you all with the words of Mr. R. Starkey

“Well I'm getting happier all the time, which is very nice..”

Have a good one.

Mapvember.

2010-12-04T12:25:00.001+13:00

November has been a sombre month, its has had a lot of downs, The loss of life of a close friends family member and also a lifelong neighbour ,has made me feel slightly homesick, actually that’s the wrong way of looking at it. To be honest its galvanized my opinion of what I’m doing, and I’m pretty sure that both men, at healthier times in their lives, would have given me the goodwill….

(most likely a couple of quid to by a decent ale before I left the country! )

….and best wishes to follow my dreams and ambitions.

Not only that but the loss of life here in NZ of the 29 miners in the pike river disaster has united a country in mourning. We take for granted in a society where you can pretty much do anything with a mobile phone, that dangerous jobs don’t exist. That risking your life at work is a thing of the Victorian era. Evidently, it’s not, and as clever as we think we are Mother Nature still rules her roost. Moreover, it’s made my quip about being in solitude a few weeks, back seem like a dark and eerie prediction.

Fortunately as far as my travels go, I’ve had little incident following the theft of my friends camera to worry about. Due to the shape of the car I’ve dotted about the country, flirting with work, wwoofing and housesitting. A stint in Hawkes bay, a monumental coach ride then a week of brilliant house-sitting, back in the fabulous Hokianga. Moreover I’m steadily becoming a farmers market veteran selling berries the one week, chilli oyster shots the next. November may have been melancholic but it certainly hasn’t been quiet! As I headed down from Northland, I firstly had a personal pilgrimage to attend to….a day trip to Batley, a peachy description of which you can all look forward to later.

I decided to avoid the brightish lights of Auckland and head towards Coramandel, a night in Thames on a campground, asleep in the car. Wasn’t much to write home about. The next day I went in search of a map book, content with my purchase I stocked up on food bits and had a tour around town. I soon found that the map was frankly bloody useless. The minute scale didn’t show anything and was worse than the old free one I had picked up at the airport. I decided to return it.

Now if you’ve read my blog thus far, my record with shop assistants isn’t very good, its not about to get much better…

The signs were being brought in, surfaces and windows rubbed down. It was five minute to closing time when I grabbed the attention of the dark haired girl at the till.

“Excuse me I’ve just bought this map and to be honest it’s not too good, can I trade it in against a better one.”

“No problem” she replied, “Could I just check your receipt.”

“Sorry I’ve left the bag in the car…I only bought it today though.” I urged

“I’ll just check with my supervisor.”

I was holding up the three remaining shoppers as other workers shirked their serving duties.

When she returned the girl and her strange weed like manager didn’t look impressed.

“I’m sorry we haven’t sold any of these maps in six months you wont be able to redeem it against another product.”

“I bought it just this afternoon.”

“You didn’t” she snapped, “I was working and I’ve never seen you.”

“I'm pretty sure I did, why else would I have rushed into a book shop five minutes before closing! Any way its no problem I need some other things, serve these people and I’ll get what I need.’

Now at this point I had felt a twinge of unfamiliarity with the staff, it wasn’t until I started towards the xmas card display that It dawned on me…..

…This was completely the wrong shop.

I glanced out of the now partly closed blind and could see a lady tidying up outside the bookshop two doors down, the very woman who had served me earlier that day! As I turned around though, all the staff were staring my way, not only that, the three old dears were muttering away,

“disgraceful”…..

“They’ll try anything these youths”

Christ, I thought, Its only a mistake its not as if I walked in with a twelve gauge and started demanding a Cliff Richard calendar, a pack of hubba bubba and a signed copy of Bill Oddies book of British Birds.

“I’m sorry about that, I’ve just realised I bought it at the other book shop further down could I buy these things.”

The tall skinny straight faced manageress served me this time. She was like a replica of Delia smith, just more monotone and up her own arse, with the profile of Popeye’s Mrs, Olive oil.

“Just one more thing” she said with the knowing air of Columbo….

“She’ll know, you know.”…”Ann”

“I’m sorry” I replied, bemused

“If you’ve stolen it……down the street…she’ll know.”

I felt guilty as hell, it was like when you get told off at school for something you haven’t done but your face tells a different story. I got away from the Crime watch brigade as smartish as I could.

All that for a bloody road atlas I thought…good job I hadn’t gone in for a copy of

‘Growing marijuana hydroponically’

Ol’ miss Marple behind the till would have had a coronary there and then.

