tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42215442984407104772024-03-06T06:16:35.683+11:00Jum of BungendoreUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger49125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4221544298440710477.post-480047788030070152010-03-14T14:56:00.008+11:002010-03-17T21:36:55.076+11:00Observations on Life in Darwin Town<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA3xpwaUObYgiVIflu08a359p6qwynREjfFDvloF9wRHvt3yUjYLRQSMmxvr-3Oa65HEFK1w4jL5uVYU40j1hh2kX1N8xhJqJ2ofTE-3jdo1gTRqu0gk2NHfziYAgsqIoLhgI8JvHiKJcF/s1600-h/DSC00261.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA3xpwaUObYgiVIflu08a359p6qwynREjfFDvloF9wRHvt3yUjYLRQSMmxvr-3Oa65HEFK1w4jL5uVYU40j1hh2kX1N8xhJqJ2ofTE-3jdo1gTRqu0gk2NHfziYAgsqIoLhgI8JvHiKJcF/s400/DSC00261.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449545916293515650" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I used to think that I would find the perfect place, and the more I think about Darwin the more I think that I have found it.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">What Goes On</span><br /><br />While I was in Darwin town I would eat breakfast in the little cafe at the bottom of the hotel. I was greeted each morning by<span style="font-family:arial;"> the lovely staff, a wonderful coffee, muesli and a newspaper with </span><a href="http://www.ntnews.com.au/article/2010/03/09/130191_ntnews.html" target="_blank">'Stabbed in the back while having sex'</a> emblazoned across the front page. Apparently this sort of news is normal up there. So, as long as I am not the man being stabbed in the back while having sex, I think I could quite happily read about it in the morning over a cold, sugary grapefruit.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">What You Can See<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /></span></span>Crocodiles. According to the NT News they are <a href="http://www.ntnews.com.au/article/2010/01/04/113181_ntnews.html" target="_blank">everywhere</a>.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3AS4ckZU26AaEMXfv6uL1sCNV0sOH4CizRjlM8iFrIuxyhbGx-ERbmRvnnZ1EVlAYy6RhlGuPjCb8E9wEsG1Xbf-jWReS6PSnXsE3ST_Ab_M5ecetKjBIpAiCYgJr91I_J72_jLSTlnAm/s1600-h/DSC00253.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3AS4ckZU26AaEMXfv6uL1sCNV0sOH4CizRjlM8iFrIuxyhbGx-ERbmRvnnZ1EVlAYy6RhlGuPjCb8E9wEsG1Xbf-jWReS6PSnXsE3ST_Ab_M5ecetKjBIpAiCYgJr91I_J72_jLSTlnAm/s320/DSC00253.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449544265506535602" border="0" /></a><br />I didn't see one, although I could feel them watching me from the dark of every street drain I passed.<br /><br />You can also see very nice park areas and a bush turkey mound. I discovered that bush turkeys are avid recyclers as they collect those recycled/recyclable bags you buy in supermarkets. Apparently building a mound containing 'green' bags and other recyclable products widens the field of available lady turkeys.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Who Lives There</span><br /><br />There is poverty and there is wealth. They are both obvious and are worn on Darwin's sleeve. The poor sit around in park areas (not the malls strangely) and the outer edges of the city. The rich people</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> wear horse blinkers</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> and can be found buying </span><span style="font-family:arial;">recycled/recyclable bags in your local supermarket. Neither group read the NT Times, however both feature prominently in its pages. The rest of the people, if they aren't tourists, backpackers or turkeys, are very relaxed, down to earth people.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Weather<br /><br /></span>Brilliant. It is hot and humid and makes me NEED spicy food and gin and tonics. And beer. This is a climate made for me.<br /><br />I wonder what the family will think...</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4221544298440710477.post-28603680416094331322010-03-07T18:44:00.012+11:002010-03-17T21:52:29.568+11:00Darwin - Evolution or just Coincidence<span style="font-family:arial;">I have always wanted to go to Darwin, ever since I found out that it was a place when I was a kid. It always seemed like this exotic far-away place that was yet to be discovered by most, but discovered enough so that I didn't have to hack my way through mangroves and fight crocodiles with my fists and a blunt razor to find it.<br /><br />Now that I am here I have come to the conclusion that it is much pretty like Wollongong or Newcastle, except in a sauna.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> The first afternoon here I checked into the office, said g'day, and then went for an explore around the town. I stumbled across a pub that looks like it was there during the cyclone and no one bothered to whip around with a hammer and a few nails. The anthropologist in me said 'go and buy a beer and sit out the front on a bar stool like the other four blokes to get a feel for Darwin'. The beer drinker in me said 'go and get a beer, I don't give a shit where you sit'. So I grabbed a beer after much arm-twisting and went and sat on a bar stool. From this vantage point I worked out that the men of Darwin sit silently, sipping their beer watching traffic go past. They only turn their heads when young female backpackers go past. I finished my beer and wandered off with a strange sense of fulfilment.<br /><br />I eventually found the ubiquitous backpacker precinct with the ubiquitous Irish pub with a name like 'O'Reillies' or Shenanigans or something. I would have been more tempted to name it something like 'O'What place does an Irish pub have in Darwin'.<br /><br />I sat had a beer and waited for the restaurants to open. My stomach was of the opinion that the time really was 6:30 although the sun in the sky was convinced that it was only 5:00. Beer was going to my head violently and dangerously, and I was sweating so much my eyes were filling up. Using my pen was like writing with a bar of soap.<br /><br />Time to move to another pub...<br /><br />I ended up sitting across the road from the Indian restaurant, gin and tonic in hand, feeling even worse. 6pm came and went and there was no sign of movement in the restaurant, so I did what I was desperately trying to avoid all along. Sitting in the hotel restaurant, by myself, staring out at the world through sad, lonely eyes. There must be some sort of a look lone travellers have, because upon arival the waiter showed me to a single seat and brought out a glass of shiraz large enough to drown my sorrows and two large horses.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihx-W_I1Z45aNWkL_h2sY0HW8o4ZpjQvTktfrcVXYSAhPFFe8wkBABdCyeasDuEINVbgB7N-wSqYOmmx2SvIWml1AzO8AwwhQ4D8DCazAyVdr5Vavrt3KAtSLyqap_cgQH5UXLSrSm2gqV/s1600-h/DSC00258+1.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 338px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihx-W_I1Z45aNWkL_h2sY0HW8o4ZpjQvTktfrcVXYSAhPFFe8wkBABdCyeasDuEINVbgB7N-wSqYOmmx2SvIWml1AzO8AwwhQ4D8DCazAyVdr5Vavrt3KAtSLyqap_cgQH5UXLSrSm2gqV/s400/DSC00258+1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449553391001420242" border="0" /></a><br />So there endeth my first day in Darwin; me, a meal, wine, a street view and the only company available was a boot that someone had thoughtfully thrown up onth the roof of the shed across the road.<br /><br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4221544298440710477.post-31647379962324321922010-03-05T20:06:00.031+11:002010-03-05T23:35:01.242+11:00My Not so New Favourite Shiny Car<span style="font-family:arial;">Everyone has a favourite car. It doesn't matter if you are a hippie, with an outward love of an ironic people mover that manifested itself out of Nazi Germany, or a complete rev head that has to paint his 458 kilowatt 6.7 litre, supercharged V8 a shade of pink that would make the Mardi Gras jealous. For each and every one of us there is a car that we want and secretly need. Here are some examples:<br /></span><ul><li><span style="font-family:arial;">The Dalai Lama could cross the sub-continent on bare feet, but I am sure he would love to do it in a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tata_Nano" target="_blank">Tata Nano</a> and really stick it to the Chinese </span></li><li><span style="font-family:arial;">Arnold Schwarzenegger, famous for his role in the movie<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0093773/" target="_blank"> Predator</a> and nothing else, brought the <a href="http://jumofbungendore.blogspot.com/2006/11/symptom-of-universe.html" target="_blank">Hummer</a> into popular culture - a car with a reputation for violating trees and burning the evidence with raw coal, hippies and coral. He really wanted to import the <a href="http://cache.gawker.com/assets/images/jalopnik/2008/11/MagnificentHumberSceptre.jpg" target="_blank">Humber</a> (my dad had one, therefore it is cool). Unfortunately people in Carlifaunya found his accent confusing and decided on a car made for serious military applications and suburban wankers. Arnie was so distraught and emotional he went and made movies about being pregnant and the end of the world in the future, which is really the past and is caused by machines. What?<br /></span></li><li><span style="font-family:arial;">John Howard likes cars because he discovered them three days ago when he finally pulled his head out of George Bush's arse. He apparently likes humming, not Humbers.<br /></span></li><li><span style="font-family:arial;">Kevin Rudd likes cars because they can be insulated, and they burn oil. His outward and open favourite is the Prius, but secretly he prefers anything made by Learjet. </span></li><li style="font-family: arial;">Paris Hilton likes the Hummer too. Apparently it was so 'like, yesterday'.</li></ul><span style="font-family:arial;">We all have a car, and mine is ths one:<br /></span> <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcghM0PeuYGJe0_9WpOyfLFP8C9FNpWf-etBczRvTiuwUvgeyqxzijWtWAjNQZXFvhUPsdpm965MCkXtXeRH4VAKrkyhHg8qHfFbS-zAeUcTJ6MCJ-H9uzx-WM20GgqW-xI9FduOGyfSh3/s1600-h/2009-Hurst-Hemi-Dodge-Challenger-Duo-2-1920x1440.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcghM0PeuYGJe0_9WpOyfLFP8C9FNpWf-etBczRvTiuwUvgeyqxzijWtWAjNQZXFvhUPsdpm965MCkXtXeRH4VAKrkyhHg8qHfFbS-zAeUcTJ6MCJ-H9uzx-WM20GgqW-xI9FduOGyfSh3/s400/2009-Hurst-Hemi-Dodge-Challenger-Duo-2-1920x1440.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445089594231305906" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">This is the <a href="http://www.dodge.com/en/2010/challenger/" target="_blank">Dodge Challenger</a>. It is made from sex, chocolate and the biggest, fattest, dirtiest Barossa Shiraz ever made. It also has a bit of chili beef jerky stuck between the front teeth. It eats Hot Dogs from a corner-diner and drinks beer with a bourbon/tabasco chaser. Apparenly corners are being phased out in 17 States because of this car's inability to accept the fact that it has to compromise power for practicality.<span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />One of my first memories is of when I was about my son's age</span>; 2-3 years old to be precise</span>.<span style="font-family:arial;"> I was in the back of Mum and Dad's Honda Civic at the Narrabundah Drive In watching Star Wars. Aside from gaining an infatuation with Darth Vader, I remember thinking 'I can't believe I am at a drive-in movie, in the late 70's in a fucking Honda Civic. I mean, seriously Dad, what happened to the Humber, and why didn't you upgrade to a SRT-8 friggin Challenger?' My thoughts followed on eventually to 'geez, Darth Vader would have bought a Challenger, I mean, he cut off his own son's hand! That is pure dedication...' I went to sleep in the underwhelmingly proportioned back seat, breathing with great, profound depth.<br /><br />My Mazda Astina recently blew up. It is dead. It is an ex-parrot. It has ceased to exist.<br /><br />I told my lovely, patient wife that I needed a new car, and the safest option was something akin to an Abrams tank that could get out of sticky situations through sheer power. If needed. You know, for the safety of the kids...<br /><br />I have to find a new favourite car. Apparently.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTyTa5NbYuVRLwlbUUNWjATpwEqbDAsVp3l9KeeQB0UZ279dGaHDaN3JsCEj8JCQD-1sd9UphtsVNc37MfwIKCGzu1qz_5ci3MJ5pOz_RLSqQMj7T2whRGG-CGZeAqK82RQbY10UFN44Oz/s1600-h/2009-SMS-570-Dodge-Challenger-Front-1280x960.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTyTa5NbYuVRLwlbUUNWjATpwEqbDAsVp3l9KeeQB0UZ279dGaHDaN3JsCEj8JCQD-1sd9UphtsVNc37MfwIKCGzu1qz_5ci3MJ5pOz_RLSqQMj7T2whRGG-CGZeAqK82RQbY10UFN44Oz/s400/2009-SMS-570-Dodge-Challenger-Front-1280x960.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445119849036065746" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">The Dreameth Hath Endetheth</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4221544298440710477.post-82757948592072019942008-10-13T20:29:00.002+11:002008-10-13T21:47:38.814+11:00Been a Long Time, eh?<span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /><embed src="http://www.seeqpod.com/cache/seeqpodSlimlineEmbed.swf" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" flashvars="domain=http://www.seeqpod.com&playlistXMLPath=http://www.seeqpod.com/api/music/getPlaylist?playlist_id=9a83f72285" width="300" height="80"></embed><br /><br /><br />Well I suppose it has, but in these times of fast writing, instant messaging and general mucking about I just haven't sat down and dedicated an hour to putting my thoughts into blog format. The other thing is that once you get out of the pattern and the drill you end up losing confidence, and worrying that you may make a goose of yourself in the end. Which I do regularly anyway. You also tend to focus on the negative things in life and dwell on things that just don't matter any more.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">I did start to write about the time my family, while we were living in the USA, visited Niagara Falls and camped there. But that is for another post at another time. The song you may or may not be listening to has something to do with that (click the play button above).<br /><br />I suppose I had better catch you up with life in Bungers Central. AARON HAS STARTED WALKING!!!<br /><br /><br /></span><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwbDX0e32xZAr_VeUGwQT5NZ3TqsdXale8d8YAld3w_UvLwv9jd6CwrBSdeLnowzGGSPdVAbHlmnopj6gmIxw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">I apologise for the quality, it is done with my phone. The quality is, however, much better than an iPhone even though my phone is two years old. Slam.<br /><br />You may think that the music doesn't match, well I don't care for your opinion. It smells like a poo. An iPoo.<br /><br />You may pick up that I am annoyed with iPod, iPhone or anything by Apple iPhuk. You may be right, but you may be more correct in saying that I am just a bit jealous of people in the other countries that managed to get them at decent prices or on decent plans. May your hard drives become as corrupt as Morris Iemma, and your battery life be as minuscule as Sarah Palin's intellect. And may your touch screen sue you for indecent assault. <br /><br />Speaking of politicians, Turdbull has been awfully quiet, is he trying to seem intelligent, or is he actually intelligent? I hate to admit it, but if this is the trend, I might start to like the libs an eensy, teensy bit. They at least seem to be behaving in a constructive manner, rather than the old Dr. Nelson aka Captain Bitchy Pants method of 'let's be as negative as possible and see if people begin to like us'. It doesn't work, just take a look at North Korea.<br /><br />Onward with the rant muthas! Where should I go from here. Oh, yeah, <a href="http://animosiman.blogspot.com/2007/11/qantas-will-remain-to-be-first.html">Qantas</a>. Well don't flying turkeys come home to roost!