It's true. You just can't. You can, however, have the best first view of Wellington (rounding that final corner on the motorway, coming into the harbour) utterly destroyed for you by a ranting bus driver intent on telling his victims/passengers exactly why the lights at Waikanae are to blame for the constant traffic jams on State Highway 1. If only Helen Clark would drive to Auckland - it'd get fixed quick smart, etc.
But I digress. I love Wellington. It is the most beautiful city in the world - it was only with a great deal of self control that I managed to not stroke the pavement/houses/sea/Fin clothing shop with a loving hand. Instead I lavished affection on the smaller sister and gave out hugs to people I know there. And there was much catching up and meeting of people's new special friends (I go away for six months and everyone gets lucky - was it me that prevented this from happening before - was I the blight?). Gen's flat had drinks so I whipped out the gin and made sausage rolls like some sort of adult and proceeded to talk nonsense until 4am with old chums and woke up at 9am to go shopping - with no hangover. Possibly I was still mildly intoxicated - but I prefer to think that I have managed to tame the booze.
And then there were new clothes and the elation that goes with that, which carried me all through waiting for the airbus and the plane to Christchurch and the baggage carousel and falling into Fi's arms, whereupon she said all the right things, such as 'I like your ring, and your shoes, and your jacket', proving once again that we are friends for all the right reasons.
So now Christchurch until Thursday. So far I've been sleeping a great deal, and have managed to seduce Fi's cat into sleeping on my bed, instead of hers - worst night's sleep ever. Cat needs a lot of affection and enjoys kneading one's body with her claws.
I finally got my new credit card and it looks hungry for action so I'd better buy a few more things - just to make sure it works as it should. And I got all my money (overdraft) back from the bank after the bad people stole it in Bulgaria so it's shaping up to be a top week.
On the looking for toilets when desperate front - Fi demonstrated that the law library is pretty good, as is George's mum's house - but only when you can get a park outside it, otherwise the service station round the corner is quite acceptable.
Only one sour note about Wellington - I seem to have fleas. I'm not criticising - just making a note. It could have been a really rampant mosquito, actually. Probably was. I'd prefer it to be that. Yes, that's what it was. Not fleas at all. Ignore that first bit.
Hypothetical question for the week - should one have to go to the baby shower of someone that one cannot stand but is sort of related to? And before my family starts wondering which family member is eating for two - this is not about me for once - just a situation that seems to have arisen for someone else. Should you have to go especially if the mum to be is going to be passively aggressive to one as well? Because you can't slap pregnant women. I was thinking, after watching Good Morning today, where they had a doctor demonstrating a very phallic aid for helping with pelvic muscles after having babies, that perhaps one of these would be a good gift. Given with a saccharine sweet smile and some sort of very pink card. Does this thought make me a bad person? The actual thought made me feel warm all over - but that's not really the point, I suppose.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
And I'm blonde again
Thanks to the mighty power of Bran and his scissors and bottles of magic stuff I am now blonde-ish again. And Bran has kindly pointed out that I have clean hair now. I hate Bran. It might be clean but it is also incredibly fluffy and I think I look sort of like a sheep.
Saw the rest of the Auckland gang - there were some drinks, some food, a dubious video of that Canadian who eats dental floss and then does the 'body floss' which made me retch and quite a bit of filth talk - mostly initiated by Demelza. Poor Mark came to visit and was subjected to all this.
Saw Ruthie and her new chum from Ireland. He passed my very poor interrogation and then later I realised that I had forgotten to ask him the most important question of all - how does he feel about canned pineapple?
Having been let down by Auckland's weather, I hired a car and drove to Rotorua to see Angela and Hayden. This was all good, and then it was suggested that we go out to meet Hayden's new lady. Having never been out in Rotorua, I was keen. Angela declined, suggesting, quite sensibly that having been at home sick, if she went out, the rules firmly state that she would have to bump into a workmate. So Hayden and I made sure we were not wearing steel caps and ventured out. And by golly, the effort was worth it. Never before have I seen a man dressed in leather, with a half face moko dance with sequined pom poms. And he wanted to be our friend! It was so my lucky night. However, as midnight approached, and all the university students rampaged in their togas, I decided that perhaps I ought to call it a night. And then, just as I was leaving the bar I saw that they were having a sausage sizzle. Yes! Could my night get any better? I think not. I had two and felt rather satisfied with their white-bready, oniony, tomato-saucy, nasty sausage goodness.