2010-11-17T14:13:00.001+13:00

Part 2
Auckland on bonfire night was a bit of a washout, it was like a poor mans Baghdad, a few rockets here a few bangs there but no real dramatic explosions. I found myself wandering around Borders!…
..mainly because I could, and it was better than sitting in the backpacker kitchen.
Thus follows a hypocritical rant about (many/most) young people who travel.
There are only 18 people who are traveling around the world at present. In my experience it’s like the Truman show, they keep reappearing as if they’re actors.

*1 There are 12 Germans, mostly they wear Jack Wolfskin gear and have a backpack bigger than Poland, In general they are good company and have familiar names like Christopher or Julia.

*2 There is a lone Frenchman, A complete nutcase who stands in the backpacker kitchen warming up hot chocolate in the microwave and eating dry cornflakes. Everything has a relation to France (where they do it better.)

*3 A trio of Brits. These are the annoying bastards…He wears Abercrombie and Fitch T- shirts, has a perma tan, wears ray ban wayfarers, and describes everything (in his middle England accent) as aaaaaaammazing..his name tends to be Dan, Ben, Brad or Si.
The other guy of the group used to work in an accountancy firm says ‘kind of’ and “ace” far too much and goes out with the third person of the bunch who he met in Southeast Asia.
Amelia has spent 3months in Thailand where she achieved SOOOO much it was UNNNNreal… man.

*4 TSAF…Two Single American Females, they sound like a handy proposition to a single man on the move..far from it. They are louder than anybody in the whole room, by the colour of them they look like they have had an afternoon off in Hiroshima. Moreover, they repeatedly say they have “DONE” countries.
“Hay we’ve sooo ‘done’ Australia”,
Primarily because they’ve seen a kangaroo, drunk Fosters and got sunburned.. in short twats.

The long and short of this episode is this.. I’m changing my name! My Dad a few years back got sick of being called Dave as ‘Dave’s’ always seem to be the perennial comedy prat or boring thick anti hero. Dan is becoming much of the same, an annoying snowboarding ace dude that has done everything you would love to do and killed a shark with his bare hands…he works in marketing. And listens to music you will never have heard of, cos your not cool enough bro!
A (Dan) introduced me the other night to his AAAAAAAMazing European friends.
He said
“This is aaanother…
(Rolls eyes, slight yawn..annoying) …Dan he’s a fellow countryman, but don’t worry, we don’t all speak like him, har!
What an abominable fucker,
NOW I realise why we English are generally despised the world over. It’s because the only thing we currently export are Dan’s, Matt’s, Brad’s, Bryony’s and Carling lager. Our mainstream music is fronted with shitheads like Chris Martin and Calvin Harris and our Sports teams are either overpaid shelf stackers or quintessential toffs.
Its time to redress the balance, here is my new introduction and how I hope the ensuing conversation will go..
“Hello there!”(Very clear, not hi, etc)
“I’m Daniel from Yorkshire.”
“Oh great, nice to meet you, where is that? It sounds familiar, is it near Newfoundland?”
“Well you may not have heard or seen this area on the map because it’s a republic inside England.”
“Ah ok I see. Its not on the BBC weather map, right?”
“No, no we were completely obliterated from all media forms, including the weather, after the last series of Heartbeat.”
“Ok!..err..Heartbeat I’ve not seen that”
“It was a series about a group of Doctors that performed emergency open heart surgery, high on the Yorkshire moors.”
“like flying doctors?”
“similar, only these doctors were part of a terrorist and pro ‘Freedom Yorkshire’ organisation known as GreenGrass. They were trying to save fallen comrades…It was fascinating.”
“It sounds it, please sit down and tell me more… my name’s Sarah, I only drink Tetley’s, Landlord , Guinness or good malt whisky, but you can’t buy it in New Zealand . What do you drink? I’ll get these. I’ve just won the lottery.”

Dreamland maybe, but it’s not so far from the truth. Moreover on the plus side they won’t expect me to sound like Hugh Grant or say: amazing, kind of or brill, after every other word…its foolproof.
After being kicked out of Borders, I went to cheer myself up at a comedy club and hoped for a giggle! The acts were certainly varied and pretty good, and all did well considering the small crowd. The laughs went on into the small hours and after a crap week it was possibly the best way to wrap it up.

Between a sock and a hard place.