<br /><br />Where next? Um. I just had a look at <a href="http://www.jamesnachtwey.com/">this site</a>, and it stopped my rant dead in its tracks. Thanks Frommelbin, I am going to bed now. <br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4221544298440710477.post-45176842789346779092008-09-02T20:21:00.010+10:002008-09-10T21:35:23.567+10:00Oh Where Life Leads You<embed style="font-family: arial;" src="http://www.seeqpod.com/cache/seeqpodSlimlineEmbed.swf" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" flashvars="domain=http://www.seeqpod.com&playlistXMLPath=http://www.seeqpod.com/api/music/getPlaylist?playlist_id=ee6186027d" width="300" height="80"></embed><span style="font-family:arial;">Having recently left one job, and started another I have come to a point where things that </span><span style="font-family:arial;">once </span><span style="font-family:arial;">made sense don't any more. Things that were once unclear are now lucid and transparent. I was comfortable in my stagnation; personal drive was destroyed at every burst. Life assumed a predictable course - until I was fucked over that is.<br /><br />I am not going to take this little opportunity to lambaste the people that deliberately did me wrong. They don't deserve my full attention, the bottom feeding, plague-bringers that they are. They make the bile rise in my throat just thinking about them. On the other hand, I don't want you to misinterpret what I say here. There were a small handful of people that did what they could to keep me there. Mostly my friends and mentors. Thanks.<br /><br />I am much happier now, however I just can't shake some feelings of regret. I am in a wonderful place, developing strong friendships and acquaintances, tonnes of opportunity being thrown at my feet, and my home life is much happier for leaving. I just can't get rid of it. Will it pass?<br /><br />Sometimes I just want to scream and yell at the injustice people are suffering for the selfishness of others. Sometimes I feel such anger, hatred and animosity welling up inside me that I can barely control it. The other day I looked across the lake, up that wonderful parade and shed a tear for the innocent suffering of people that are trying to do their job for the right reasons, and get shafted for the wrong reasons. A bit like the poor men at the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_the_Nek">Nek</a>.<br /><br />People must have found it hard to walk away from a war, because I find it hard enough walking away from a job that I loved, and hated, but mostly loved.<br /><br />I think Charlie Sheen (playing Chris Taylor in his best effort to emulate his dad) summed it up well in the movie Platoon:<br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:85%;" >I think now, looking back, we did not fight the enemy; we fought ourselves. The enemy was in us. The war is over for me now, but it will always be there, the rest of my days. As I'm sure Elias will be, fighting with Barnes for what Rhah called "possession of my soul." There are times since, I've felt like a child, born of those two fathers. But be that as it may, those of us who did make it have an obligation to build again. To teach to others what we know, and to try with what's left of our lives to find a goodness and a meaning to this life<br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Well, maybe not precisely, but you get the gist anyway.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Maybe I did it to myself, I doubt it, but surely some of it is owed to my stubborn pride, and the fact that I will always stand up against the Barnes's and fight for the Elias's of the world.<br /><br />Much of my time there doesn't make sense now, I did really well, but I also did some things really badly. All I ever got were mixed messages when all I tried to do was the right thing.<br /><br />Hopefully this post will put it all behind me now. I have much more important, beautiful, exciting and wonderful things to care about.</span></span><br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjocCnEPeRefmmd-BXBhWSh45i4NacchoeGT2PI_cPsBzlBTENOQAikltDbJ0_3O3vUtyI1IYJI0U-4gIxzRrWRtebbGA5QOs3exl86hFTk6Fj-27yu0HV7CkxbMHAqtqX4I4bH5m5LJo7U/s1600-h/16+June+%2821%29.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjocCnEPeRefmmd-BXBhWSh45i4NacchoeGT2PI_cPsBzlBTENOQAikltDbJ0_3O3vUtyI1IYJI0U-4gIxzRrWRtebbGA5QOs3exl86hFTk6Fj-27yu0HV7CkxbMHAqtqX4I4bH5m5LJo7U/s400/16+June+%2821%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241401171491105602" border="0" /></a><br /><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:85%;" ><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4221544298440710477.post-32069460623337981682008-08-12T21:26:00.006+10:002008-08-14T22:13:43.841+10:00Back Again<span style="font-family:arial;">Sometimes things just work perfectly - like <a href="http://www.geocities.com/sunsetstrip/amphitheatre/3528/" target="_blank">Dark side of the Moon and Alice in Wonderland</a> . Well this moment came over me whilst listening to this...<br /><br /><embed src="http://www.seeqpod.net/cache/seeqpodSlimlineEmbed.swf" wmode="transparent" width="300" height="80" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" flashvars="domain=http://www.seeqpod.com&playlistXMLPath=http://www.seeqpod.com/api/music/getPlaylist?playlist_id=65e4bebc08"></embed><br /><br />That moment happened where all of the past rushed past and the most post-modern of extraordinary expressions happened. I cried and laughed at the same time. Really. The future is now consuming me.<br /><br />Everything that I ever wanted to do with music, and everything I should have and could have done was tied up into that moment. It was all of my friends and enemies, and angst and hatred and love, and... music tied into one.<br /><br />It truly was weird.<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4221544298440710477.post-63877747165758030232008-05-15T19:53:00.003+10:002008-05-15T20:35:19.418+10:00Treat 'em Mean, Keep 'em Keen...<span style="font-family:arial;">Tonight I heard a bit of garbage talking. Hang on, was that garbage or was it that bit of turd under my shoe. No, wait! It's SuperTurd.<br /><br />I just sat and waited for a good fifteen minutes for Dr. Brendan Nelson to say something of substance. FIFTEEN MINUTES of watching Julie Bishop's head bounce up and down like a cheap toy dog in the back window of a cheap imported car. She is so cross-eyed it is like all she does is focus on objects really close to her face. Like one of those scantily clad women in one of those films you get in Fyshwick. I think the symptom is some sort of sucker cramp.<br /><br />By the way, where was Turnbull? He was conspicuously absent, perhaps he was off doing what he does best - pretending to be George Clooney. Or maybe he was causing Joe Hockey's head to bob up and down. No, that was caused by the fact that he is a fat, spineless piece of whale blubber.<br /><br />There were a few moments of sheer comedic brilliance, however. Moments such as when Dr. Nelson remarked "watching petrol prices does not bring them down".<br /><br />Ha, ha, ha, big belly laughs.<br /><br />Good thing Julie Bishop isn't watching them. Oh wait, she can't. Julie looks in the mirror and thinks she has two heads like <a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/7/72/Mark_Wing-Davey_as_Zaphod_Beeblebrox.jpg" target="_blank">Zaphod</a>.<br /><br />I suppose what Dr. Nelson really wanted to say is "watching the opinion polls doesn't make you popular" or "watching a doughnut doesn't make you Joe Hockey".<br /><br />Another piece of comedic brilliance was when Joe Hockey nodded his head furiously to confirm Dr. Nelson's views on alco-pops. Taxing them is going to cause the kids to take harder stuff - like marijuana.<br /><br />Teenager: I can't afford a six pack of orange, yummy tasting stuff, so I am going to share a dirty, disease spreading bong that tastes like pigeon shit crossed with syphilis.<br /><br />Joe Hockey : Well, pass me the bong when you are finished.<br /><br />Teenager: No worries, but by the way it's not a doughnut.<br /><br />Joe Hockey: I know, but that horse I just ate wasn't a doughnut either. <pause> Do you have any ideas of what I can say in parliament tomorrow? I am sick of sounding stupid. Wow, its weird when you listen to what you say, it's like you forget what you said and just keep going and going and going and eating...<br /><br />Julie Bishop: (lighting bong with incredible dexterity and accuracy) It is like my eyes were designed for this.<br /><br />Malcolm Turnbull: Wow, its like I'm not here.<br /><br /><br /></pause></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4221544298440710477.post-76828225595733742212008-05-13T20:32:00.009+10:002008-05-13T22:31:44.232+10:00Budget Budget Budget Budget Budget Budget Budgie Budgie Budgie SMUGGLERS!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFzQn0_TTZ5MOr58ICvLgiz4dOFHpkFow1wo98nm_o2tY7jY1RM7nU-3u6iFg9vTyc6Jt_1vrvPTo18PKsXoAvuDPh5lu0Q1q9tfGQC3czJngoxQ5Xk3fYTnS2n13RiZu-1BPRNiqDA84x/s1600-h/Dillbat+Guitar.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFzQn0_TTZ5MOr58ICvLgiz4dOFHpkFow1wo98nm_o2tY7jY1RM7nU-3u6iFg9vTyc6Jt_1vrvPTo18PKsXoAvuDPh5lu0Q1q9tfGQC3czJngoxQ5Xk3fYTnS2n13RiZu-1BPRNiqDA84x/s320/Dillbat+Guitar.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199814616366126002" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">Once upon a time, in the land of the Post Pubescens, a man called Jummifera swore that he would never become a Servent of the Pubelist, and nor would he care for the Budgetus. Jummifera would become a purveyor of magnificent smuggled goods, living a Bohemian life playing the five-string, pulsing, 'Lady Trembler' in a band of magnanimous fame. Consuming caffeinated beverages in the morning, and fine ales from noon would be his daily routine.<br /><br />As much as Jummifera knew about the world - and he knew everything - he didn't know about himself. Nor did he know about Wisdom and the Rose that hath a Wyrm. The Wyrm of Growing Uppeth.<br /><br />DAMMIT!<br /><br />I grew up.<br /><br />Fuck, fuck, fuck</span><span style="font-family:arial;">, fuck, fuck</span><span style="font-family:arial;">, fuck, fuck</span><span style="font-family:arial;">, fuck, fuck</span><span style="font-family:arial;">, fuck, fuck</span><span style="font-family:arial;">, fuck, fuck</span><span style="font-family:arial;">, fuck, fuck - I have now sat and watched TWO budgets in a row (the passing of years has become like the passing of days). Sadly I am going to sit and watch the budget reply. FOR THE SECOND TIME TOMORROW!<br /><br />I can't believe I care!?<br /><br />I remember sitting in a hazey blur a number of years ago, casting soap box comments on all politicians:<br /><br />Me: They're just a pack of fags<br /><br />Mate: It's not a fucking microphone, pass it over<br /><br />Me: I mean, where do they get off? Determining what I pay for a pack of smokes, and for a longie of VB isn't fucking right.<br /><br />- pause -<br /><br />Me again: and they wear suits all the time... what's with that? You don't need a suit to be respectable. I know I'm a good person, right? I don't need neat hair to be taken seriously. Just 'cos I have an undercut, and black and blue colours in my hair doesn't mean I can't be a good person. Right?<br /><br />Mate: I said... it isn't a FUCKING MICROPHONE PASS IT OVER!!!<br /><br />Me: Oh, ok, sorry dude (passing the microphone over) what is it then?<br /><br />Mate: It's a portal for our minds and souls to travel through this ridiculous material existence and into the panties of many hot chicks.<br /><br />Me: Oh, I see... so it goes with my five-string, pulsing 'Lady Trembler' then. Cool. By the way, I dropped the portal in the ashtray earlier.<br /><br />Mate: (Sniffing portal) <a href="http://animosiman.blogspot.com/2008/05/malcolm-turnbull-is-goose-doo-dah-doo.html" target="_blank">You truly are a goose</a> (gags)<br /><br />Anyway, I have come to the realisation that I have now been in the Public Service for almost five years, have no intention of leaving, am the father of two children, am married, own a house, drive a car, kick a dog, attend church never and care about the budget. And interest rates, and tax, and the mortgage, and ironing my shirt and pants, and gardening.<br /></span><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">Did I mention that I like gardening? No? Well, I am like a 32 year old <a href="http://www.abc.net.au/gardening/stories/s731070.htm" target="_blank">Peter Cundall</a>. Bloodey hell it is sad. I am going to plant leeks this weekend.<br /><br />My bladder will also probably also start to leak this weekend.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4221544298440710477.post-891465332790100802008-05-12T20:45:00.010+10:002008-05-12T22:15:13.500+10:00New Zealand: Phase Fourteen - Goodbye and thank you very, very much.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyZ8xh0F2lUCJZMHv3xv28TuPinQEthkIcBoeBLambGhUEDd1PIay58IjLmPmwc8H6kvQVZd-CrkKjpMBS3H7Wm2fU2c_itp6lXExqJq8qVebPdhyphenhyphenzAyR89FX6u3iATzUnSJ6bCOzNNtj_/s1600-h/100_3533.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyZ8xh0F2lUCJZMHv3xv28TuPinQEthkIcBoeBLambGhUEDd1PIay58IjLmPmwc8H6kvQVZd-CrkKjpMBS3H7Wm2fU2c_itp6lXExqJq8qVebPdhyphenhyphenzAyR89FX6u3iATzUnSJ6bCOzNNtj_/s400/100_3533.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199446202661409666" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">Our last full nights sleep was fantastic. We both woke up resplendent, fresh and happy with coffees, robes and newspapers. I don't give a shit for the philosophies that denigrate material possessions; luxury is excellent. Really, really excellent.<br /><br />After brekky we had to drop off our friend, Little GPS. This was a strangely sad time for us. We had travelled around for two weeks in the little fella, seeing mountains, sheep, llamas, deer and fjords of startling beauty - eating chocolates, having picnics, ginantonics and spilling beers behind the seat. We had become used to the little idiosyncrasies of the little food space under the bed, getting our clothes out before sleeping, the slightly strange column shift, and the funny vibration that happened only at 5251 rpm.<br /><br />If you ever hire a <a href="http://www.spaceships.tv/" target="_blank">Spaceship</a> <span style="font-weight: bold;">do not</span> use <a href="http://maps.google.com.au/maps?ie=UTF8&oe=utf-8&client=firefox-a&q=shell&near=Auckland,+Auckland,+New+Zealand&fb=1&cid=14419155551055995663&li=lmd&t=h&ll=-36.849973,174.774885&spn=0.011504,0.019891&z=16" target="_blank">this petrol station</a> before you drop it off. The owner/manager/sheep fucker that runs it deserves herpes. If you ever want to know what happened you will have to ask, but be prepared to <a href="http://animosiman.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">cop a spray</a>.<br /><br />After we dropped Little GPS back (very sad) we went for a bit of a walk, grabbed some food (I had a very healthy apricot Danish, Stacey had a decidedly unhealthy custard roll), we wandered down to the America's cup area (very Darling Harbour) and then up to the Sky Tower.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLriwvmW7fmXvgwxfTlz6e-T9vwmpVC6ujqHB6sAs0C1l3ieVc6lvoV6Jrk1adQtUj9LoMaBbxrRwKV16n627EPEO2kZmNakgHcqPUiWjyV9w4j_lY7eJy79iRuZUPbz-YiX_LH2ZL2Klf/s1600-h/100_3535.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLriwvmW7fmXvgwxfTlz6e-T9vwmpVC6ujqHB6sAs0C1l3ieVc6lvoV6Jrk1adQtUj9LoMaBbxrRwKV16n627EPEO2kZmNakgHcqPUiWjyV9w4j_lY7eJy79iRuZUPbz-YiX_LH2ZL2Klf/s400/100_3535.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199452722421765010" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">I was really quite impressed by the tower, the glassy floor bits that </span><span style="font-family:arial;">made my feet tickle, and the view across all of Auckland. It truly is a magnificent city.<br /><br />After our little tower experience we bolted on up to drop off our oversized, ovine oval that is now in the possession of Aaron, and back down to the America's Cup area to eat some lunch.