And then I drove to Wellington because that's where the hire car lives. On the way to Wellington I stopped in at the bank in PN so to pick up my shiny new credit card so I could pay for things. Alas, it was not to be. Apparently it had never turned up. So they ordered me another one. To be picked up in Christchurch. That's three credit cards in two weeks. A personal record.
Having thoroughly enjoyed my drive down the island, although I probably scared several people with my driving, I caught a train with Gen back up to PN, to be all family like for the weekend.
Because Gen and I were both home for the weekend and some birthdays have been and gone, we all went out for dinner in our gladrags. Sadly, the meal was not up to standard and dad told the waitress that whoever cooked his potatoes should be shot and could she please at least throw the offending veges at the chef. Shooting people seems a popular choice with the older generation as today my rather charming dentist told me that if waited another four years before I came to see him again, he'd shoot me. My tartar build up had horrified him.
Saw the rest of the Auckland gang - there were some drinks, some food, a dubious video of that Canadian who eats dental floss and then does the 'body floss' which made me retch and quite a bit of filth talk - mostly initiated by Demelza. Poor Mark came to visit and was subjected to all this.
Saw Ruthie and her new chum from Ireland. He passed my very poor interrogation and then later I realised that I had forgotten to ask him the most important question of all - how does he feel about canned pineapple?
Having been let down by Auckland's weather, I hired a car and drove to Rotorua to see Angela and Hayden. This was all good, and then it was suggested that we go out to meet Hayden's new lady. Having never been out in Rotorua, I was keen. Angela declined, suggesting, quite sensibly that having been at home sick, if she went out, the rules firmly state that she would have to bump into a workmate. So Hayden and I made sure we were not wearing steel caps and ventured out. And by golly, the effort was worth it. Never before have I seen a man dressed in leather, with a half face moko dance with sequined pom poms. And he wanted to be our friend! It was so my lucky night. However, as midnight approached, and all the university students rampaged in their togas, I decided that perhaps I ought to call it a night. And then, just as I was leaving the bar I saw that they were having a sausage sizzle. Yes! Could my night get any better? I think not. I had two and felt rather satisfied with their white-bready, oniony, tomato-saucy, nasty sausage goodness.
And then I drove to Wellington because that's where the hire car lives. On the way to Wellington I stopped in at the bank in PN so to pick up my shiny new credit card so I could pay for things. Alas, it was not to be. Apparently it had never turned up. So they ordered me another one. To be picked up in Christchurch. That's three credit cards in two weeks. A personal record.
Having thoroughly enjoyed my drive down the island, although I probably scared several people with my driving, I caught a train with Gen back up to PN, to be all family like for the weekend.
Because Gen and I were both home for the weekend and some birthdays have been and gone, we all went out for dinner in our gladrags. Sadly, the meal was not up to standard and dad told the waitress that whoever cooked his potatoes should be shot and could she please at least throw the offending veges at the chef. Shooting people seems a popular choice with the older generation as today my rather charming dentist told me that if waited another four years before I came to see him again, he'd shoot me. My tartar build up had horrified him.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Home again, home again, jiggety jig
Hong Kong hides its public toilets very well. Which is awkward when it's all hot and sticky and you drink a lot of water.
But that's okay because I am home now. And it is raining nice NZ rain. (It only seems nice because I am at home. I'm sure this will stop being nice the moment I have to go outside.)
And last night I tried to give Bran, Jase and Demelza food poisoning by cooking roast chicken in Bran and Jase's very badly lit kitchen. Mood lighting, sure. Pinkish chicken? Maybe. But no one complains. And then there are marshmellow eggs, which make everything all shiny.
Am rather tired because despite the stopover and both my flights being under 12 hours, and the fact that each time I had an empty seat next to me for lounging over, I failed to get much sleep - so was wide awake at 3am this morning for quite some time. And then was rudely awoken at 9am by Jase wanting to show me where he keeps his car so I can drive it.
"Drive to the conditions, Pen."
"Uh?"
I was listening, mostly. I was also reeling from inadvertenly getting a whiff of my morning breath.
But I'm almost done watching informercials now - so addictive - so it must be time to do something. Except it's raining. Perhaps going back to bed/mattress on the living room floor is a good idea.
But that's okay because I am home now. And it is raining nice NZ rain. (It only seems nice because I am at home. I'm sure this will stop being nice the moment I have to go outside.)