2010-11-12T16:25:00.000+13:00

Part 1
This week has been a bit shit. There I’ve said it.
There are no two ways about it, sometimes in life things roll along and don’t hit the extremes, sometimes however terrible things happen and great things occur. This week it has been the turn of the former. It was my intention to end a week of solitude with a bit of sightseeing, I use that word lightly. What I mean is that I had a road trip in mind, a bit of kiwiana if you will. I had the car packed, topped up with fluid, and the route sorted. Thomas Hardy would probably describe this particulary fine morning as;
“an egg laying day in May.”
Well I would, but it’s November over here, and I’ve still not got my head round the fact that it’s spring! To cut a long drawn out tale short, 17km from my first destination the arse fell out of the car…Literally. With a capital A. The engine had completely seized, I was going nowhere, well actually I’d already arrived in..nowhere. Fortunately,
(As they like to do in New Zealand,) some guys were digging up a perfectly fine piece of road quite nearby, and were able to tow me to a decent stopping point. I proceeded to ring the garage for a tow truck…Just as the nearby farmer released about 20,000, bloody sheep. You can imagine the din.
“Hello there sir could you tell me your exact location please”
“Well I’m near…”
“Are you on a farm or something I can hear..”
“NO NO I’ve actually broken down right outside an outdoor cinema, which is showing a re run of ‘Wallace and Gromit’s A Close Shave’, that’s the racket you can hear”
“Oh well that must be near to...let’s see..”
“Of course I’m near a bastard sheep farm I’m in fucking New Zealand!”
Is how the conversation should have gone, instead I ummed and arrd for ten minutes until she knew where to send the tow truck. That hiccup certainly put my plans on hold, but if that was the start of the week, there was more to come. Fortunately I had helped out on a farm in Kerikeri the week before and the owner gladly put me up for a few nights, what’s more the volunteers that had taken over from me, were still there, and seeing my plight duly rolled out the beers. In fact, the next day they postponed their plans to run me into town, we did a few things and returned to the car only to find it broken into, and Christopher’s camera stolen.
I felt like a walking bad luck charm, a two and a bit leafed clover. A kind of anti-Midas, anything I touched got the plague or turned into Noel Edmonds. It was terrible, all I can say was that in the aftermath the real Kiwi spirit came out, the shopkeeper where the car was parked, offered his car to use as a replacement, during the window repairs. A passer by even offered to take everyone out for the day. It certainly helped make an awful situation easier to swallow, we got back….
and got pissed.
The beer was still fresh in my mind the next morning when I was told the car would cost 900NZ to fix, depressed I accepted the terms and booked a bus to continue my travel itinerary. I had gained a lift as far as Auckland and reluctantly booked a night in a backpackers, and another bus ride south to my next stop in Hastings. Ah well, it had been a crappy week but I was in a relatively sunny Auckland for bonfire night, it could have been worse.

Footballer Vs cleaning equipment.

2010-10-31T22:36:00.001+13:00

I had a realisation today that it has been exactly 48 hrs since I have seen another human being. Don’t worry, don’t worry, I’ve not been caught up in a New Zealand Version of the Chilean mining disaster, I have simply been house-sitting for some friends that live in a particularly rural area, however its likely it's the first time in my life this has happened. Even bed ridden with illness, human contact was never far away, only a walk across the landing or a quick look out of the window. Now I don’t quite know whether this is a cause for concern or celebration, but being on my own, 15mins drive from the nearest road has been amazing!!! I say amazing, I’ve obviously had greater experiences in my life but what I’m getting at, is being alone in such a beautiful area, your mind suddenly becomes alive. To date I’ve had at least six arguments with myself, three of which were resolved amicably, one I agreed to differ, another was a damn full scale row, and the latest one I’m sat on the fence. I will let you in on it,

Would you rather:

A. Be a Manchester united supporter for your whole life (this means eternity..Look at their badge and manager it’s essentially a pact with the devil)

B. Be Wayne Rooney

C. Scrub your face off over a week with a brillo pad(the same brillo pad…even when holes start to appear and you have to use more elbow grease..no cheating now.)

At the minute my answer is taking shape like this….

Well A is out of the question right away, so its B or C. Now the way I see Wayne Rooney is thus, he seems to me like a sort of creature that the Evil one in Time Bandits dreamed up

(if you haven’t seen the film, enlighten yourself at the bottom of this post.)

I imagine it went something like this..

Evil one:

“Right… we will create the ugliest being on the planet, adorn him with hideous tattoos, he will age five years for every human year, until he becomes a replica of Onslow from keeping up appearances.”

Slave1:

“Yesssss..master hahahaha”

Evil one:

“ However Boris we will give him talent beyond measure”

Slave2:

“And money Sire”

Evil one:

“Yes, yes money as well, immeasurable amounts of wealth….good”

Slave1:

“Ha but what will he buy my lord..

zzzzzzaaaaaap

Slave 1 is vaporised

Slave 2

“ the brain of a gnu?”

He whispers wincing in the hope it’s an adequate suggestion.