<br /><br />We had a fun meal, listening to Beatles and sipping wine and beer. We then enjoyed the rest of the day buying cheap Kiwi souvenirs. We finished our time over there with some take-away, a bit of wine, a few Kiwi beers and a chat to the folks.<br /><br />I suppose that ends my blog on our travels to beautiful New Zealand. Maybe I should claim 'trog' as my word for a 'travel blog'. New Zealand is an impressive and beautiful country. I cannot think of any other words to describe what the place means to us.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;">We had a lot of fun over there, and maybe, just maybe we will go back there and visit with our family.</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_B-BYlzto4494RMwVy0A2_wd9cosoOVaNKQjczlGef2VmXnmv2imosl-kyeqe1nivipDlRSuOyGaQBw3H1HKZpYvtwQanyAIKLLWaAcqv3fL_OBO-q3yZJTrM7jYHAPefynC_XbqTzjBI/s1600-h/100_3305.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_B-BYlzto4494RMwVy0A2_wd9cosoOVaNKQjczlGef2VmXnmv2imosl-kyeqe1nivipDlRSuOyGaQBw3H1HKZpYvtwQanyAIKLLWaAcqv3fL_OBO-q3yZJTrM7jYHAPefynC_XbqTzjBI/s400/100_3305.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199460354578650018" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">Maybe, just maybe we will go back to that spot where we argued, and where I felt a little foot touch my hand for the first time.</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"> </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4221544298440710477.post-63513851952462665792008-05-08T20:20:00.005+10:002008-05-13T22:33:14.754+10:00FUNT<span style="font-family:arial;">I just realised that I had posted one of my most prized possessions. My word. </span><a style="font-family: arial;" href="http://reasonsyouwillhateme.com/it-takes-a-nation-of-neologists" target="_blank">Miss Fitz</a><span style="font-family:arial;"> took it upon herself to write a post on made up words. I stupidly used my special little word in my comment.<br /><br />So here it is - my word is officially in the public sphere - <a href="http://newsimg.bbc.co.uk/media/images/44070000/jpg/_44070104_downer_afp203.jpg"><span style="font-weight: bold;" target="_blank">FUNT</span></a>.<br /><br />There. My word, so piss of you pack of funts and have some fun with a T.<br /><br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4221544298440710477.post-71581131717888060592008-05-06T20:19:00.009+10:002008-05-06T21:30:38.802+10:00New Zealand: Phase Thirteen - Lucky?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh5qnZmTPsAEeIRl5_IuprfYkL7aCr3h9693npAroTvCpobFIsOUhjI6wsGd9e5W2ewifQo0z_MvdO3E8bD0Co2YHDV8dnUSN_h-4IaLCTxn__YJyVe-Vveiaic4s78WzEQEdHK5I-u7hi/s1600-h/100_3509.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh5qnZmTPsAEeIRl5_IuprfYkL7aCr3h9693npAroTvCpobFIsOUhjI6wsGd9e5W2ewifQo0z_MvdO3E8bD0Co2YHDV8dnUSN_h-4IaLCTxn__YJyVe-Vveiaic4s78WzEQEdHK5I-u7hi/s400/100_3509.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197210758413191458" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">Thankfully the last night in Little GPS was strangely fitting. There were more mozzies than the Rainman could count, I spilt a stinky beer behind the car seat which I mopped up with dirty t-shirts, the damned DVD went on far too long and I slept with a sheet over my puffy, mosquito bitten face. As unpleasant as it sounds we actually thought it was fun. We are into <a href="http://homepage.mac.com/dmhart/WarArt/Daumier/Whips.JPG" target="_blank">BDSM</a> as well.<br /><br />After waking up with muppet faces we had a quick brekky in the communal kitchen, left our supplies in the communal fridge and hit the road in search of the last remaining giant Kauries.<br />After a bit of a drive and a bit of a walk (Stace was just starting to feel some of the pressures of pregnancy) we found our first one.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">These huge sentinels were truly breathtaking. The primeval forest was silent, damp and musty, and the solid, powerful and silent trunk just towered above us like an eternal, sad Goliath. Only a small handful of this size are in existence now, and it was like they were trying to talk above the tree line, standing on their toes just to get a peek of each other in the distance.<br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhwMb3Cgxbd1rLPMqao7fnLSD1Gi6PbDSYttwvxSab8VA17cT1fftvcdNJs6-4IYO6JeVkwjt5HhiA6vP1miii8Brdxtno5Oo4Mgfr2mxTZ5Xo3BPvf8hEjt6GQYLHRfhsiHVcVBo_-Vif/s1600-h/100_3512.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhwMb3Cgxbd1rLPMqao7fnLSD1Gi6PbDSYttwvxSab8VA17cT1fftvcdNJs6-4IYO6JeVkwjt5HhiA6vP1miii8Brdxtno5Oo4Mgfr2mxTZ5Xo3BPvf8hEjt6GQYLHRfhsiHVcVBo_-Vif/s400/100_3512.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197225472971147634" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">I was truly moved by them.</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />After a little drive through Opononi and Omapere (I think lots of hippies lived there once) we drove on through some beautiful territory to Waitangi where a treaty was signed. Not just any old treaty, the treaty of <a href="http://www.waitangi.net.nz/">Waitangi</a>! This was monumentally important for the <span style="font-weight: bold;">development of New Zealand as a country</span>. As opposed to us, where we can barely bring ourselves to say sorry after two centuries.<br /><br />Even though the treaty was signed, the Maoris and the Poms beat the living shit out of eachother for a while afterwards. It did, however, recognise the Maoris as the true holders of the land and as a real people. The Kiwis, like the Canadians, are proud of this. Good on them.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpI0j35Q8iCYmb7kejKwkGve6UASDZxsBXv7ItSDMOHOcMFZk7s-fnHij7VveIZ_XtI_93mWzs04IubcaUp8RMCyd9vPNhJpo22vG8HnlIDizc2WeJci3U_Ex3_ktIDlC1kCp-bQxqkwNb/s1600-h/100_3523.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpI0j35Q8iCYmb7kejKwkGve6UASDZxsBXv7ItSDMOHOcMFZk7s-fnHij7VveIZ_XtI_93mWzs04IubcaUp8RMCyd9vPNhJpo22vG8HnlIDizc2WeJci3U_Ex3_ktIDlC1kCp-bQxqkwNb/s400/100_3523.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197220396319803730" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The funny thing about the area, and perhaps my favourite thing, is the fact that it was all done not far from the 'hell hole of the Pacific' - Kororareka. Full of prostitutes, notorious pirates, violence, booze, and probably a bit of fun, like hopscotch or something. The area was very pretty, the grounds were very English, and the temperature and humidity was more akin to a Sydney like clime than I expected.<br /><br />After this wonderful little walk we started meandering our way back to Auckland. With a small detour. A small, very special little detour. A detour with a difference, should I say.<br /><br />We had to just drop into the <a href="http://www.cooperscreek.co.nz/" target="_blank">Coopers Creek Winery</a>, home of the favourite wine of our honeymoon in Vanuatu. FAT CAT! Yum, oh yummy yum yum with yummy yumminess with a bit of creamy yum on the yum yum.<br /><br />Getting a bottle of this has been a mission of ours since we got back from our honeymoon, we even walked a few mile and explored a weird half empty building in Ultimo just to get a taste again. It was like we were smackies or something. After grabbing a couple of bottles and a silly hat we wandered out to the car. As I went to get in I looked back at the winery...<br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfbqxjkGJTukxvVOw-DoduuoEZnkNgYyo-V7xtBWvGIzZCaJe8B_mOXH4petCOsHAdM6aLmrIB83SqCsYBjt2prtQeNwr7JMsi9zdDT7fi_-EIryrbw_2-n1wBEf3ZL1RcpSi4FJ01KDNr/s1600-h/100_3532.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfbqxjkGJTukxvVOw-DoduuoEZnkNgYyo-V7xtBWvGIzZCaJe8B_mOXH4petCOsHAdM6aLmrIB83SqCsYBjt2prtQeNwr7JMsi9zdDT7fi_-EIryrbw_2-n1wBEf3ZL1RcpSi4FJ01KDNr/s400/100_3532.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197224141531285858" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">We had found our little pot of gold.</span><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4221544298440710477.post-44925359582730464752008-04-30T19:47:00.006+10:002008-04-30T20:43:09.584+10:00New zealand: Phase Twelve - Raglan to the Remnants and Reminiscences<span style="font-family:arial;">It was a cold, windy night in Raglan - pretty much what you would expect for a New Zealand night, however we awoke to a lovely sunrise in beautiful Raglan. A quick brekky and a quick drive around the area and on to achieve our goal for the day - drive all the way through Auckland, and all the way up the west coast to Waipoua. The day was going to be tough.<br /><br />The first half of the day was taken up by driving through the outer suburbs of Auckland, the inner suburbs of Auckland, the centre of Auckland some more inner suburbs of Auckland, and then finally the other outer suburbs of Auckland. Needless to say, Auckland is quite pretty for a city (much prettier than Sydney, although how hard is it to look better than a horse's testicle?). As we travelled north it became noticeably warmer; more of a Sydney like temperature.<br /><br />Our first touristy stop was the <a href="http://www.kauri-museum.com/" target="_blank">Kauri Museum</a>. Being a museum employee, I was deeply impressed by this place. It had enough hands on thingys, readable information, tangible experiences, and those things that make you go 'woah' to keep me happy for hours. I also got a little lost and disoriented which is also a sign of a good museum. Except if it were a map making museum. Then it would suck.<br /><br />Lots of the Kauri harvesting was done by Dalmatians, hence the movie 101 Dalmatians with that dirty transvestite, Glen Close, didn't make much sense. What a hag. I didn't really understand why the movie didn't feature</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> more</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> tree chopping by Yugoslavians, instead it was about spotty puppie dogs? Oh well, the Yanks can't get everything right. *cough* Iraq *cough cough*<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUO14YNzOeOEZ0Kh9lVKv4_07NDwo06YGmdNNlCKJH7TS8ydk7JbwKZ-6vVFl4stVOrr8QwVREWzkqeD1M9zlgWxYPRZyF14Wa9yeQEbx-08inFHXwab6V8wvYIxdCMM7CAD38ULqAN7aP/s1600-h/100_3503.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUO14YNzOeOEZ0Kh9lVKv4_07NDwo06YGmdNNlCKJH7TS8ydk7JbwKZ-6vVFl4stVOrr8QwVREWzkqeD1M9zlgWxYPRZyF14Wa9yeQEbx-08inFHXwab6V8wvYIxdCMM7CAD38ULqAN7aP/s400/100_3503.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194982898747214098" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">After the museum we drove on north to our last vancamping spot in the Kauri forest at Waipoua. It was a beautiful place to be for our last night on the road, the last remaining pocket of Kauri forest in the entire country. Just being out for one evening, trying to write my journal with the clouds of mosquitoes, sand flies and other bities makes you realise how tough it must have been for the white pioneers of the area. Luckily I could crawl back inside for a ginantonic and a beer and watch a DVD. What a pack of pussies.<br /><br />The journal that I have been transcribing from (and taking liberties with) for the past year takes on a more reflective and melancholic feel. It was our last night in the wild, and the last time we would sleep in little GPS, our faithful van. Every now and then I think I catch a whiff of GPS, only to realise that it is a woman wearing cheap perfume and no deodorant.<br /><br />I sat out there with my family to be, reminiscing, and reflecting on humanity in general - from the conspicuously inconsiderate to the incredibly patient and forgiving - and hoping that we would turn out 'just fine' and that our little boy or girl would get to appreciate and feel the would as we felt it.<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4221544298440710477.post-542786674153663322008-04-22T19:56:00.003+10:002008-04-23T20:58:35.312+10:00New Zealand: Phase 11 - Rotorua to Raglan<span style="font-family:arial;">If you ever visit Rotorua <span style="font-style: italic;">don't</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">ever</span> wake up, look at your wife accusingly and say 'holy crap, that stinks!'<br /><br />It isn't a good way to start the day.<br /><br />Thankfully I said something like "you are more beautiful than a million roses plucked by a million angels playing golden lutes and silver flutes".<br /><br />Whilst cooking breakfast in the communal kitchen we met a nice chap from French Canada (the part of Canada that speaks French, as opposed to the other part of Canada that speaks Gibberish). He was most of the way through riding around New Zealand on a pushie. Something, I fear, that I possess too great an intellectual prowess to even consider doing. That sentence just proved how smart I ain't. Riding a pushie around NZ, with its undulating friggin mountains, steep winding curves, and indescribably brutal wind (read my previous post regarding the <a href="http://jumofbungendore.blogspot.com/2007/04/new-zealand-phase-two-road-to-dunedin.html" target="_blank">Minister for Road Fans</a>) is ridiculous. I mean doing something like this must be more frustrating, and require more patience than waiting for Alexander Downer not to say something stupid, arrogant or slightly gay.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuyZAIil6XrUFCLmg_K_t2zGUJFxMQ4DwSH3ynggTg6WBA_rcp8lafeRMkrocCq110lGPr4wtYeKX3_4ZxfMspbLeySjNfo4MOOOI-ugeRQpVa7jJcK2wKfguF0BZbJitFYwC4UWGkLN9u/s1600-h/100_3498.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuyZAIil6XrUFCLmg_K_t2zGUJFxMQ4DwSH3ynggTg6WBA_rcp8lafeRMkrocCq110lGPr4wtYeKX3_4ZxfMspbLeySjNfo4MOOOI-ugeRQpVa7jJcK2wKfguF0BZbJitFYwC4UWGkLN9u/s400/100_3498.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5192027505981032658" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">Either way, Frenchy Kanuk was a nice bloke and we wished him good luck as we departed on the next leg of our journey.<br /><br />After visiting a few more interesting areas around Rotorua, a Maori/Anglo chapel and the park full of farty springs we drove on through a swathe of very annoying bike riders (I think they were secretly trying to compete for the 'Mr. Tight Pants New Zealand' award).<br /><br />Out the back of Rotorua is a little place called <a href="http://www.buriedvillage.co.nz/" target="_blank">Te Wairoa</a> - it once was a hotel, and a place for Missionary whities to stop by and brainwash the locals. Now it is a museum, and a true credit to the people that manage the area. Again, New Zealand impressed me with its power, and its proximity to what feels like the centre of the earth. The village was destroyed by a volcano in 1886, however much of it was preserved like a modern day Pompei - suffocated under mud and ash. We had a lovely, ye freezing bloody cold, walk around the village and down a little waterfall walk.<br /><br />In the shop I found the Tiki I had been looking for. He is so little and cute and like a little Aaron.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUkij-pkyonXseFAzmFLk6isVpmRI9ox-z-lWjmGWkEhVSiQaiwaPjEd9dmPyiHrQ6uSo7MX8WdOitAl-1F9qjOGiHe1F24j5yZ24S3mxpjLqrFVuWCknp80ughAFCEDgiym3-jANPazyS/s1600-h/100_3490.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUkij-pkyonXseFAzmFLk6isVpmRI9ox-z-lWjmGWkEhVSiQaiwaPjEd9dmPyiHrQ6uSo7MX8WdOitAl-1F9qjOGiHe1F24j5yZ24S3mxpjLqrFVuWCknp80ughAFCEDgiym3-jANPazyS/s400/100_3490.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5192386195879790818" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: arial;">After this wonderful little detour we went on back past 'Titus Pantus Maximus' towards the glow worm caves at Waitomo. It was like night time inside, all serene and pretty. Kind of like if you covered your bedroom walls with those glow in the dark stickers and pretended you were drunk and the eye doctor had put that stuff in your eyes that makes everything really bright. Yeah, kinda like that. Except you were on a boat with other people that were generally quite annoying and stupid. Perhaps they would have been less annoying if I were drunk and in high contrast.