And last night I tried to give Bran, Jase and Demelza food poisoning by cooking roast chicken in Bran and Jase's very badly lit kitchen. Mood lighting, sure. Pinkish chicken? Maybe. But no one complains. And then there are marshmellow eggs, which make everything all shiny.
Am rather tired because despite the stopover and both my flights being under 12 hours, and the fact that each time I had an empty seat next to me for lounging over, I failed to get much sleep - so was wide awake at 3am this morning for quite some time. And then was rudely awoken at 9am by Jase wanting to show me where he keeps his car so I can drive it.
"Drive to the conditions, Pen."
"Uh?"
I was listening, mostly. I was also reeling from inadvertenly getting a whiff of my morning breath.
But I'm almost done watching informercials now - so addictive - so it must be time to do something. Except it's raining. Perhaps going back to bed/mattress on the living room floor is a good idea.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
HK
One of the advantages of being an adult is that you get to test those potential lies your parents told you as a child. Like if you don't rest for 30 minutes after eating before leaping into a pool you will get cramp and this will more than likely kill you. And if you eat too many cashews you will feel sick.
I feel sick.
But, if you're going to be ill, why not in Hong Kong? Free internet at the airport - although no access to Facebook as it seems to be classified as a dating site. Fair enough.
My 32 hours in Hong Kong have gone nicely - did some shopping, ate some cashews, got my fill of dumplings for breakfast, which was really the only reason I stopped over, and I paid too much for a hostel room but I was desperate to use a toilet so my negotiating skills kind of disappeared.
However, didn't have to share a room and it came with a TV that didn't work and a toilet/shower combo that entertained me no end, given that was smaller than your average cupboard but yet you could do so much in there at once. Like shower AND brush your teeth. Utter brilliance.
I do seem to have a caught something though, along the lines of a scratchy throat, which is probably the beginning of some romantic tropical wasting disease.
And now - to duty free.
I feel sick.
But, if you're going to be ill, why not in Hong Kong? Free internet at the airport - although no access to Facebook as it seems to be classified as a dating site. Fair enough.
My 32 hours in Hong Kong have gone nicely - did some shopping, ate some cashews, got my fill of dumplings for breakfast, which was really the only reason I stopped over, and I paid too much for a hostel room but I was desperate to use a toilet so my negotiating skills kind of disappeared.
However, didn't have to share a room and it came with a TV that didn't work and a toilet/shower combo that entertained me no end, given that was smaller than your average cupboard but yet you could do so much in there at once. Like shower AND brush your teeth. Utter brilliance.
I do seem to have a caught something though, along the lines of a scratchy throat, which is probably the beginning of some romantic tropical wasting disease.
And now - to duty free.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Better late than never, eh?
Forgive me, reading audience of eight, I couldn't be bothered.
Skye came home from Australia very, very poor but with a house for herself and Mike and a bag of cherry ripes for me.
Kruse got a bit older and I gave him socks. He went house sitting for Caro and Dom and I went round to visit and the cat bit me.
Work is ever so busy and it's all gone to hell and no one knows what the feck's going on. Which means it's a good time for me to come home. So five more days. And then a day buying some Rolexes in Hong Kong (anyone want one?) and then Brandon will meet me at Auckland airport wearing a red carnation so I know what to look for next Monday. Three days in Auckland, one in Reporoa hanging with some cows, raging it up in PN for a week, two days in Wellington buying trousers of the like not seen in the UK, then Christchurch for five days to try out the comfort of Fi's spare room and then Sydney for three nights to see brother Nic and the world's tallest man, Tim. And then home in time for work on 6 May, when I discover that all the books I sent to print before I left have mistakes in them. I am a very good production editor.
We had people over for my birthday brunchy lunchy (featuring asparagus rolls, bloody marys, truffles and fairy bread - all class) and there was a greatdeal of nonsense spoken, a history lesson, cake in face, probably a bit too much booze and all in bed by midnight. Thirty is looking as mature as 24 did.
I finally stretched my jeans to an acceptable fit and I was overjoyed but then they started to smell (hadn't washed them for a very long time) so I had to give them up to the washing machine and now I have to start the whole process all over again. I'm eating a caramello koala in an effort to help with the stretching. And then I'm going to make a huge effort to finish off my third birthday cake - is it cheating if I just lick off the icing? Mad Laura made it and it's awfully good.