Evil one:

“Excellent….yes he will be forced to toil through his whole life sleeping with aged hookers… and what is more, he will actually be Scottish, HAHAHAHAHA…yes Alex Ferguson’s love child forced to play for England…hahahahaha”

Slave 2

“HAAAAA forced into the line up …by ….by an Italian Manager sire…

ZZZZZZZaaaap.Slave 2 is reduced to a pile of molten baby sick.

“Now lets not be silly Charlie.”

So, I digress, Considering this is the deal, in my opinion the jury is out. Although I have come to the conclusion that if the brillo pad was of a worthy manufacturer and not from a pound shop, and providing you didn’t spend too long whittling down your nose then C might just be a winner. A’la Blind date voice over man, THE choice is yours…..

In all seriousness however the point of this is a poignant one, I can now see why the bloody monks got so much done and why Buddhists live in solitude. It’s the complete antithesis of the western world, a world where we are no longer forced to use our minds, everything is right there, done for us, our brains, bought by the mass media, are swallowed up in football results, Jordan’s tits and the X factor. Its getting to the stage where people can’t be bothered doing anything anymore, shall I put this cardboard in the recycling bin.

“Na, someone else will do it for me”

Shall I cook tonight?

Na, The microwave shall do it for me

Should I pro-create

“Na someone else will….”

You get my drift, quickly go and kill all your neighbours and live on your own for a while, its great! Maybe that’s a bit strong but seriously if there is anything creative you’ve got planned, in the back of your mind, that you fancy doing but haven’t the time. Do it now, do it this weekend. Because before long we will be plugging our brains into the wall and recharging them like a cheap, old, Nokia mobile.

Hobbits set to trim their hairy feet in New Zealand.

2010-10-28T11:25:00.001+13:00

Thank God or Gandalf or whoever, that's over!( for now.) The filming of the Lord of the rings prequel, The Hobbit, looks set to be filmed on New Zealand shores, the ensuing debacle, over will it wont it, has dragged on longer than Legolas trimming his glorious elven pubes. Its interesting though after two days of "crisis" talks that the good old PM still cops it between the legs. Whether its because I'm looking through Union Jack tinted spectacles here, in that, In the UK we have been fucked over by expenses swindling politicians since the pre Cambrian era. In a way I 'm trying to say I feel a bit sorry for John Key, If (like in the UK) he had let the hobbit go and be filmed by a former porn director in Poland, in exchange for a signed copy and an international arms treaty then he deservedly would have got the flack. Instead he did a deal which kept the shoot in its rightful home...and still got a big kick in the Nazguls. Ultimately I think there is some strength to the argument that dropping the tax threshold for a film is below the belt, and in the end the NZ tax payer are the ones who will pick up the bill. But from an outside point of view it seems like a good call, the earning potential of The Hobbit in spin offs will be massive and as far as I can see will nicely fill the tourism/merchandise vacuum that next years rugby world cup will surely create. In short kiwi's, think yourself lucky that your not shelling out for EU commissioners marble baths or elaborate duck furniture, but something rather cool and hopefully another proud icon made in Aotearoa.

2010-10-24T22:29:00.001+13:00

Previously I mentioned about the theory of Culture Shock, I’m sure now a month in I’ve moved on from the honeymoon stage and am now starting to pick fault with my new adopted culture. The first and finest example came yesterday, after a cracking morning’s fishing in Paihia.

(For you none fisher folk I will describe this trip later)

I made my way back to Keri and called in the local supermarket for a few bits, namely a six pack of mac’s sassy red!

Mac's beer NZ

As I got to the counter a young man, and I’m being kind here, he could have been no older than 14! Asked me for ID, now I can’t blame this chap, he was merely doing his job but what I am about to blame is not only the shit supermarket policy but the arse of a manager that accompanied it. I duly whipped out my Driving licence only for the bulldog sucking a nettle faced mangeress to exclaim,

“I’m sorry we can’t accept this, its foreign”

“ok” I replied

“what else would you like to see”

In her Android like tone

“Passport / NZ driving licences only”

"Well’ I’m sorry but I only have this and my passport is back at my lodgings surely you as the manager can use your discretion?”

Pointing at my face as I stood there in fishing attire, woolly jumper et al, and the best beard I could muster.

“evidently I’m not 17!”

“Passport / NZ driving licences only….. sir”

(sir oooooh doesn’t that piss you right off)

“Ok I see your point but like I said this is all I have and has been accepted bef…”

She broke me off

“Sorry you can’t have heard me…. Passport / NZ driving licences ONLY”

All sincerity went out of the window now..the queue behind was starting to build and murmur, it was labour weekend, Bank holiday Saturday, the place was packed with a crowd dying to get to the beach!