<br /><br />After our dotty experience in the dark caves we moved on to an unusual (well for Stacey anyway) point in our travels. Where were we going to go? We had driven up to Whatawhata, a little shit hole in the middle of nowhere. I left Stace in the LOCKED van and wandered into the local pub to buy some beer. Inside I was greeted by a reinforced wire cage with a small slot to pass the beer through, and some disconcertingly friendly locals. I said "g'day", they said "eh bro", I said "six Speights" the bar maid said "eh bro", I said "keep the change" the bar maid said "eh bro", the locals kept staring as I wandered out to the van (Stacey was laughing at some local farm produce, like a donkey or something) I started the van, turned it around, pointed at the map and said "were going here".<br /><br />That's how we got to Raglan - kind of like the Byron Bay of New Zealand. Black sand (it kinda makes you feel dirty), weird pubs that won't let you pee unless you buy a beer, and apparently the best left hand break in New Zealand. Fortunately I didn't hurt myself, although this bloke who was about 40 years old, was drinking with his dickhead mate and two chicks in the van park, and he tried to do, like, this mono on his pushie to look cool in front of the chicks and he stuffed it and nearly broke his back. Ha, and his mate had to help him into the van park shower and they looked gay.<br /><br />What a cock.<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4221544298440710477.post-81253912796562377742008-04-14T19:30:00.007+10:002008-04-14T22:35:44.591+10:00A brief intermission and welcome back big fella (aka Dad)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkta1u638hWwPNuj6BlbwLvcAKSvAOAX7aC0E80iNyfvoA7WjZRLmPj-VPe0jPFvdIKTcMy7G9WAN4bBTiqZIwlkB80x03LXsNdEMfGw3fOC6V_cEErK3PzBhSdKT5HFIDxdlOeFmaJ9Ne/s1600-h/100_4186.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkta1u638hWwPNuj6BlbwLvcAKSvAOAX7aC0E80iNyfvoA7WjZRLmPj-VPe0jPFvdIKTcMy7G9WAN4bBTiqZIwlkB80x03LXsNdEMfGw3fOC6V_cEErK3PzBhSdKT5HFIDxdlOeFmaJ9Ne/s400/100_4186.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5189053382365769330" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">It's been a while since my last post, however there is good reason. You may recall the post <a href="http://jumofbungendore.blogspot.com/2007/03/greyish-blob-that-is-my-child.html" target="_blank">'The Greyish Blob that is my Child'</a> and the other post <a href="http://jumofbungendore.blogspot.com/2007/08/aaron-with-two-as.html" target="_blank">'Aaron with two 'A's'</a> - if you don't, well, you aren't reading closely enough. Either way, my child has grown from a pink/grey blob into a little ball of trouble.<br /><br />Basically, my wonderful wife has gone back to work this week, and from now on I am in charge of that little bundle of trouble called Aaron. Thankfully I only have to do this in the evenings. As much as I love my time with the little fella, I just don't have that motherly knack that my wife does. We can make mess, we can scream in joy, we can vomit in unison - we just don't seem to have that wonderful sense of order Mum brings. We do, however, break new ground when it comes to babies eating hats. In particular filthy, dirty gardening hats.</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyR3ef7-ejCP2iJvw4Fhyphenhyphen-9MjfzAnCN1INY_OAu71GNEau3bonsK5uYdc58A2B64tSwLXHa-WkmPci5Sk3C3VjZ0o4Vnzx_jEI3SwkMKe2UOzQ9azMrD5g2VznWfGe7zwLPvrCb1fWo_V3/s1600-h/100_4185.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyR3ef7-ejCP2iJvw4Fhyphenhyphen-9MjfzAnCN1INY_OAu71GNEau3bonsK5uYdc58A2B64tSwLXHa-WkmPci5Sk3C3VjZ0o4Vnzx_jEI3SwkMKe2UOzQ9azMrD5g2VznWfGe7zwLPvrCb1fWo_V3/s400/100_4185.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5189056410317713026" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">What I really wanted to say in this post is that the Overflow of Concentrated Emotion, the Depth of Love and the Fear and Anticipation that comes with raising a child is more than one can bear sometimes.<br /><br />Stacey went to work this evening,and I cried on and off for hours. It didn't make sense. I AM MAN. I NOT CRY.<br /><br />I think I was sadder than my wife, who had to go back to work after eight months of maternity leave. Stacey sad. MAN NOT SAD.<br /><br />I know it doesn't make sense.<br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4221544298440710477.post-13257194484655450092008-01-03T19:43:00.005+11:002008-04-22T20:12:45.833+10:00New Zealand: Phase Ten - Welcome to Smelly Land<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnTZQxWHLKfKxcSB7FgRxLDTBd_WuK0gpGriD_RmpZ2SqPudMcreOrcF4J2D2gt4rLthbPuvoFbQpcF8PLS4GgJbRMXWZBwVFvIrsYbdF-DI1oC7TfmT-sdhSRPZCChQdx_Yt1qLrUVMHR/s1600-h/100_3385.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnTZQxWHLKfKxcSB7FgRxLDTBd_WuK0gpGriD_RmpZ2SqPudMcreOrcF4J2D2gt4rLthbPuvoFbQpcF8PLS4GgJbRMXWZBwVFvIrsYbdF-DI1oC7TfmT-sdhSRPZCChQdx_Yt1qLrUVMHR/s400/100_3385.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5191642540663801138" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">Our morning was a breakfast of shiny sunshine and icy wind, bodies all squashed into the side of the van like Alaskan Malamutes. After we had brekky we went and washed our plates in the common room. Not surprisingly those stupid idiots were still there staring. Weird. (I used much harder terms in my diary, so you have to be nice to me if you want to read it). Funnily enough - as I write this - I realise that in my previous post I wrote "</span><span style="font-family:arial;">While I was cooking two people..." HA HA HA! I was cooking them - no wonder they were staring...<br /><br />Ahem.<br /><br />Well.<br /><br />Anyway, they were there again being weird in their inbred-ness. After another quick wander through town to soak in some more significant, stunning, synopses of striking structures we drove on up to the bluff above town. What is it with Kiwis cramming their houses onto cliffs? I have never seen such a wonderful, winding world of wonderous dWellings. Except for maybe in Wellington. Ok I'll stop now. Each street was tiny and curvy and each house was packed onto the next. I reckon if Tolkien went to New Zealand there would have been another race - the Wedgelings of Windycliff. They would have been responsible for thwarting the </span><span style="font-family:arial;">sadly misled </span><span style="font-family:arial;">evil doings of the Howhards of Drylandmoresun.<br /><br />After our little drive through the claustrophobic heights of Napier we headed off towards Lake 'bloody windy' Taupo. Driving there was a task as little GPS was a bit like a kite in the wind. As we are slowly drawing closer to the end of the journey I must comment on the patience, friendliness, and overall politeness of New Zealand's drivers. Australians, in particular, Canberrans, are the most obnoxious, aggressive and pathetically stupid drivers on the planet. Where is the sense in driving faster when it rains? Where is the sense in driving massively overpowered, overpriced machines around in a country where A is so far from B that it cries in loneliness and there are more ungraded, dodgey pock marked curves than Britney's backside?<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpXDSRmITHA1k4pC8Hn85dgy1y2Pq7I3n79C24pEKmzCVriXKh-mQAU_-9bJ-dXBcdv5cBH_IgXqFdQVpYo_XRgW5yMBT4jeBIhrQSXaQp2ZkC_r5X956tqISmuKOTeVb-HZUgkUGhHvUA/s1600-h/100_3422.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpXDSRmITHA1k4pC8Hn85dgy1y2Pq7I3n79C24pEKmzCVriXKh-mQAU_-9bJ-dXBcdv5cBH_IgXqFdQVpYo_XRgW5yMBT4jeBIhrQSXaQp2ZkC_r5X956tqISmuKOTeVb-HZUgkUGhHvUA/s400/100_3422.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5191654407658440002" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">Speaking of backsides, we made it to Rotorua after a quick stop at Lake Taupo (it was quick because the wind was decidedly unpleasant). Rather than going straight in to the van park we drove to the famous thermal springs. They were smelly and rather excellent. Much like Roquefort cheese, or a beer and pizza burp.<br /><br />There is something about the sheer power and beauty of New Zealand. You feel like you are walking on Gaia's tickly bits - any wrong move and she will snap, bringing a fury of fire, crushing earth and death. On the left you can see one of Gaia's tickly bits.<br /><br />As we walked around we kept on bumping into a lovely Pommy couple, and although their camera battery was running out they were still very happy. Good on them.<br /><br />After the walk, and a number of happy, steamy snaps we drove off to one of the mud pits. It was like dinosaurs and cavemen with bubbling hot, sticky mud. I was waiting for Sam Neill to come out of nowhere. We ran into the Pommy couple again and they had managed to find a spare camera battery in their car. Good on them.<br /><br />We drove onto the little van park after a brief wander around tourist town. I had a beer and we wandered down to the lake. It was steamy.<br /><br />We finished our big day by doing one of those things you 'have to do' when in a tourist mecca like Rotorua; pay a fortune for an evening of entertainment and food. We both had a good time, although it was a bit quiet a tourist bus full of people failed to make it. Stupid bus. I wish I could kick its arse.<br /><br />I managed to do the Haka and look like an idiot. Something I do most mornings. You will not see the video Stacey took.<br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLiVkfy8nYvZ_TbvFDxOLud8CGv3vsRM6-pMF3rkv86Fm84iDCUSwB9IyBfnv3Zu9vXkzVO4e4hBcjqd6Ro0kCnFkj_7VAbmQA_51tlxtojRoAIcPKBqDVOxSYbNV013W7J_BVWD5PkGxJ/s1600-h/100_3483.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLiVkfy8nYvZ_TbvFDxOLud8CGv3vsRM6-pMF3rkv86Fm84iDCUSwB9IyBfnv3Zu9vXkzVO4e4hBcjqd6Ro0kCnFkj_7VAbmQA_51tlxtojRoAIcPKBqDVOxSYbNV013W7J_BVWD5PkGxJ/s400/100_3483.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5191662778549699922" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">This isn't me.</span><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4221544298440710477.post-38428329230951462772008-01-01T12:33:00.000+11:002008-01-01T15:23:41.529+11:00New Zealand: Phase Nine - I am NOT Art Deco, so STOP LOOKING AT ME!<span style="font-family:arial;">After a very lazy and luxurious wake up in our luxurious, plush hotel we had a luxurious shower and then lazed around in our luxurious bath robes until we went down and had a wonderfully luxurious breakfast. I have never seen such a magnificent collection of food stuffs laid out on a breakfast buffet ever. There were chocolate scrolls, luxurious cheeses, croissants, all of the bacon and eggs and stuff, weird shit that I have never seen before, and other stuff that looked impressive - like grapes. Did I mention breakfast potatoes? Yeah, I made an absolute pig of myself. Mmmmmm.<br /><br />The waitresses fussed over us - they were like guardian breakfast angels. I sat down and realised there wasn't a fork on the table, and *poof* a waitress (not a poof) materialised out of thin air with a fork. I literally thought *coff* and a waitress materialised with a pot of coffee. I probably should have been more creative and thought things like *Wiggles on crack* or *Bindi Irwin in a blender*.<br /><br />After our luxurious breakfast we left at a luxurious hour.<br /><br />The road we took out of Wellington was a bit daunting, however thankfully it was windy but not windy. I mean the road <span style="font-style: italic;">wound </span>its way up the range. <a href="http://jumofbungendore.blogspot.com/2007/04/new-zealand-phase-two-road-to-dunedin.html" target="_blank">The Minister for Road Fans</a> must have been doing his or her job that day. The road after the mountain was typical New Zealand, lots of ovines and bovines, green and not too many fauvines (NZ isn't renowend for its art).<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO7S7ugmY-RnwDU6rfSUIKTRXz_Aa6So722leOHTz5cIMr0JWr1KqZZERONhfhSPe0uPYxqMGaxNNd-5LpuQtN6EzN4kFgPuxMoqIKalQwDSpQFj9_WLcJyudr466kUjCmxW2xSZNVcMb5/s1600-h/100_3369.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO7S7ugmY-RnwDU6rfSUIKTRXz_Aa6So722leOHTz5cIMr0JWr1KqZZERONhfhSPe0uPYxqMGaxNNd-5LpuQtN6EzN4kFgPuxMoqIKalQwDSpQFj9_WLcJyudr466kUjCmxW2xSZNVcMb5/s400/100_3369.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150324112629050306" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">We stopped in at <a href="http://chocolatetherapy.com/Schoc/schoc%20home.html" target="_blank">Schoc</a> in Greytown for an incredible chocolate experience. I mean, look at those things mmmmmmmmmmm... Tequila and lime chocolate mmmmmmmm...</span><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOzTGqEWWgrkK4WcH_OAExsQ7LEBbxm-zxREvKGrEwUbyMEOtTxtbQ3bPfEYeUk10CU_OM5JWXxgsDyV3hK7ScQnA3AH3bFD5gcUwh9tNC_-M7GYBtR8F8ESxezrff6GiG9_DPn6V7HlAU/s1600-h/100_3370.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOzTGqEWWgrkK4WcH_OAExsQ7LEBbxm-zxREvKGrEwUbyMEOtTxtbQ3bPfEYeUk10CU_OM5JWXxgsDyV3hK7ScQnA3AH3bFD5gcUwh9tNC_-M7GYBtR8F8ESxezrff6GiG9_DPn6V7HlAU/s400/100_3370.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150325882155576274" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">For lunch we stopped in at a little rest stop near Hamua, where we were kept entertained by a couple of naughty roosters. I didn't feed them anything but I did call them 'dickheads' a lot. After saying 'goodbye dickheads' to our feathered friends we drove onto the <a href="http://www.tui.co.nz/index.asp" target="_blank">Tui </a>brewery where I bought some merchandise.<br /><br />We drove onto Dannevirke (which literally means Danes work). The town was established by the Danes because the Poms were too soft and squooshy (although they were smart because the Danes had to sort out the Maoris first). Then from Dannevirke we drove through Norsewood which literally means 'the trees are actually Norses'. Like Dannevirke the town was established by over pampered Poms and populated by Norsemen and Norsewomen. The town was filled with trolls.<br /><br />We drove through Hastings, actually we made haste through there because I hate getting arrows in my eye. Get it? No? Well your knowledge of history is pretty useless then.<br /><br />Finally we made it to Napier, the most Art Deco town in the world. Well probably anyway. The town was flattened on 3 February 1931 by an immense earthquake. Apparently at one point, when most of the town was on fire, the fire brigade drove to the beach to pump water in, only to find that the beach was 2 metres higher than they expected and the ocean was a good 100 metres further away than it was that morning. Walking on the beach gave me that weird 'insignificant' feeling again and I felt sick for the firemen that night. It must have been horrifying.<br /><br />The upshot of all this death and destruction is the fact that the town was mostly rebuilt in the style of the day - <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Art_deco" target="_blank">art deco</a>. This has to be one of my favourite arty things ever. The lines are strong and clean. Mmmmmm sexy.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwcmrRQmoDtGy9iKxtO1Iwg62v5loFLqKDvKB87XwdWZolz2DDX6dfGKPpPNE36KF0Zuh5FVoR2esx8CMQbJJylnqHlWyC9AoT6JIiNC55qqkmXGmCuxltnZtvhnqRcJnPpAyBS9nbBp34/s1600-h/100_3375.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwcmrRQmoDtGy9iKxtO1Iwg62v5loFLqKDvKB87XwdWZolz2DDX6dfGKPpPNE36KF0Zuh5FVoR2esx8CMQbJJylnqHlWyC9AoT6JIiNC55qqkmXGmCuxltnZtvhnqRcJnPpAyBS9nbBp34/s400/100_3375.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150355182422469602" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">We took a brief wander around the town in the darkening light and toddled off to our campsite.