I got some very good books for turning 30, and marshmellow eggs from Simon, which went straight into the freezer because that's where marshmellow eggs live. You can't get them here so I'm hoping that people are stockpiling them for me. James bought me coffee machine. I loathe coffee. James knows this. Skye is very pleased with her new coffee machine. I think it's going to have an accident. Those things fall off the bench into a hot oven all the time.
And this morning Skye burst into my room and demanded I look out the window. And despite the fact we started daylight saving last weekend and it's been rather warm all week - it was snowing. Was rather pretty but, oddly enough, when I went outside to take some cheesy photos, it was fecking freezing and my toes got cold.
My toenails are disgusting and I don't know what happened to them. One is definitely bruised, but the others? Perhaps it's winter toenail sadness? They just need sunlight? Or heaps of nail polish.
Oh, and some utter bastard in Bulgaria stole $1000 out of my NZ bank account. Fuckers. Once I'd rung the bank and explained stuff (like the fact that I have never been to Bulgaria and I still have my credit card) and wrote an email to explain more stuff, they rang me back to talk some more. Only they forgot about the time difference.
'Penelope? It's Trudi from the National Bank. How are you?'
'What? Sure. Fine.'
'What time is it there?'
'What time is it in New Zealand?'
'One thirty in the afternoon.'
'Then it's 1.30am here.'
'Oh.'
'Yeah.'
'Did I wake you up?'
And so on. So now I have forms to fill out and eventually I should get my money back. Or rather, I should get my overdraft, which is really the bank's money, back.
Skye came home from Australia very, very poor but with a house for herself and Mike and a bag of cherry ripes for me.
Kruse got a bit older and I gave him socks. He went house sitting for Caro and Dom and I went round to visit and the cat bit me.
Work is ever so busy and it's all gone to hell and no one knows what the feck's going on. Which means it's a good time for me to come home. So five more days. And then a day buying some Rolexes in Hong Kong (anyone want one?) and then Brandon will meet me at Auckland airport wearing a red carnation so I know what to look for next Monday. Three days in Auckland, one in Reporoa hanging with some cows, raging it up in PN for a week, two days in Wellington buying trousers of the like not seen in the UK, then Christchurch for five days to try out the comfort of Fi's spare room and then Sydney for three nights to see brother Nic and the world's tallest man, Tim. And then home in time for work on 6 May, when I discover that all the books I sent to print before I left have mistakes in them. I am a very good production editor.
We had people over for my birthday brunchy lunchy (featuring asparagus rolls, bloody marys, truffles and fairy bread - all class) and there was a greatdeal of nonsense spoken, a history lesson, cake in face, probably a bit too much booze and all in bed by midnight. Thirty is looking as mature as 24 did.
I finally stretched my jeans to an acceptable fit and I was overjoyed but then they started to smell (hadn't washed them for a very long time) so I had to give them up to the washing machine and now I have to start the whole process all over again. I'm eating a caramello koala in an effort to help with the stretching. And then I'm going to make a huge effort to finish off my third birthday cake - is it cheating if I just lick off the icing? Mad Laura made it and it's awfully good.
I got some very good books for turning 30, and marshmellow eggs from Simon, which went straight into the freezer because that's where marshmellow eggs live. You can't get them here so I'm hoping that people are stockpiling them for me. James bought me coffee machine. I loathe coffee. James knows this. Skye is very pleased with her new coffee machine. I think it's going to have an accident. Those things fall off the bench into a hot oven all the time.
And this morning Skye burst into my room and demanded I look out the window. And despite the fact we started daylight saving last weekend and it's been rather warm all week - it was snowing. Was rather pretty but, oddly enough, when I went outside to take some cheesy photos, it was fecking freezing and my toes got cold.
My toenails are disgusting and I don't know what happened to them. One is definitely bruised, but the others? Perhaps it's winter toenail sadness? They just need sunlight? Or heaps of nail polish.
Oh, and some utter bastard in Bulgaria stole $1000 out of my NZ bank account. Fuckers. Once I'd rung the bank and explained stuff (like the fact that I have never been to Bulgaria and I still have my credit card) and wrote an email to explain more stuff, they rang me back to talk some more. Only they forgot about the time difference.
'Penelope? It's Trudi from the National Bank. How are you?'
'What? Sure. Fine.'
'What time is it there?'
'What time is it in New Zealand?'
'One thirty in the afternoon.'
'Then it's 1.30am here.'
'Oh.'
'Yeah.'
'Did I wake you up?'
And so on. So now I have forms to fill out and eventually I should get my money back. Or rather, I should get my overdraft, which is really the bank's money, back.
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