“look love( a nice touché for the sir bit!) I can legally drive a motor vehicle in this country, with this piece of plastic, it has my face AND date of birth on it, what more do you need”

“it’s a foreign licence”

“A FOREIGN LICENCE I am practically in the uk, I could understand if it was a screwed up paper licence from Burkina Faso or somewhere, but surely all the info you require, to buy six beers is here.”

She was having none of it but by this time the entire population of KeriKeri was being held up by this moaning POHM at the till, It was great. I then played the trump card..

..”are you the highest manager on duty..”

“well er no but I can..

(I cut her off)

“I want to see the BOSS”

“Ok well could you just move to one side so that these people could be served.”

“No I don’t think so, I want to get cracking as well. how long will the manager be, the shops only 5 tills long?”

By this time I think the young chap serving, had gone out the back to hang himself, or was taking copious amounts of drugs as he withered with embarrassment under the till seat.

She marched up with an equally sourfaced manager, barging around like the two fat slags from Viz.

“my collegue has explained the problem to me and unfortunately I cannot serve you alcohol with this ID.”

“forget the ID, now as the general manager surely it is down to your discretion….

At this point, the queue behind were agreeing with me, I not only had an audience but supporters!

“give him his beer” "you tell her son" "let the pohm have his drink"

“YEA.. Just let him buy his piss and let’s all go home”

Bob Dylan had arrived and set up a small protest movement in the car park…Ok well maybe not …

“I’m sorry, them's the rules" she said.....

" but you can still buy your other things”

"No thanks," I replied

"Your policy is a farce and I won’t shop here again, thank you for your time.”

Twenty minutes had gone by and I Ieft the neatly stacked bags right on the till, I passed Miss Trunchbull and headed out of the door.

I left with a feeling of smugness and slight regret, The fact that I had held up their day, and had given them something to talk about in the canteen maybe, but a slight regret, in the fact that I am almost certainly turning into my dad!!!

I crossed the road to the liquor store where amazingly I picked up the said beers for a special offer price! What’s even better was as I stopped at the small grocery shop next door, I was greated with great service and a choice of ‘out of date’ veg at rock bottom price. In far better condition, may I add, than the ones on sale that day in the NEW WORLD(shitty supermarket, just for good measure) outlet.

(I will now commence with a slightly boring description of a fishing trip, If that doesn’t float your boat or if you would not like to know the results look away now.”)

It was a cracking morning In the bay of Islands for my first ever boat fishing trip at sea, flat calm. It took me some time to work out which was bluer the sea or the sky! We set out, only myself and an older Aussie guy Jim on board. As the skipper and his mate baited our rods, I daydreamed over a monster of the deep grabbing the line… I cast out hoping for at least,the first fish of the day. Within minutes Fabian the deck hand was in, then me, then Jim as quick as that, working our way round the boat, a couple of nice fish for tea and a few to go back. We had a slack hour or so but I was pleased with the four fish I had caught, Jim however scooped the fish of the day, a wonderful snapper and a decent couple of Porae to go with it. It had been a great morning’s fishing and I have to thank John at the Marlin Court motel, Paihia, for organising me a place on board. Not only that but for his sage advice, as regards to KIWI driving…but that’s for another day.

Cape Brett and the top of the top bit!

2010-10-22T14:50:00.000+13:00

When George Orwell wrote 1984 he buggered off to the remote Scottish island of Jura, and described it as a pretty “unget-at- able” place. New Zealand’s Northland and most likely the whole of the South Island share this unget-at-ability, so this week I put my hand into my deep Yorkshire pockets and shelled out for a car that was built when I was still in nappies!

“She’s not a great lookers but she can still move”…No not a description of Madonna’s latest piece of visual diarrhoea, but the words of top gear magazine….or more accurately the guy that flogged me this beast of a machine.

With the motor packed and raring to add to the 200,876 miles on the clock, my new found friend and road trip compadre Konrad headed for Opua and more precisely the vehicle ferry that would take us to a point on the Cape Brett track. To start this tale I should rewind a little, Konrad had sold me the idea of this “walk” a few days earlier not mentioning any length in time or distance just a gentle meander if you will, to a famous landmark in NZ… the hole in the rock. No problem I exclaimed I have done many walks in the UK…blah blah. To fast forward then, there we were, looking out over Paihia, and the whole area of the beautiful bay of islands. We stopped casually for pictures, I had no bag only a light rain jacket and my camera……Around 2 ½ hours in, I had started to contemplate the idea of where the endpoint may be, Konrad who had bounded off like fucking Ben Fogle on one of those ridiculous programmes, where he invites uninteresting members of the public to trek all over the world, and then, up some sodding mountain in Peru exclaims to the camera man

“Sue is really struggling today…it must be due to her worrying about her sons diabetes”

Piss off Fogle its because she sits in a crappy office all day while you get paid to look after yourself and prance around the bloody Alps or gorp at animals on a posh farm.