<br /><br />Here we witnessed some unusual behaviour. Stacey and I were cooking dinner in the communal kitchen, there were a number of tables around and quite a bit of room. While I was cooking two people (clearly a couple because they were both so ugly they couldn't find anyone else) sat down opposite Stacey at <span style="font-style: italic;">our</span> table. Fat Dickhead Number 1 (the husband) started cooking and cleaning stuff and Fat Dickhead Number 2 decided that sitting directly opposite Stacey and staring at her was the appropriate thing to do. I finished cooking, we ate. Fat Dickhead Number 2 introduced herself to us, we made small talk and then she went back to staring at us like a Fat Dickhead. WTF? Do we have two friggin heads or something? Thankfully we could eat quickly (pizza) and leave because I was very close to punching one of them in the knee...<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4221544298440710477.post-35089389789110256922007-12-22T09:14:00.000+11:002007-12-22T15:46:09.253+11:00New Zealand: Phase Eight - They Sell Umbrellas in Wellington<a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCCTUIdEQbjLQsc4FevWf1ARr2e2S0KXSHPUrq6nX-DGeJuu0xwx6HrdPjghuYbtPxIn8CEAsEIiVkw0wIhNgHGp9b1wTnggwHMEOO-NL8XqSDQITJkoeAioahhtB_J1jvJ6nNG_E_wHDR/s1600-h/100_3342.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCCTUIdEQbjLQsc4FevWf1ARr2e2S0KXSHPUrq6nX-DGeJuu0xwx6HrdPjghuYbtPxIn8CEAsEIiVkw0wIhNgHGp9b1wTnggwHMEOO-NL8XqSDQITJkoeAioahhtB_J1jvJ6nNG_E_wHDR/s400/100_3342.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146555966021577602" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">After a very early start, and a period of time sitting in the queue for the ferry (thank you <a href="http://www.thebeautifulgirls.com/" target="_blank">Beautiful Girls</a> for making it enjoyable). We hopped on to the ferry, and wandered upstairs to find a good seat - which we did. I wandered out and around on the decks every now and then, took a few happy snaps. Actually they were more 'slightly sad snaps' because it was sad to leave the South Island - we promised ourselves to bring the family back there.<br /><br />After finding some food and some coffee we settled in for the journey. A nice couple - retired, travelling, empty nesters - sat near us and we got talking. Although it consisted mostly of small talk it was interesting; indigenous affairs, politics our jobs etc.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;">Our introduction to Wellington was, how should I put it, windy?<br /></div><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSHJJJ-EwdMls89UQOzVOchyphenhyphenCA8JxCfASfLblmrMdnc9yGTuP2qaKZ0UzZADcGRPQkWOQwwFriyxCm82zsGRA2BXRiS4vUcR9I0X-KVUMs3XpRj66HVWXyGb9ZduTGTOj-q75scJ_v2tid/s1600-h/100_3347.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSHJJJ-EwdMls89UQOzVOchyphenhyphenCA8JxCfASfLblmrMdnc9yGTuP2qaKZ0UzZADcGRPQkWOQwwFriyxCm82zsGRA2BXRiS4vUcR9I0X-KVUMs3XpRj66HVWXyGb9ZduTGTOj-q75scJ_v2tid/s400/100_3347.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146558006131043218" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">Wellington is a funny city, with funny, tight little streets, and funny little intersections and funny one way bits that don't make any sense. We made it to our hotel, the <a href="http://www.duxton.com/wellington/" target="_blank">Duxton.</a> Lahdy dah. Two people in a weird, orange backpacker van hop out, looking slightly feral and smelling slightly like weird, orange backpacker van. Needless to say the people were very nice to us - although they probably pitied Stacey more than anything. I thought everything in the van was organised and ready. It wasn't. There were undies, bras, beers, ginantonics, food, and more undies strewn through the van. I also didn't realise that some poor bugger had to chauffeur our van to a special car park. Smelly.<br /><br /></span><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX0nUg8Bw7Xu5j_TRi-JnI-K2tFxaoLAif0G91Sf8FLujPdHqscWD04GjdJ3kxs2Jyhk4uswEyA3Gz4yoM8FAyAbuQ3zEPUhL52K01mhGjRT-kdl7z6XEekPPJjEzgNk1w1OEeldEyf1T6/s1600-h/100_3360.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX0nUg8Bw7Xu5j_TRi-JnI-K2tFxaoLAif0G91Sf8FLujPdHqscWD04GjdJ3kxs2Jyhk4uswEyA3Gz4yoM8FAyAbuQ3zEPUhL52K01mhGjRT-kdl7z6XEekPPJjEzgNk1w1OEeldEyf1T6/s400/100_3360.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146644949154016162" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">After settling into the room, we went for a mosey around town to get some lunch. Me, being my predictable old self, found the thought of eating lunch at <a href="http://www.macs.co.nz/Splash.aspx" target="_blank">Mac's Brewery</a> irresistible, so we settled in for a couple of excellent ales and some excellent food. I had a smoked fish pie. Mmmmmm smoked fish pie...<br /><br />Note the tasty beer (Sassy Red) and the number 88. I thought the number 88 was a good number to have. Two fat ladies.<br /><br />From the brewery we moved on to our walk around Wellington. I took the opportunity to observe some fine Edwardian and Art Deco architecture. I also took the opportunity to observe some architecture that was clearly inspired by a hairy arse. The 80's was truly a repulsive decade. And what is with the <a href="http://content.answers.com/main/content/wp/en/6/6d/SIF-Beehive-3-Cropped.jpg" target="_blank">beehive</a>? I don't understand! AAARGH!<br /><br />The Wellington tramway was fun, albeit a bit slopey, and the tramway museum up top was really quite interesting. It had trams. Slopey trams.<br /><br />On the way back to the hotel we stopped in to the <a href="http://www.tepapa.govt.nz/Tepapa/English/" target="_blank">Te Papa</a> museum. I think this is what the National Museum of Australia was trying to be before it died in the arse. By the time we had finished in the museum we were truly buggered, so it was back to the hotel room for a couple of yummy beverages.<br /><br />For dinner we stopped in at a little, very funky, cafe called <a href="http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=136480575" target="_blank">Plum</a>. I had the best mussels since getting to NZ. The mussels had; sake, ginger, kafir lime, lemongrass fish paste and lotsa love. Oh yes, they were good.<br /></span><div style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigPQGCh0SGP3a7UEXsGohuczPkIR3bdH-kMtPGWwW6bNOPI55rY7sGGuQKQ4b-RJe4ABGN4CTnd-pw2riaGTIA-pd8d9R2H2SKzRaPy08ggVW8a5vPdFA2kjPCdG7mjibgrPga6V9h4IEo/s1600-h/100_3362.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigPQGCh0SGP3a7UEXsGohuczPkIR3bdH-kMtPGWwW6bNOPI55rY7sGGuQKQ4b-RJe4ABGN4CTnd-pw2riaGTIA-pd8d9R2H2SKzRaPy08ggVW8a5vPdFA2kjPCdG7mjibgrPga6V9h4IEo/s400/100_3362.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146652310727961522" border="0" /></a><br />I told you it was windy.<br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4221544298440710477.post-83300459016602688242007-11-30T18:07:00.000+11:002007-11-30T23:01:48.984+11:00New Zealand: Phase Seven - Pancakes, Beer, Wine, Abalone and Chips<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUGj7WYGy_2cvLW_mVAaYQMFc0l8546XDeejvPtiBRgfHDAEB3338i4CpEJEkKzdOXMGnnMW6Vq20XoSwp2p27dAcUjvP-FzF8QIXpWWeWVXLUB68EfJgjAOyu-78V9vt_6Yi38gNWxEhj/s1600-r/100_3325.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibhYgWRLWO4vF0QypX5nsEwkGvzmXhw550DMVYhbgUkOGDetgKE9Q2UVwe7lE2NRmxYSJ8J4aqz6NB4VxGia2SQ3-uBUApZREQc_YBnYGVWYG2TPgWV4HHOJ4T0qv5hlU7V2vezXX8vDtU/s400/100_3325.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5138534114282996898" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">We arose early, again. Not by choice but by habit - probably a good thing with the baby on the way. After a loud night with the ocean smashing into the beach below us we drove onto Punakaiki, or Pancake Rocks. I failed to see what was so pancakey about them, I thought that they more resembled the side on profile of a book that had been eaten by termites. I suppose the name 'Side on Profile Eaten Book Rocks' wouldn't roll off the tongue as well.<br /><br />Conceptual </span><span style="font-family:arial;">culinary </span><span style="font-family:arial;">confusions aside, they were quite interesting to look at - especially if you like rocks like I do. I did geology at uni and was like, pretty good at it and stuff. I bored Stacey to death explaining how they were formed. She didn't seem to understand the petrified giant filo pastry and hungry, hungry hippo theory anyway.<br /><br />Most of the country on the west coast seems pretty inhospitable, I imagine a bit like hanging out with David 'Golden Balls' Beckham at a tea party. Like typical Kiwis, however, they have not only managed to build a road out of cliffs, but put houses next to it as well. I reckon Blue Tac has to be a Kiwi invention. Uhu Tac would be Australian because it is gold and waaaay better.<br /><br />We continued on to the appropriately named Westport. The Kiwis are as good at naming things as us Aussies are. The town, once a bustling port in the west is now but a port in the west. Apparently the sunsets are pretty good there, due mostly to the westerly aspect, but also because it is a port on the ocean on the west coast. Got it? Shut up Jum. If they named a town after you it would be called Tooltown, or <a href="http://maps.google.com.au/maps?q=knobville+pa&ie=UTF8&oe=UTF-8&client=firefox-a&z=16&iwloc=addr&om=1" target="_blank">Knobville</a>.<br /><br />They have a brewery at Westport, and if you haven't guessed it, I like the odd beer. Even at 10am as it happened to be that day. We dropped into the <a href="http://www.westcoastbrewing.com/" target="_blank">Miners Brewery (now West Coast Brewery)</a> and I sampled a few beers, and then a few more beers. Thankfully the roads in New Zealand are straight .<br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">Drink driving jokes aside we travelled up through to the north east again, sadly waving good bye to the west coast, and all other things west.<br /><br />Over an hour the terrain changed from temperate rainforest to mountainy, rocky sharp stuff. We travelled up through Inangahua Junction, which was the home of a massive earthquake in 1957. Apparently it was one of those ones where entire chasms formed - kind of like an apocalypse I suppose. We didn't stop, even though we probably should have. It had this eerie unnatural feeling.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSOj8yJQXZLwo-CK2Q8IQ2zfMg_7dufg9sMkCIQMtg-nGq_rL8qRWfGjqVhOjjL6_F6LcHqK8WaGV17oeHnt35ZpM-5Wb4MZpVGMx0vAcvzspi9ybZ22uGcFBu2VVEKqMuudtyk48BMZoO/s1600-r/100_3335.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7RlQ7goilEOghIZv5-FrxEpeT4WGbcZH14OJmiTucbBx7dEydEzuV7NJ1vxvITL_a905KQ4D4MSSVU3nwIpryB3oPPSkE21ek9jj0-t7P-cGiD2SGgsCmPWqVkjxfNhXbwGWOQa9dnFJ2/s400/100_3335.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5138592929565148386" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">We continued to follow the Buller River which was typical of New Zealand in its clarity, power and beauty. Again the road there is hewn through the rock (no houses this time), but I thought this photo shows how crazy the Kiwis really are...<br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />We ended up having lunch just east of Murchison, above the swift and clear Buller River. Again I was assaulted by these massive, loud killer bees. I mean they are friggin huge and bloodey inquisitive. I was not amused by this so we ate lunch inside the van. With the windows shut.<br /><br />After a very hot lunch we continued eastwards. It seems that we hit every possible straight road in New Zealand, actually I am sure they go out of their way to make a straight road there. You can see the road workers standing around, cups of tea in hand:<br /><br />Cuz: 'do we need a road here Bro?<br />Bro: nah, but boss sez we should do it anywayz<br />Cuz: why?<br />Bro: coz it will be the fucken straightest road ever made Cuz<br />Cuz: bitchen<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiM5lRIUHrScaEvemEFbVZzgeskPOD1YetZjHTQ6cVQ1F2WHXUo9W5d7I8IT6KX2hI4LIfxb4-rjKDhUmZzenrAYrLeknP_wANnu6eKAQ3kyOxq_YoNm2NcHg0YFhA8irfePqebc1zPi9S/s1600-r/100_3336.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWwLgOKiwhfoKW3iOG_DFMsWv39xX1g-iuh4hZl1eQ0zYUdBWKl6sZFmniuXTf6PE8v0zKCp806-VjGNAJdaUlpaU5CGnIbuJKkxif9JssRacqsotAzPGj0LdWCQ5pjVJ2SVm7yZ9LArgS/s400/100_3336.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5138585920178521282" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">After St. Arnaud (yawn) I was forced to do some of the worst driving in the worst conditions. Ever. It was so windy I could hear Mary Poppins screaming mercy. It was hot, straight, boring, windy, straight, boring and windy and hot. Everything was bent over like some twisted old sentinel of dry twisty wood. It was horrible. May we never go there again.<br /><br />We made it to Renwick and headed straight for the Cloudy Bay winery. The only thing that impressed us was how pretentious the bitch was behind the counter:<br /><br />'Oh lahdie dah this and schnooty that' with 'oh, our chaaardonnnays are $38 because they are so waaaaaarnderful'. 'My norse is schtuch up my baaam'<br /><br />'This wine is a bit yeasty - like a thrush in the front of the palate - with that hint of chocolate that only comes when the bean is passed through the bowels of a meercat and licked by a sloth. There is an aftertaste of bulldust that lingers like tendrils of bovine spongiform at the back of the throat - yet overall there is the creaminess straight from a cats arse that is the true essence of this wine'.<br /><br />I will tell <a href="http://animosiman.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Angry Man</a> about you!<br /><br />We drove onto Blenheim. Ahem, yes, the town did fit under the van. From there we went to Picton, our last stop on the south island. We had some absolutely fantastic paua (abalone) and amazing chips (a secret - it is right up the top of the town and the inside of the shop kinda reminds you of the inside of a fridge built in 1962). We then packed ourselves into our little van park, had big, fat, warm showers and packed ourselves away for a wonderful nights sleep. After a couple more of those Miner's beers mind you. <br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4221544298440710477.post-14526900893182245152007-11-29T20:26:00.000+11:002007-11-29T21:58:45.454+11:00New Zealand: Phase Six - Easter Monday on the West Coast<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiStdslGR-ssidlgSxBOWF1rfRMcIyiaekX5Bc1lbQJcs7-ltqXtk9TJp2JP36A6c3U8AdiEtY3sSvEKun4sbZhcbbtozyqyWqIX6sx9mbogiyjscovDwiDBl-QLCj9Qznq7-uVueqwniaj/s1600-h/100_3273.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiStdslGR-ssidlgSxBOWF1rfRMcIyiaekX5Bc1lbQJcs7-ltqXtk9TJp2JP36A6c3U8AdiEtY3sSvEKun4sbZhcbbtozyqyWqIX6sx9mbogiyjscovDwiDBl-QLCj9Qznq7-uVueqwniaj/s400/100_3273.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5138199824093447266" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">We both woke up to a new and very special day; the sun was barely showing itself in the mountains to the east and the ocean was barely taking notice of anything - smashing big rocks into smaller rocks and entire trees onto the beach nearby.<br /><br />We hopped out and looked around, noticing in particular that I had parked the van surprisingly well into the coastal heath the night before. The coastal heath itself was thick, rough and sharp. A bit like Britney Spears if she didn't shave. We mucked around in this inhospitable, yet beautiful place and then moved on at a leisurly pace northwards to the glaciers.<br /><br />After a slightly windy, yet beautiful drive we found ourselves at the Fox Glacier. I stand corrected, we didn't find ourselves there, we found our way there. I found myself back in 1998 when I drank too many pints at the Phoenix bar on a 32 degree night. I also found myself being pretty sick too.<br /><br />The glacier was much greater, majestic and mysterious than I expected. Its peaks rose above us like the icy crown of a King that struck down all before him. The glacial valley was steep and powerful in its immense silence. It made me think how I really can't stand it when people say that things make them feel insignificant, like 'when I think of how large the universe is it makes me feel so insignificant'. The glacier didn't make me feel insignificant - it certainly made me feel a bit smaller than the boulder the size of a house that I was standing next to (I think the glacier dropped it there). It didn't, however, make me feel insignificant. Being crushed like an ant by the glacier would, on the other hand, make me feel insignificant because I would have to be so pathetically slow for it to catch me.<br /><br />Stacey and I have a knack for getting ahead of the various packs of dickheads that are as much of an inevitability in tourist areas as a wedgie is when you wear satin boxers on a long drive on a hot day. On this occasion we managed again to get ahead of the tool box and enjoy a moment of silence with our friend the glacier. There were a pack of young American idiots that decided to jump the well sign posted (you will <span style="font-weight: bold;">DIE</span> if you go beyond this point) rope and head up to the glacier and climb on it. Just as Stacey and I had left we heard the most almighty crash, similar to the sound you hear when standing on the precipice of Yasur volcano. A large chunk (probably the size of four or five buses)</span><span style="font-family:arial;">had fallen from the roof of the glacier mouth - right next to the stupid Americans. I bet there were some brown dacks that day.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgn21JfBO72xC7MIhmZAztiOLZ2clj8EH7y6jErmCP7uGb5bB75ESLqWfAGF6_SXyesGOl5ZD-5lZOSNireRVERSV2X2URBxlWOZxpfWROyeU7Oq0ZYdpf3-UfjAIkXXpoKFlIja4vhyphenhyphenay/s1600-h/100_3281.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgn21JfBO72xC7MIhmZAztiOLZ2clj8EH7y6jErmCP7uGb5bB75ESLqWfAGF6_SXyesGOl5ZD-5lZOSNireRVERSV2X2URBxlWOZxpfWROyeU7Oq0ZYdpf3-UfjAIkXXpoKFlIja4vhyphenhyphenay/s400/100_3281.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5138202774735979634" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">After this we went on to enjoy a lunch with the ducks and trout at Lake Mapourika in the Westland National Park.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiinBYsCZKcOh1R-d9hxtpPJH0eD84FdbneKpoEze6AbR-iCNoMdNSZhEGDykoqaF4_zamu4Rllwl_fJEUvTiK5uFDVO7qCpuP_YuPHgwzv3gRgDZimCuH0ZInpLlwPafuMoh7nGrRkwDLK/s1600-h/100_3296.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiinBYsCZKcOh1R-d9hxtpPJH0eD84FdbneKpoEze6AbR-iCNoMdNSZhEGDykoqaF4_zamu4Rllwl_fJEUvTiK5uFDVO7qCpuP_YuPHgwzv3gRgDZimCuH0ZInpLlwPafuMoh7nGrRkwDLK/s400/100_3296.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5138207696768500866" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">The Rain forest on the New Zealand west coast is impressively dense and mysterious. I could easily find myself dreaming of Maori legends, and running from mythical beasts through the thick foliage. Oh wait, that was those mushrooms I ate at lunch - no wonder the duck was looking at me kinda weird...<br /><br />We pressed on through the forest to Hokitika at the heart of greenstone (jade) country. We had a look around, shrugged our shoulders at the expense, bought some groceries and again moved on to the suitably named Greymouth. Looking at my travel journal I used words like 'pooh', 'featureless' and 'violent in its mediocrity' to describe Greymouth. On hindsight it was more 'bleg'.<br /><br />We drove on north from there to seek out our place of rest for the night, and did we find a cracker of a spot. Fourteen Mile Beach, stirringly beautiful, rough and peaceful. The sand was a funny grey colour and holy crap there were a lot of friggin BITEYS. AAAAAARGH BITEY! I have mentioned the sand flies before, however up until this point in time I hadn't come up with a name. At this beach I did. Friggin Biteys. They suck. They are all up and down the west coast and they are way worse than mozzies. FRIGGIN BITEYS!<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm0DvoeucxgcFLaFSf4Fyh2goUqu_ZSl13jPGt56CF5v4ChmWjgTcmAbRpvyChpUlaC9jxrpEXrFHbBHtD9o6CLZqAlWk7408rYl9k2tRxtSNqjtAl-U-Cd56K2fx_fRnHR7v4IpfI1eAb/s1600-h/100_3304.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm0DvoeucxgcFLaFSf4Fyh2goUqu_ZSl13jPGt56CF5v4ChmWjgTcmAbRpvyChpUlaC9jxrpEXrFHbBHtD9o6CLZqAlWk7408rYl9k2tRxtSNqjtAl-U-Cd56K2fx_fRnHR7v4IpfI1eAb/s400/100_3304.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5138212086225077394" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">Stacey had been feeling the baby up until this point, and increasingly so over the last few days, and this night I felt the little fella for the first time. I didn't know if it was a 'he' or a 'she', all I knew was it was an incredible moment and I couldn't get over how happy it made me feel. Try and spot the third person in the photo...</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4221544298440710477.post-52455521169365027692007-08-30T16:54:00.000+10:002007-08-30T17:16:06.852+10:00Aaron With Two 'A's<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiANbA1b6K3T80fqgZZ2yMK7Vy8pNoxrF3AVeKTBW2FRUOmi7yzH2rCtsWp1HNKPwKAuQNWQo1dFnrndAH3ICFGIOlloIgaTm4zti0U_6ove1-b9JIzQY8mUPdDoCOdJmqru1pBQf9swDh-/s1600-h/Aaron+008.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiANbA1b6K3T80fqgZZ2yMK7Vy8pNoxrF3AVeKTBW2FRUOmi7yzH2rCtsWp1HNKPwKAuQNWQo1dFnrndAH3ICFGIOlloIgaTm4zti0U_6ove1-b9JIzQY8mUPdDoCOdJmqru1pBQf9swDh-/s400/Aaron+008.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5104386982095383938" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">I know it has been an extremely long time since I made an entry on my blog and I am truly sorry for that. Actually, who am I apologising to? Anyone who may have read my blog in the past certainly won't be checking in to see if I posted anything recently. Maybe they will. Whatever.<br /><br />I wrote an entry a while ago about <a href="http://jumofbungendore.blogspot.com/2007/03/greyish-blob-that-is-my-child.html" target=" _blank">grey blobs</a> - well that grey blob that was my child is now a pinkish, burpy, farty, screamy blob that is my newest son Aaron. And he is friggin awesome. So friggin awesome in fact that I can stare at him for hours and marvel at his awesomeness. He clearly takes after his dad in that department. Actually I think he might out awesome me.<br /><br />After a few hours of causing his mother some extreme pain he was born on Tuesday 21 August at 3:04 pm. My world changed forever instantly, and I really am happy that it did.<br /><br />At this stage I want to write as much as possible about the little fella, however there are a number of factors that thwart this desire:<br /><br />1. The weather outside is a-friggin-mazing and I need to go out and do gardeny things while the little man has a feed (my wife is a walking milk bar)<br />2. It really shits me when people talk non-stop about their children. I don't mind a bit of chit chat, but when it starts to encompass when they eat, what they eat, when they cry, how much they shit and what colour their shit is I get cranky. His is quite regular on the 3 hour mark during the day, and the 1 hour at night. Usually a deep mustard to orange colour with white curds thanks for asking.<br /><br />There is some rain forecast in a couple of days so I promise to get back to the blog and finish my holiday thing and tell you more about the baby.<br /><br />Because you will listen - I will force you to.<br /><br />Jum<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4221544298440710477.post-20946608968904327862007-05-22T19:01:00.000+10:002007-05-22T20:35:05.545+10:00New Zealand: Phase Five - Queenstown to Arrowtown to Cardrona to Arrowtown to Cardrona to the Middle of Nowhere<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5uR_FiglHKOv-R4pORhaHRJxdlFLySdKEU_RfgIFA3whI_5If5DQcIyAm-_IT1DMcmzcH3olS1FB8_xx5a_CSSH-U3BjS6sYYHJNUbfmHjeV6oEYIO8b1xLVKzAiY2QbwQQpTHxhV3StO/s1600-h/100_3243.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5uR_FiglHKOv-R4pORhaHRJxdlFLySdKEU_RfgIFA3whI_5If5DQcIyAm-_IT1DMcmzcH3olS1FB8_xx5a_CSSH-U3BjS6sYYHJNUbfmHjeV6oEYIO8b1xLVKzAiY2QbwQQpTHxhV3StO/s400/100_3243.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067312561106049778" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">Drunk people are stupid. They say stupid things really loudly. Next to you while you are asleep. Things like 'I didn't realise you could sleep in those Spaceship things' and 'fuck I'm drunk...' We didn't sleep the best, but we slept none the less.<br /><br />We awoke to a clear and cold morning; the kind of cold that hurts like hell when you stub your toe. We rushed off to the showers for a nice hot shower and the most uncoordinated attempt at getting dressed ever. I will never understand why someone would create a camp shower cubicle with one clothes hook and no bench. <span style="font-weight: bold;">WHY DAMMIT?!</span> After struggling like a ritalin kid in a straight jacket for twenty minutes I was ready for brekky and a wander around town.<br /><br />During the walk I came to really respect the beauty of Queenstown, all the drunk people were in bed hating themselves and all the normal people were happily going about business. We wandered past a pretty church and down to the waterfront where we bought the best damn hot chocolate ever made. It seriously was like melted chocolate. I am drooling again. We sat by the crystal clear water with some ducks and just admired the sheer beauty of the place. </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-ISv2FbguN4fqFgYQiOaFI3YLSfrcZ9kmOCVf6FOM6n62GMDmcBTcdUiABgKtMC7nljMyyEEgKIetpGiUt-9PR48fsUArSp75uzyAXV1rqSafnjgEf0mD6H1Afw30OwyUS1sylbF0GZuZ/s1600-h/100_3242.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-ISv2FbguN4fqFgYQiOaFI3YLSfrcZ9kmOCVf6FOM6n62GMDmcBTcdUiABgKtMC7nljMyyEEgKIetpGiUt-9PR48fsUArSp75uzyAXV1rqSafnjgEf0mD6H1Afw30OwyUS1sylbF0GZuZ/s400/100_3242.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067313806646565634" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">We also admired our hot chocolates and this duck.<br /><br />After this peaceful interlude it was off like an arrow to Arrowtown, an old gold mining settlement near Queenstown.<br /><br />We wandered the area and an amazing little Chinese mining village, well not a village any more but some abandoned huts. Some of these blokes travelled to New Zealand in the hope of affording the trip for the rest of their family, but never managed to save the money to do so. Many of them spent the rest of their lives in a hermit like existence, never to see their family again.<br /><br />Arrowtown itself was a little bit touristy, but still quaint with its cute little houses and oldy feel. We stopped in and bought some beanies at a wooly shop. We wandered slowly back to the car and drove the long windy not windy drive over a big fat range to Cardrona. The hills themselves were cool to look at. From a distance they had the appearance of a well loved teddy bear with the tussocky grass looking tussocky, and up close they resembled a hill with grass on it. The view from the top was pretty remarrkable, and considering we could see the Remarkables from up there this was quite unsurprising. We drove down the other side and onto Cardrona.<br /><br />As we pulled up Stace started to look around frantically, I didn't notice this because I was focussed on getting my hands on my first beer, but when I did it wasn't good. Stacey's wallet was missing, with all of our money and her credit cards. Everything. The panicky feeling was quite sickening and Stacey was understandably really upset. I ran into the pub, not to buy a beer, but to try and contact the Police, or the tourist info area in Arrowtown. No luck.<br /><br />I, in all my calmness and wisdom, decided that the only option was to postpone the beer (in fact by this stage I wanted a fat Scotch with a shot of Scotch with a Scotch chaser) and to drive back over the big teddy bear like hills and down to Arrowtown to run around looking. I reckon I made it in record time (little GPS fanged and smelt like brake dust when we got there). I dropped Stacey near the tourist centre and I decided to test my fitness by re-walking (running) the Chinese town trail, and everywhere else we had been. I couldn't find anything, and to be honest didn't expect to. Stace wandered the streets trying to retrace our steps in the town centre. Just before she gave up she had an epiphany - check the wooly shop where we bought the beanies! Pure genius! The people there had it in their hands and were beginning to call the credit card people to cancel it. YAY!<br /><br />When we met up again we had the biggest hug ever. Yes, even bigger than the hills made of teddy bears!<br /><br />We drove slowly back to Cardrona again where I ordered a beer and some food and sat down in the most beautiful beer garden ever and ate Bambi and roast vegies. Bambi good with cranberry and wine jus.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr-e9OfaRY6qhchiNgRpdGKZ8GZQB9vraDK8Pn3zeGAXmR3_KVGRjh_lXvFDGC9ZXM4yNZLp1Nds9qqo7EUcH889s_-r1wOerhTTTDwGX6ZsAbL_vzDoxs4TqSPbMgq5yt6zSIN5t8Lvz_/s1600-h/100_3259.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr-e9OfaRY6qhchiNgRpdGKZ8GZQB9vraDK8Pn3zeGAXmR3_KVGRjh_lXvFDGC9ZXM4yNZLp1Nds9qqo7EUcH889s_-r1wOerhTTTDwGX6ZsAbL_vzDoxs4TqSPbMgq5yt6zSIN5t8Lvz_/s400/100_3259.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067322448120765202" border="0" /></a>After a very satisfying and relaxing lunch we drove on to Wanaka bought some groceries and moved on again towards Haast. We intended on pulling up somewhere along the way, but never found anywhere that made us happy or didn't make us think of Deliverance so onto Haast we drove.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgkrW8_aBhIU0RJ3wok7EIBabEs846xm29hkEOGB_asi_FNvsR3SHcU_wqfWfd3xLcPWmrM3i22648gbWDj6cnlc9FLiddL3oUJ7va9MoNljmZbvWtKPO1M4lX0Eh_mcbxxUhmXJI19WUA/s1600-h/100_3267.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgkrW8_aBhIU0RJ3wok7EIBabEs846xm29hkEOGB_asi_FNvsR3SHcU_wqfWfd3xLcPWmrM3i22648gbWDj6cnlc9FLiddL3oUJ7va9MoNljmZbvWtKPO1M4lX0Eh_mcbxxUhmXJI19WUA/s400/100_3267.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067327284253940514" border="0" /></a>We got to Haast and I thought we should drive south to find a spot. We pulled up at a few areas, including a Deliverance caravan park, but again weren't entirely happy with them. Bugger it. Onto Jackson Bay we went, home to the most famous diner in New Zealand, an absolutely fantastic view up the west coast and stuff all else. As we drove into the area we were greeted by rednecks with rifles slung over their shoulders wandering around like apes in fluorescent vests.<br /><br />We finally made it to the diner, I ordered a whitebait sammie and we pulled up a bit north on the side of the road and what felt like the edge of the earth.<br /><br />Just before we settled in to sleep I, being the man I am, slipped out for a bit of a pee. As I was splashing the boots I heard a few gun shots. 'Hmmm' I thought '.22 rifle, probably those rednecks shooting possums down the road somewhere. Nothing to write home about.' Just as I finished up I heard the report of a shotgun about 200 metres away. Needless to say I hopped straight into the drivers seat, told Stace to hold on tight, uttered the words 'fuck this' and drove very quickly to the first stop we checked out. It was interesting how it fitted our requirements perfectly this time.<br /><br />I had a stiff ginantonic and crawled into bed.<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4221544298440710477.post-81244374543362230932007-04-30T18:10:00.000+10:002007-05-05T15:14:19.861+10:00New Zealand: Phase Four - Milford Sound and Queenstown<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgplv26CFIF33GtsVxx2fbO4rOQNFh2wIePHp_8a_CzeAECZl2lPPCx-3YVU4EhjE1EXTwidTmzG1YCl9aMUeatCVhYMoHuSlJ83nqLutLI_iMjO1lfLkeH0AuiwkDpZ3MD47EG1BcRva3/s1600-h/100_3139+crop.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgplv26CFIF33GtsVxx2fbO4rOQNFh2wIePHp_8a_CzeAECZl2lPPCx-3YVU4EhjE1EXTwidTmzG1YCl9aMUeatCVhYMoHuSlJ83nqLutLI_iMjO1lfLkeH0AuiwkDpZ3MD47EG1BcRva3/s400/100_3139+crop.