Anyway enough of my distain for talentless Class Z celebs, time was ticking by, it was around 3 in the afternoon when we passed a sign…hole in the rock 4 hrs.

“Konrad..how long do you think is left?”

“….maybe over zi next ill”….

The next ill came and went and another, we finally reached the end and after around four and a half hours walking didn’t feel so bad..If a little thirsty. We turned back.. Night fall was at 8 and we wanted to be well out of the bush by this point, so we packed away the camera’s and got cracking.

Now I’m not the most unfit chap in the world nor am I Haile Gebrselassie, but I consider that as an average Guinness drinking 24 year old goes I don’t do too bad. Within 90mins of heading on the long drag back I felt bloody awful, nearly all the water had been drunk and I was dragging my self along like a child who had been playing football on a long summers evening, and could now hear his mother calling him home! I don’t know what happened but the air seemed hotter, the sweat that poured down my neck wasn’t wet enough to cool me but damp enough to catch the breeze and make me shiver. Konrad who seemed unchanged from the first five minutes continued on. By 3 hours into the trek back I was starting to feel like Vanessa Feltz hauling myself over hills made of treacle. I had to take a break, I felt dizzy and my mouth was now unbelievably dry. After a short while we reached a water butt that caught rain water, what had looked a slightly risky and unattractive place to fill the water bottles before, now was a necessity, I drank 1.5 litres without thinking. It felt like all the hangovers I have ever had, had all come at once. When we got to the car I was done, I flopped into the seat, polished off more water and looked down at the front tyre, it was four inches into the mud. Even though at this point my brain knew we were stuck I didn’t give a monkeys I just sat there staring at this piece of rubber and the sopping mud and grass all around it. If this day could get any worse it had…..

…..Yes I had to be towed out. And yes all the local Maori kids had a good laugh at the stupid tourist who had parked in the lowest point of the field, when there were 400acres of fucking dry,arid,solid, better than tarmac ..Kiwi earth to park on. It seems we English can’t even beat the Germans at parking cars in fields or the most basic of Human tasks..Walking up a hill, and not even one high enough for Jack and Jill to write home about. I got back, ate, and suitably humiliated went to bed.

http://www.greatoutdoors.com/blogs/peterp/20071109/new-zealand-hikes-cape-brett-hike

2010-10-18T11:51:00.000+13:00

"The theory is you throw this bit of shiny metal into the sea and a fish bites hold of it
....its just a theory"

Flynn-Cam

I'll take the head end please pal.

New born...name suggestions on a postcard to p.o box.....

Robinson Crusoe....more like Robinson fruit juice!

Up in the weka!

Tane Mahuta
http://www.doc.govt.nz/parks-and-recreation/tracks-and-walks/northland/kauri-coast/tane-mahuta-track/

Current accommodation!

Hot stuff

Koutu boulders at sunset
http://www.hokiangatourism.org.nz/listings/koutu.html

Girls out on the town!

A FORTNIGHT OF FIRSTS..

2010-10-17T10:58:00.000+13:00

Helped a sheep give birth.
Planted native plants.
Saw the largest tree in NZ.
Used a 'weed wakker.'
Ate the hottest chilli sauce in NZ.
learned the meaning of..
Eierschalensollbruchstellenverursacher.
(learned to say it....just)
(saw a picture of one!)
went to a protest about poo!
saw a stingray.
cut down a pine tree.
pulled half of it over with a quad.
..learned to ride a quad bike!
bought my first car.
waited for a library to open!

Few weeks off...

2010-10-17T10:45:00.000+13:00

I've had a bit of a media blackout over the past few weeks, the internet hasn't been as accessible as I thought it would be in New Zealand, or maybe I should rephrase that, I've not been so Internet accessible. My Travels have taken me from the landing sites of the first European settlers right over to the birthplace of the nation, in the Mauri tradition, the landing site of the great traveller Kupe. It has been a mad couple of weeks and to condense it all into an A4 page would be not only ridiculous but pointless..I think its time for another list and maybe a visual day to day account! Moreover I've only got twenty minute left in the library so better get cracking. As I mentioned before its easier to get hold of some handmade possum underwear than get decent Internet access in Northland, for example, this morning I walked into a nice (expensive) coffee shop, a reasonable place I assumed, to ask for internet access. When I mentioned the phrase WIFI the bloke looked at me like I'd just pissed on his kids or if he had the Piper Alpha oil platform rigged up as a museum display out the back!...moreover he charged to look at the newspapers. I made a beeline for the door and was informed free internet was available in all public libraries in NZ, I can honestly say its the first time in my life I've sat outside a Library on a sunday morning waiting for it to open. "morning" the lady said as she turned the key to open up, I'd been sat on the cold step 20mins and lept up..."your keen" she exclaimed, I must have looked like some human JONNY 5, racing into the library to read everything on the shelves on a quiet grey Sunday morning, I knew better than to mention the dreaded wifi phrase.