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5059135403288039602" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">We enjoyed a nice little breakfast of marmalade, toast and coffee with the speccy view over Lake Te Anau. There were a number of pretty birds around singing and flashing their colours at us - some little black wrens, some silver eyes and some others that we couldn't see but had a funny song. The sky was clearing and we could just tell we were going to have a magical day.<br /><br />The drive to Milford sound was truly spectacular, breathtaking and dangerous. Not dangerous in terms of conditions but dangerous because I was always craning my neck into stupid positions to see the huge mountains. I don't know if sometimes we are the luckiest people in the world sometimes, but the cloud clinging to the mountain tops, coupled with the incredibly clear and rich blue skies made me all weird. I don't want to be a Mr. Clever Pants, but the photo to the right is an excellent example of why it was so friggin dangerous for me to drive. Every corner we turned had a new view like this, a view that was capable of convincing you that the world was being born in front of you.<br /><br />Coincidentally this stop was where we first spotted a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kea" target="_blank">Kea</a>, although only a fleeting glimpse we could still tell it was naughty. It was flying away from a frazzled looking tourist.<br /><br />The terrain we passed through was what we came to New Zealand to see, actually it was more than I could have expected. The sheer size and raw beauty was more incredible than anything I had seen, and the power of it reminded me of when we stood on the edge of the Yasur volcano in Vanuatu.<br /><br />We eventually arrived at the Homer tunnel, which is to me the epitome of New Zealand in its entirety - man and nature. Here was a tunnel, literally dug through the toughest rock by the toughest men available. The tunnel inside is still as rough as it ever was, jagged protrusions skimming past in the headlights drips of water hitting the windscreen, and a darkness more black than words can describe. The headlights didn't seem to light anything up at all. We were consumed by the earth. We didn't matter a tiny bit.<br /><br />Fortunately we made it through to the other end, our souls still intact. The scenery on the other side was just as spectacular and we pressed on to Milford Sound down wet, green, windy roads and across clear, blue rivers spanned by wet, narrow bridges.<br /><br />The tourist area at the Sound was to be expected, so nothing to write about here. Damn, I wrote something. We had made good time so we hopped on to an earlier cruise than planned which I think was good and bad. The cruise had less people on it because it was early, but it also had three of the rudest most obnoxious families I had ever seen. I am not surprised they hung out together; they were like cancer cells on a brain. The stupid, useless and ugly mothers had claimed the entire side of the boat (some of the only window seats available). They hadn't claimed it for themselves, but for their kids by using piles of bags. The kids never sat down because they were too busy ruining every one else's time by running around screaming like dickheads. The fathers had lost their man bits to the succubi, sorry, wives long ago. What happened to the time when 'adults' were more important than 'children'? Anyway I was glad to see that some kid's bag got a good view.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAq9omeTtGCKLzmhlvUBR7bYpHkwWGuD7fwB-O1lNkUFIZPHHYeC8ae5A6_4tm7XgLGwFfU9SjBT_mr9M5v1lC7QpZu8NTc9tf-TzX3lg6xTEhDaXnms_-w-SeKUq2SJ9KU6uuuheuOw1w/s1600-h/100_3158.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAq9omeTtGCKLzmhlvUBR7bYpHkwWGuD7fwB-O1lNkUFIZPHHYeC8ae5A6_4tm7XgLGwFfU9SjBT_mr9M5v1lC7QpZu8NTc9tf-TzX3lg6xTEhDaXnms_-w-SeKUq2SJ9KU6uuuheuOw1w/s400/100_3158.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5059158351298302146" border="0" /></a>Fortunately Stacey and I weren't as egocentric as those repulsive people and we, and it seemed the rest of the passengers, went on to the top of the boat to get away and appreciate the view. I understand why people travel from all over the world to visit this place. Like the drive it was spectacular, but this time the driving was left up to someone else, and I could just sit back, relax and enjoy the view. Apparently James Cook missed the entrance to this sound on his journeys. He mustn't have yelled enough.<br /><br />I must write a quick aside on the vegetation in New Zealand. It is very growy. Like the New Zealanders themselves it seems to cling onto every precipice on every cliff and hold on for dear life. Even some of the sheer, rock walls in the sound seemed to mimic the densest rainforest. I therefore dedicate my new word to New Zealand as a whole. <span style="font-weight: bold;">GROWY</span>.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4_4lSiGrZ-2qRQejPsPa-Tkx9Cxt1JawqDBRZ74Av51PucaYCM9U5npDbx39YlGyIavRntS7Qf96pUhWyQMcrLg3If1ioTizDdCNpkt73J9LJuaYeB9AUBKVL_g2OE5e4r-zT-FMdKX8h/s1600-h/100_3231.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4_4lSiGrZ-2qRQejPsPa-Tkx9Cxt1JawqDBRZ74Av51PucaYCM9U5npDbx39YlGyIavRntS7Qf96pUhWyQMcrLg3If1ioTizDdCNpkt73J9LJuaYeB9AUBKVL_g2OE5e4r-zT-FMdKX8h/s400/100_3231.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5059513652467863778" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">We left the sound and headed back to where we came from, on the way we stopped for lunch. This is where we first encountered<span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>'biteys'. These little sand flies were to test our patience at almost every stop we made from here in. We parked the van at a beautiful lake (Lake Gunn) and I wandered off to take some quick snaps of the area. I returned to a vision of Stacey trying gallantly to make lunch all the while swatting these little shitty sand flies. The air was thick with them. We ate our lunch quickly, although the sand fly sandwiches were mighty nutritious, and drove off rather quickly. With the windows open. We stopped quickly at the Reflecting Lakes, but that was a non-event ecause they weren't very reflecty at the time.<br /><br />We pushed on through to Queenstown, named after Sydney. Sorry, bad joke. We stopped briefly in a town called Garviston, I needed to get some beers and stuff. Garviston is the 'most furthest away from the ocean of all of the New Zealand towns'. It also felt the most furthest away from anything else. Nice pub though.<br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-OjtnuEZmmDprvX1QA1rMokEPTfWZCIjmOjnMtCAo2DcKGJSWxkZiYl2Xxh4XwMx6WuwzeptRjaVQdmJVPyOiacrWm8GXi2DiD4t-e7AqX_sn8wV9e0geGePt6sJmRMdZvOacEZ_iSIof/s1600-h/100_3234.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-OjtnuEZmmDprvX1QA1rMokEPTfWZCIjmOjnMtCAo2DcKGJSWxkZiYl2Xxh4XwMx6WuwzeptRjaVQdmJVPyOiacrWm8GXi2DiD4t-e7AqX_sn8wV9e0geGePt6sJmRMdZvOacEZ_iSIof/s400/100_3234.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5059505165612486866" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-family:arial;">The drive to Queenstown became more spectacular as we went along, and eventually we started to hit snow country. Except there was no snow. Lake Wakatipu greeted us with its funny snake like shape, apparently the water level fluctuates a couple of inches every 5 minutes. Weird. I felt a strange connection to this lake because my mood fluctuates every 5 minutes. Up, down, up, down, up, down, spaz.<br /><br />We drove around this lake and underneath the Remarkables (would have been called Pointy Mountain in Australia). Funny enough the Remarkables were quite remarkable. I made a few remarks as we passed, like 'wow, they're quite pointy' and 'I have a driving wedgie'. Stacey remarked on how much of a tool I am. She will probably make a remark about that remark as well.<br /><br />Queenstown was pretty enough. Pretty much full of adrenaline, hormone and alcohol fuelled boys and girls in loud cars. It is situated on Lake Wakatipu and is a 'real snow town' as opposed to Jindabyne and Thredbo which are 'fake snow towns'. Jindabyne is on a fake lake and Thredbo's snow gets a 'no' from the 'Bureau of Real Snow'. Yo. However all three are filled to the brim with fake people that don't live there. Having said this the town is nice enough to look at, although a tad expensive.<br /><br />We bought some groceries, got to the van park, ate some dinner and then washed some clothes in the laundromat while I drank beer and intimidated people. In the laundromat.<br /><br />I showed them all who was the most grown up...<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4221544298440710477.post-45208109836974699852007-04-27T18:04:00.000+10:002007-04-30T11:26:27.269+10:00New Zealand: Phase Three - Dunedin to Te Anau<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUDl4OZDxIOjOc6OTCix5uTpXZK8nQKbTOZDh073sWC-s4WFu5C42HtFbmh8B-CEI2q_ciWUFm-OQxUieNEbrrIRKc3VeDPaYMGib5OuBZMe00nIBW_kU92tWXAuurP0O2fZubZY_h5KOC/s1600-h/100_3103.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5058018527107485746" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUDl4OZDxIOjOc6OTCix5uTpXZK8nQKbTOZDh073sWC-s4WFu5C42HtFbmh8B-CEI2q_ciWUFm-OQxUieNEbrrIRKc3VeDPaYMGib5OuBZMe00nIBW_kU92tWXAuurP0O2fZubZY_h5KOC/s320/100_3103.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">After a quick brekkie and a shower we headed off to Larnach Castle, we stopped briefly on the way and I took a snap of something that was so irresistibly English. I was looking around for a bloke in a tweed suite, a pipe and a shepherds hook. I could hear the words 'touche' and 'old chap' floating around my head as I scrambled over the road cutting with my camera.<br /><br />The problem with New Zealand is the fact that every corner you turn you want to jump out with the camera and click away like an A.D.D. kid from the Ritalin generation.<br />We drove onto the castle up on the headland, and yes it did feel like we were stepping back in time. I wished I had brought those coconuts so I could clip-clop my way up to the castle. Having said that I would need some shiny armour and a sword. And a helmet.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh28wEqUV-Sgtb8KSXwIlC3B3zTRCm9pe_NoiqzhhtwVtu7MlJwWVHtw1RLCS6ITXRr9gu0SgFDvI1ZUbcs8OnyPbVPV22RB2Cj5lUaYNAh6Z5QXkUrXZrFZJvm4V1UZDAFRDNGHgPYnG6b/s1600-h/100_3116.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5058021640958775362" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh28wEqUV-Sgtb8KSXwIlC3B3zTRCm9pe_NoiqzhhtwVtu7MlJwWVHtw1RLCS6ITXRr9gu0SgFDvI1ZUbcs8OnyPbVPV22RB2Cj5lUaYNAh6Z5QXkUrXZrFZJvm4V1UZDAFRDNGHgPYnG6b/s400/100_3116.JPG" border="0" /></a>The castle was more magnificent than I had expected, although it is less of a castle and more of a bloody big house. It probably shies in size compared to some of the McMansions in any new Australian subdivision, except this one was big for a reason (the bloke that made it had money, not credit), and it was tastefully decorated.<br /><br />There were a number of things that impressed me with Larnach Castle, most of all was the fact that it felt like a castle. Once we were inside and away from the tourists we felt like we were in something old, even down to that strange creepy feeling old places give you. Another thing I was impressed with was the dungeon. Yes, a dungeon. Naughty Mr. Larnach.<br /><br />The castle also had a methane collecting system. Human and animal poo was collected, and somehow the methane was captured - I think by lots of slaves with McDonalds straws, and somehow it was piped to a domed repository, and then piped out by foot pump throughout the house where the gas was used to light the chandeliers. I can imagine the dinner conversation: "Lady Heavemud, how could you, you filthy whore!"<br />"Please, I beg your pardon, 't wasn't me Your Bitchiness Madam Fontlebottom, the chandelier went out!" To which Lord Mountsheep would lift his right buttock and exclaim "Light that one up my ladies!"<br />Laughter would peel through the hills.<br />Life must have been hilarious back in those days, I wish I was there to partake. Touche.<br /><br />Sadly we had to move on from the castle because the bus was coming. Besides that I was having too much fun with my new friends, so without much adieu and some tear ridden farewells on their part and calls of "fare thee well Baron jum Slurryfoot!" we made our way back to Dunedin. The Cadbury Chocolate Factory awaited.<br /><span style="TEXT-DECORATION: underline"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCC2nPraGuQ4QGRVGHCeWkw0LahmRTdKV0nAdQ0K_nlH0fJ_9Xyzg-gM0HgAJtgLsrv-zRfkQDSlInB-6d060395jKWZB0mw3E19-Mn5trjMV420MGGuNQe94deqbkyAQ-RQXMfXsvtJLw/s1600-h/100_3127.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5058040186627559554" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCC2nPraGuQ4QGRVGHCeWkw0LahmRTdKV0nAdQ0K_nlH0fJ_9Xyzg-gM0HgAJtgLsrv-zRfkQDSlInB-6d060395jKWZB0mw3E19-Mn5trjMV420MGGuNQe94deqbkyAQ-RQXMfXsvtJLw/s400/100_3127.JPG" border="0" /></a>After parking at the big fat Dunedin Gothic train station (which was mightily impressive) we wandered the long way around to the factory entrance. Once we were inside I instantly felt a flash back of the nausea and headache I gave myself as a kid when I at too much chocolate. Everything was purple, wavy, slopey, twirly, chocolatey and sweet smelling. We were like big kids in a silly world. We took the tour and got to see the world's biggest chocolate waterfall! Even I, 'Mr. Notchocolate', got excited. One tonne of chocolate was poured through this thing, 3 storeys of chocolate pouring in a big fat stream of chocolate. I wanted to dive in and swim! I resisted the urge and moseyed back down to THE CHOCOLATE SHOP!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieqeDvSarfCcyTmVicT-lHFnpTVnPArHZe8HhH8L6iZJcXvyoVmWwJYhyphenhyphenAaGRs62T0Id39esRLGIuB72t_-t_UpArhkxfANfAvTYBZVBCCQEEXRmNeF4BYUC81IawnK11dGuip83c-aHqL/s1600-h/100_3128.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5058043029895909538" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieqeDvSarfCcyTmVicT-lHFnpTVnPArHZe8HhH8L6iZJcXvyoVmWwJYhyphenhyphenAaGRs62T0Id39esRLGIuB72t_-t_UpArhkxfANfAvTYBZVBCCQEEXRmNeF4BYUC81IawnK11dGuip83c-aHqL/s400/100_3128.JPG" border="0" /></a>Once we made our purchases we made a quick stop at the information place to get some information. Funny that.<br />We drove on towards Te Anau and passed through some underwhelming towns, however the beauty of their surrounds was luxurious. The green hills were velvety and rolling and the high, jagged peaks were beginning to break up the horizon. Upon arrival at Te Anau we were instantly impressed by the dramatic surrounds. They were more dramatic than ten episodes of Neighbours. They weren't selling beer because it was Good Friday. How can it be good if they don't sell beer? Good thing I bought enough good beer the other day. Good thing I also had some yummy ginantonic to help me along as well. In some ways I think NZ lives a few decades behind the rest of the world, and this is a good example. The other thing is, and we noticed it at a rest stop at lunch, is that they put their play grounds in the water. This is a silly practice because everyone knows that playgrounds should be put on uncompromisingly hard ground to teach kids lessons about gravity. After a brief and uneventful wander through Te Anau, we drove off to find our campsite. We pulled up at Henry Creek and I put off paying the DOC fee till the morning (same as our National Parks people) because the bus was coming.<br /><br />We found our spot and wandered out to admire the sheer beauty of lake TeAnau, literally at our feet. Even if we had to go home the next day we would have been satisfied.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqTlklHXfgrozC7MUUzdkSWmERrLsmlDcrycOZxBj3XVVohdsucOe_2PK-MD3MHURVHBCA4Oo6A3LlN_T8UcS8e6C_n3chPSZGNev7FX899RIWPuArt2Idiycpu6U6-kSnONNnJY6q_Iu3/s1600-h/100_3129.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5058039739950960754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: pointer; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqTlklHXfgrozC7MUUzdkSWmERrLsmlDcrycOZxBj3XVVohdsucOe_2PK-MD3MHURVHBCA4Oo6A3LlN_T8UcS8e6C_n3chPSZGNev7FX899RIWPuArt2Idiycpu6U6-kSnONNnJY6q_Iu3/s400/100_3129.JPG" border="0" /></a></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4221544298440710477.post-51327124332057577812007-04-26T18:00:00.000+10:002007-05-05T15:12:56.826+10:00New Zealand: Phase Two - The Road to Dunedin<span style="font-family:arial;">After a very nice sleep we awoke to another dandy morning, the sun was shining and everything was bright and happy. After a little muck around on the internet we ran off to board our little spaceship and hit the road. Gently.<br /><br />Our <a href="http://www.spaceships.tv/" target="_blank">Spaceship</a></span><span style="font-family:arial;">, like all Spaceships,</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> was orange on the outside and very comfortable. It was called GPS and over the time that we were there I became quite attached to the little guy. We plugged in our little mate the <a href="http://www.krusenz.com/" target="_blank">Kruse</a>, basically a tour guide that works off GPS and tells you stuff. It was very handy. Mr. Kruse says Maori funny - have a listen on the '<a href="http://www.krusenz.com/coverage.php" target="_blank">Experience Kruse</a>' tab. We stopped in at Ashburton and I caught a fish just with my finger.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkVah7mG6HATB3gP4y5ZU6RacUMFfcXQTwcSKtgpBbiE38uCQM9qMAWbacWZtLB77vI5TDpmbCKPssPnrVNLhG-5gZ_UdLZwmbjB97M6h-YoLK2tGhKZNEzENE2bjYhBXQqflCRlNkKZis/s1600-h/100_3066.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkVah7mG6HATB3gP4y5ZU6RacUMFfcXQTwcSKtgpBbiE38uCQM9qMAWbacWZtLB77vI5TDpmbCKPssPnrVNLhG-5gZ_UdLZwmbjB97M6h-YoLK2tGhKZNEzENE2bjYhBXQqflCRlNkKZis/s400/100_3066.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057651178554658770" border="0" /></a>The terrain around the area was quite different to what I grew up with. The Canterbury plains are just that - plain. They are very flat with pointy mountains off to the east. The paddocks are separated by immense hedges made from eucalypts and pines, most of them were at least 15 metres tall. This was good to stop the wind on the paddocks, but every time you drive past one of these mammoth wind breaks your car gets blown sideways. They need some big road fans. Or lots of little fans. But then they would have to have a Minister for Road Fans and that would probably cause conflict with the Minister for Tall Hedges and the Minister for Sheep Buffeting over Industrial Deafness and Ovine Productivity.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUTRy05j9SBo_qvOSM8Hz_dQxto5SF2zVD4CT23wKP7k4BsdAukVQC49TcZuIy2L_P-jUdvaRcrNuyGKN-AD_guoXuluZoSEQjaKpXoQ-gzoR7z70OeW-1Sjs63evgCYpPgyHgjcUpy1zF/s1600-h/100_3068.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUTRy05j9SBo_qvOSM8Hz_dQxto5SF2zVD4CT23wKP7k4BsdAukVQC49TcZuIy2L_P-jUdvaRcrNuyGKN-AD_guoXuluZoSEQjaKpXoQ-gzoR7z70OeW-1Sjs63evgCYpPgyHgjcUpy1zF/s320/100_3068.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057658127811743714" border="0" /></a>We stopped at Timaru for lunch, and I had a serve of NZ mussels and half a club sandwich and Stacey had half a club sandwich. This is where I first caught sight of the '<a href="http://www.beverageconcepts.co.nz/shop/Beer+Towers+and+Pitchers/The+Barmaid+-+Light+Finish.html?id=g4a8gz3I"><span style="font-weight: bold;" target="_blank">3 litre beer tower</span></a>'. Basically the intention is for you and your mates to hire one ($22), get it filled with beer, and sit it at your table. It has its own tap and everything. I promised then and there that I would have one to myself before I died. Even if it killed me. Even if my wife killed me for being a tool.<br /><br />On to Oamaru to have a look at a funny little area near the docks. Previously this area was the pits, as most dock areas usually are (Port Adelaide), hovever this was a pit with a difference. The Buildings were all made with limestone from the area, which is very easy to work with, so those people that had lots of money built some very ornate structures, but because they were near the dock their future wasn't very bright from the outset. Nowadays the area is coming along quite nicely. At least a decade ago some hippie, arty types moved in, and this influx of hairy armpits and BO always attracts alternative cafe types that have money. The area is coming along; whiskey is brewed there, people wander around looking cosmopolitan, and there is that sense of the old being loved and repaired. I will stop writing for a bit and let you peruse the gallery. Do you like that word 'peruse', it is up there with 'ponder'.<br /></span><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCTx1N8deKi1FF-YG9LNNrMbVru58SpNT6spbeBbP8buxUCFuogPvVH943aiyfkff3B1fzzTrAL1WsraH_RnUHHvbrgv2xKxBB3CmumW6omhr5UKNxbfOWPS59ePIXhJnDl__Kgfxf-JBn/s1600-h/100_3071.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCTx1N8deKi1FF-YG9LNNrMbVru58SpNT6spbeBbP8buxUCFuogPvVH943aiyfkff3B1fzzTrAL1WsraH_RnUHHvbrgv2xKxBB3CmumW6omhr5UKNxbfOWPS59ePIXhJnDl__Kgfxf-JBn/s400/100_3071.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057660941015322610" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">The Criterion Hotel. Note the red car on the left and the semi-hippies out the front.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0iIbHXRaC7Rol37p47IvUp0om3dJQ7V3C3l2tKIS1_nF30B5EFOx5dRAurYnwro4zrUJ41a_M3GSOxwxBNIOD2Bs1AOBJQxzdtArIy6qrEJFFYnC3SO8ecFTdTkZ-MbvMAed14laeEVk1/s1600-h/100_3073.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0iIbHXRaC7Rol37p47IvUp0om3dJQ7V3C3l2tKIS1_nF30B5EFOx5dRAurYnwro4zrUJ41a_M3GSOxwxBNIOD2Bs1AOBJQxzdtArIy6qrEJFFYnC3SO8ecFTdTkZ-MbvMAed14laeEVk1/s400/100_3073.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057661894498062338" border="0" /></a>This is a lane way near the dock, and it is quite close to the the hotel. I could almost imagine the activity that went on there; men wearing brown clothes and moustaches rolling barrels and shunting trains during the day, and pimps and hoes wandering the alleys at night. Yo.<br /><br />Underneath the wooden boards on the ground are train tracks, probably for some sort of train that went from one end of the alley to the other. The white van is trying to be one of those trains. Choo choo choo, wooowooo!<br /><br />Did I ever mention how much I hate white vans? They are up there with the Mitsubishi Nimbus and the Nissan Prarie for annoyingness.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidOKz4CCSvcOoUryJu7nB6BTZx-vpos2J1AVd-sNCL1piHwdC0nZN6bZRbtChl2e6NS1XlfUw_m7vgEjmDKiVd_4EGjQ7Ueb22rGgRkUz1vfngtzJmJz8k7RkiYtGVhzgKQ4Ufi0dXBeGz/s1600-h/100_3074.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidOKz4CCSvcOoUryJu7nB6BTZx-vpos2J1AVd-sNCL1piHwdC0nZN6bZRbtChl2e6NS1XlfUw_m7vgEjmDKiVd_4EGjQ7Ueb22rGgRkUz1vfngtzJmJz8k7RkiYtGVhzgKQ4Ufi0dXBeGz/s400/100_3074.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057664067751514130" border="0" /></a><br /></span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Here is a good example of how not to advertise. First of all, don't call whatever it is 'emulsion' and second of all don't claim it as your own. Keep your emulsion to yourself you filthy bum.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBi17IAzY-Iou0Atw8_-FY334p9UHbA6bb8nmxh5FTCphdfOnPIKQwPUzyiadLxWEFSY1nYi4rypU8CpLTPP3y0YNoI4EHcHGnVrUh_EWzdyK8OkVcNOt9l9rXgsWRK8WE2Aej01lfi5ns/s1600-h/100_3081.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBi17IAzY-Iou0Atw8_-FY334p9UHbA6bb8nmxh5FTCphdfOnPIKQwPUzyiadLxWEFSY1nYi4rypU8CpLTPP3y0YNoI4EHcHGnVrUh_EWzdyK8OkVcNOt9l9rXgsWRK8WE2Aej01lfi5ns/s320/100_3081.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057666623257055266" border="0" /></a>After Oamaru we went on towards Dunedin. Along the way we stopped at a place that is famous for its round rocks, and it didn't take me long to see why. After this we we stopped by Shag Point for a, ahem, look around and we spotted some silly seals. We took a few pics, but by this stage we were pretty shagged and wanted to press on to Dunedin.<br /><br />Upon arrival at Dunedin we embarked on our first New Zealand shopping experience, on Good Friday Eve, in the cheapest place in Dunedin - Pak n' Save. It was mildly busy. Ha! That's an understatement. It was friggin ludicrous. At one stage I had to go against the general flow and was hit by so many trolleys that I was in fear of never fathering another child, it was like the running of the bulls but worse.<br />We did escape the carnage - the queue was as long as the supermarket and about as fun as applying Lane's Emulsion but we got there in the end.<br /><br />This was the first exciting night in little GPS and it was fun.<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4221544298440710477.post-2802959781239785082007-04-25T10:44:00.000+10:002007-04-25T12:31:46.126+10:00New Zealand: Phase One<span style="font-family:arial;">We flew out of exciting Canberra at around 2pm on the Third of April after a day of running about, cleaning, organising, double and triple checking that everything was switched off. Even after doing this we realised two minutes down the road that I didn't put the fish cakes in the freezer. That would have been a sexy surprise upon our return.<br /><br />After stuffing around in Sydney airport trying to find the right terminal we managed to get onto our flight to Christchurch. Thankfully we were flying Virgin across to NZ, because I don't think I could have coped with two and a half hours of pompous, stiff, characterless flight attendants after being stuffed around in pompous, stiff, characterless Sydney. The Virgin people were happy, funny and highly entertaining, and their funny accents were a great segue to what was going to be a fantastic two weeks in New Zealand - home of the funny accent.<br /><br />After a couple of ginantonics and a good couple of hours of Mars Volta I was ready for a holiday. And my six foot four frame was ready to climb out of my little chair like a huntsman would climb out of a shower drain - all legs and crinkles.<br /><br />After all of the fun and frivolity of customs and the courtesy bus we made it to our little room and into bed. Mmmmm sleep.<br /><br />We awoke to an overcast day, mind you it was nice to see some clouds in the air. I asked the girl at the hotel reception what the forecast was and she said 'miserable' to which I replied 'fantastic!' She gave me the 'you are a tool' look and went back to chewing her gum. Our little room was situated just off Cathedral Square - in the centre of the oldy bit of Christchurch. Below us the touristy tram stopped, also below us was our Spacestation where we were to pick up out Spaceship for our travels around NZ. The photo below was taken from in front of the Spacestation, our room is up to the right and you can make out the tram tracks below the Kiwi Egg Cuckoo Clock. Note the lady wearing the red jumper.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPz3kQHkNWvlcH4ZXYZCV1Ne4QH61UV-6SEhnzx4tbVUAk3XtrPyqhYGEjs9rEhl_He_R0e2desQ7L62vp-pMCH22BB9JdaBbQNHJleggSuSvccC01KOTpfWMz04caTgHqcHdSIVm9JBfi/s1600-h/100_3031.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPz3kQHkNWvlcH4ZXYZCV1Ne4QH61UV-6SEhnzx4tbVUAk3XtrPyqhYGEjs9rEhl_He_R0e2desQ7L62vp-pMCH22BB9JdaBbQNHJleggSuSvccC01KOTpfWMz04caTgHqcHdSIVm9JBfi/s400/100_3031.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057174677702971282" border="0" /></a>We hopped on the tram for a tour of the city - essentially the centre with all of the oldy bits. Christchurch feels just like England with fantastic old Gothic revivalist architecture. The Avon river meanders through the centre of town - in fact I think this river should be used in dictionaries to describe the word 'meander'. I have never seen anything as meandery as the Avon. After taking a walk around the highlights of Christchurch according to our trusty Lonely Planet we went for a punt. A punt on the Avon, not the Christchurch Casino</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqxhM6KpZ6a0MWGxq1QTuuIDQzhPs80pJcjj53PWIovc6rzAy9SkSXFcD_usLP-ubAEj0cQbIGwspMVQpcy0cyrHIYS_XOMRTLcUv2eRcmPpDvP-kl1QSt2fAwm7Ro7lbgnzXYEOzHKZ_8/s1600-h/100_3061.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqxhM6KpZ6a0MWGxq1QTuuIDQzhPs80pJcjj53PWIovc6rzAy9SkSXFcD_usLP-ubAEj0cQbIGwspMVQpcy0cyrHIYS_XOMRTLcUv2eRcmPpDvP-kl1QSt2fAwm7Ro7lbgnzXYEOzHKZ_8/s320/100_3061.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057175811574337442" border="0" /></a>. <span style="font-family:arial;">Geez.<br /><br />As you can see the punt was set up for a number of people, however those people were absent at the time. The punt was a great way to get into the relaxed mode necessary for a good holiday, the water was clear, the surrounds of the botanic gardens were tranquil and green and the little native black ducks (we call them Kody ducks in honour of our dog Kody) went quack.</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifrN8-TV6n7ig1tqlJsq-3Ad6K57Zp6vJw40ZFd8cz0303kDy9jtpb9Q29Gcn1DhgS9i7DA-uUxL_NcrHlfHqdtXMdKusR3-vdQ0fQZGuDqDbNleg2ZLXHY5cevUCE1JD-wGVaCnPq5Vdk/s1600-h/100_3059.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifrN8-TV6n7ig1tqlJsq-3Ad6K57Zp6vJw40ZFd8cz0303kDy9jtpb9Q29Gcn1DhgS9i7DA-uUxL_NcrHlfHqdtXMdKusR3-vdQ0fQZGuDqDbNleg2ZLXHY5cevUCE1JD-wGVaCnPq5Vdk/s320/100_3059.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057177065704787890" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />To the left is a duck. To the right is our punt. Note the absent people.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />After our relaxing little ride up and down the Avon I was completely taken with the town. So taken I started to say words like 'ye olde', 'shoppe' and 'lager'.<br /><br />We said goodbye to our absent friends from the punt and wandered off to <a href="http://www.belgianbeercafe.net.nz/" target="_blank">The Belgian Beer Cafe</a> for some lunch. Beer as an accompanying beverage was a distinct possibility. I ordered a mixed plate of cold meats and pickles and a glass of Kriek (it was a beer made using cherries in some part of the process and was delicious - kind of like a beer for kids) and Stacey got a serve of very yummy chips. Our waiter was a grumpy Irish bloke.<br /><br />After lunch we wandered through Christchurch on a bit more of an explore and noted a few more things. We were lucky enough to see the Wizard of Christchurch, a crazy old university lecturer that wears a wizard hat and rants strange philosophy and stories to people. People in New Zealand drive silly cars.</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicijLU3uhxwyZRevFVF3Ezz9NAf8H6pl9aU1n1Hd2sS0GHxjA0NZVsO2_Aw5TsDONb7Duw3-RHpVC8uJo5yDhUsXsyD6alWdusEgvaoWRLaRqh6HR7ggWpoxa_lY98Stv3VVA5KinwAaxu/s1600-h/100_3063.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicijLU3uhxwyZRevFVF3Ezz9NAf8H6pl9aU1n1Hd2sS0GHxjA0NZVsO2_Aw5TsDONb7Duw3-RHpVC8uJo5yDhUsXsyD6alWdusEgvaoWRLaRqh6HR7ggWpoxa_lY98Stv3VVA5KinwAaxu/s400/100_3063.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057183856048082882" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">We made it back to our little room and I wandered off to buy some beers. Beer in NZ is much cheaper than in Oz, which is fantastic. I bought 12 cans for the price of a six pack back here. After I got back we wandered off to the casino for our free drink (we were given one each with the hotel room). We didn't punt.<br /><br />Dinner was Russian food at a restaurant called Red Square. It was very nice, and we supped to the sound of Madonna, which seemed strangely appropriate for a Russian restaurant, if not a bit loud for my liking. Stacey had a chicken kiev and I had some meat and rice wrapped in cabbage.<br /><br />We meandered back to our little room and checked under the bed before going to sleep.<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0