2010-09-22T16:49:00.000+12:00

We have Kalvero Oberg to thank for the term culture shock, Its probably the most widely used travel term out there, With regards to his experiments I'm still very much in the honeymoon stage although I would possibly use G.Bush's favourite expression (after, errrr...) 'shock and awe,' for my view of Singapore. In a way I probably didn't know what to expect, I understood the former British, far east trading post to be cosmopolitan and high rise, but in actual fact its far more than that. On the face of it, it's how someone would imagine the 21st century to be in the 1840's. The underground is by far the best Ive seen anywhere in the World, and I've navigated a few in the last year, It makes London's adhoc system look like a medieval cesspit, moreover its completely litter free, not even a cig butt in sight, even in the districts of Chinatown and little India the streets are relatively well kept. I suppose this is the kind of write up the Singapore government would want to read, although I appreciate all is not hunky dory and many see Singapore as effectively a one party state,the PAP have held power since the 60s. Interestingly Singapore's politicians are some of the highest paid in the world(5x that of B Obama), from my short time there it seems they are earning their corn. All this certainly breeds contempt of my own government but on the other hand walking round old colonial areas of the city and sipping a rather expensive Singapore sling, in Raffles also made me immensely proud, at least in past decades we new how to do it! Some people would argue that British rule undermined the local populous, it with out doubt did, but what remains is a Futuristic, forward moving city which has moved on from its bloody past, and has learned not only from its foreign rulers but from its near neighbours how to live, and more importantly how 'not' to Govern.
Arriving in Auckland then was always going to be a strange experience, After spending a sleepless night in a CLOSED and freezing Brisbane airport, I arrived dog tired to a city of just over a million people. 'The Big smoke' was wet, windy and grey and not at all inspiring after the bright lights and malls of the Lion city. I grabbed a couple of Tui's and went to bed!

That bottle is as big as it looks!!

Next morning I explored a bit further and was more impressed with the city of Sails, a city with an area twice the size of London, I quickly realised most of this is water. Several islands make up this fascinating city and is certainly those areas that I would be up for exploring in the coming months. I realise after just two and a half days there I'd not taken one photograph, I suppose in my mind this wasn't the New Zealand I'd come to see, it was, like Brisbane and Singapore, a stopover city In a wider area of travel. Yesterday and this morning was more like it, after catching the bus in Auckland I was treated to an interesting hour of conversation on New Zealand's past from one of the locals, I was informed of why some towns are pronounced with an F sound, such as Whatangei, and what pit falls to avoid! More interestingly she got off at the township known as Waipu and indeed WAI, PU when you can Wee! I awoke this morning after a noisy night in the PIPI patch hostel, to a wonderful day.After sorting laundry and a lovely beach stroll, in the town of Paihia, I treated myself to a fry up and enjoyed the view.

So, i gets on this plane right..

2010-09-15T21:18:00.000+12:00

Boiled sweets, a pack of cards and a newspaper was all i thought I had for entertainment as I stepped on the flight from Manchester. What I failed to realise as I sat down was millions of passengers have been in this situation before and been entertained wasn't something I would be short of. Its a tad disconcerting when a 8inch screen in the back of a seat, contains more films than I own! Plus a back catalogue of albums John Peel would be proud of. Suitably brought into the twenty first century I hastily shoved my day trip to Scarborough entertainment into my bag, and settled down to sucking Yorkshire mixtures whilst playing space invaders, listening to Led Zeppelin and laughing at the woman in front, who had yet to work out what to do with the warm hand towel.....Twas to be a long flight. As we reached a decent altitude, drinks were brought around, out of politeness I settled with a coke, politeness and ignorance, as I didn't realise alcohol was also free(you can take a man out of Yorkshire....) This mistake was never made again, although the greatest mistake I made, as anyone who has been on any length of journey, with a few pints in them will understand, the toilet is always the next port of call. The problem is when you've got a chap at the side of you who looks a cross between Bernard Manning and the chef bloke out of pie in the sky, with the temperament of Harold Shipman. The last thing you want to be doing is nudging him every five minutes. I would have to wait....time ticked by and the more I flicked the entertainment channels the worse it got....
Music.....
Select...
rainy night in Georgia...
...get off this I'll put the National Geographic channel on, surely that will bore me off the need to urinate....
(queue dramatic Documentary music)
"tonight on Discovery in partnership with Emirates....The building of a hydro electric dam in Canada...see the gallons of water gush through this amazing structure, look how masses of water......"
Fuck this!
I turned to see the portly chap nodding off, I didn't care, excuse me sir, I almost knocked him into the aisle. "aha a week bladder I see"to which I should have replied "aha high cholesterol and the waistband of a hippo I see." I was in no mood for fraternizing, and nor should he have been unless he wanted his hand sewn Prada flight bag filling with piss. I made it, in the nick of time. Suitably relieved I returned to my seat, tired by the ordeal and the ever quickening darkness outside, I nodded off....

Our friends in the North....

2010-09-07T05:25:00.001+12:00

I suppose it's going to be a Topsy turvy trip for many reasons, it's the first time I will have crossed the equator. Which in itself Isn't a really big deal but just getting my head round the fact I will be on the underneath of a giant, red hot, fast moving, ball of rock is quite daunting. It's not that however that stirs me, Its also the furthest I will have headed south....and this is a big deal.

I think Stuart Maconie made, or stole the idea, that being Northern is a state of mind, its quite a valid point. Many people who know me will know my somewhat passionate point of view and had it thrust upon them over a pint of good local ale...or as far as Tetleys goes soon to be not so local. I suppose its an idea of belonging, its not a choice you have much say in but an act you grow into and get particularly defensive about...but its for good reason. You can say to someone I'm from the North and they will have an instant idea of what you are about, it automatically places you, or you can say I'm from an alienated group of homogenised twenty to thirty somethings from a 'multicultural' area around the Thames, in short London. Nobody says I'm from the South, it doesn't stand for anything. From macams to scousers, smoggies to cod heads to mancs and loiners its who you are, and that crosses all boundaries and divides.

The point I'm probably trying to make here is that this question is not about Geography, when I arrive in New Zealand I will be Immediately heading North, the divide couldn't be greater over there, I'm going to the Northern part of the North Island. Over here I live smack bang in the centre of Great Britain 200m from London and a similar amount from Edinburgh yet apparently I'm a quintessential Northerner. I'll be interested to find out whether being above an invisible, unidentifiable line in another country, will carry such a tribal stigma as it does over here. The place where I am headed, Hokianga, is a natural harbour, an area steeped in Maori tradition............ http://www.hokianga.co.nz/

It is said to be the birthplace of the Nation, The general area itself is known as Northland or the Winter less North and is only dissected to the south by New Zealand's mock capital and largest city Auckland. To the North there are no trains, public buses or traffic lights, just plenty of sheep a somewhat familiar (generalised) view of the 'North.' What I'm trying to get at is this, I'm going to an area that is more or less the top of the country, as the compass points, the true North, It has the the largest and 'apparently' most vibrant cities. The majority of the countries history, The most successful sports teams, its biggest stadium (Eden Park Auckland 48 000.) I'm sure you can see what parallels I'm trying to draw here, I just hope these Northerner's are as: passionate,dyed in the wool,companionable, droll and warm hearted as my own homeland brethren.

2010-09-03T03:32:00.000+12:00

A LIST *

12 1/2 DAYS

18,000 MILES

A TRIP TO

EXETER

LONDON?SKINT.

MITCH'S

LEAVING DO...

TETLEY'S/GUINNESS

WHISKY/TAXI.

LAST WEEK

AT WORK

BANK/

TRAVEL DOCS/

ITINERARY

BUY...

BORROW....

STEAL THINGS.

ORGANISE

PACK

HELLO///GOODBYE.

*The A-list is a term that alludes to major movie stars, and/or the most bankable in the Hollywood movie industry. Or is in its simplest form a list of tasks to hopefully achieve in a period of time, or never.

2010-09-01T18:21:00.000+12:00

The title might sound a tad highbrow, however its not an attempt to justify any big adventure. Thousands of my fellow twenty somethings head down under, as it says on the immigration website 'an infinite number of 18-30's from the UK.." My travel itinerary will be no different from any one else's, but the main point about travel, the reasons why we head off, somewhat on the hoof, is because its quite the opposite. It doesn't matter what route you have followed, your flights, the same map, same hostel's, bars,same bogs! The motivation is individual, its what experiences you decide to hold yourself. The other thing about this quote is that it's from a kiwi interested in the outdoors! Which is where I hope to spend the most of my time in NZ, lets face it if your digging for inspiration, or just a few words to stick at the top of a blog, there ain't many bigger than EH.

“Nobody climbs mountains for scientific reasons. Science is used to raise money for the expeditions, but you really climb for the hell of it.” EH