Busy, painful day today. Much of the blame lies with public transport. Some with British culture, itself. None with me. (Obviously.)
We got up at dawn -as is our way- and got ready and dressed by 7:30am... both of us just sitting around in a house in which I couldn't find the coffee.
So James and I decide to go for a little walk around De Beauvoir Town -but not too far. Too far and you stray into Dalston which, ah, has yet to be gentrified, shall we say? (It's a dump filled with poor people.)
Anyway, so we go looking for the supermarket to buy towels to shower with and coffee to put in our faces.
Nothing. Is. Open.
Hitler got it wrong. (Understatement?) 'Nation of shopkeepers' my ass! It was past 8am and not even the supermarket was open -let alone cafes.
You realise this is the real secret to why things seem so crowded in Britain? Because they seem to be allergic to enterprise and only open for a few hours a days... thereby guaranteeing that it gets crowded everywhere.
Anyway. Long story short. We strayed into Dalston and saw millions of police officers and tape and traffic banked up and the main road closed. Some crazy multi-death accident had obviously happened in the last few hours.
Incidentally we witnessed a minor accident that happened because of the major one. An SUV just started reversing slowly and at an angle back up the blocked-off main road and squeezed a small Japanese car up against a land island with the startled woman inside powerless to do anything other than listen to her car crinkle like a coke can (seriously).
Fast forward to Gordon leaving (on his own like a big boy) to go into town for his recruitment interview and his lunch with Lara.
Because of the crash, all traffic was blocked to the one bus stop I knew how to use/where it went. This blocked traffic extended to buses obviously. (Damn! I shouldn't have left so late!)
I walked around the corner to the next closest bus stop. Every name on the buses there went places I had never heard of in my life but sounded optimistically rural.
Not a chance.
I'll just walk the mile or so into Angel and catch two tubes from there. In the heat. In my interview clothes. With a heavy leather man bag.
I'm sure I will be just as pretty when I arrive at the most important recruitment interview of the whole trip.
Finally arrived at Angel with half an hour before my interview was due to start across town.
No problems. Tubes always run on time and never have any hitches.
Except the tube in front of ours that delayed us by ten minutes because it had some kind of warning light crap.
Oh, and the next one (Piccadilly Line) whose electric signs didn't work so you had to check the front of every tube in its few seconds of visibility as it approached the platform to check whether it was going all the way to Heathrow or not.
Heathrow. The busiest airport in the world.
It was like Auschwitz in reverse as hundreds of people with large suitcases piled on and off trains, tripping over each other, letting their children roam free over everything like stray dogs at the dump.
Anyway... So I get to Covent Garden station with about ten minutes before the interview is about to start (My journey began almost two hours before).
The lift to street level wasn't there.
No time for the lift! I'll just take the stairs.
The nine flights of spiral stairs that haven't been upgraded since the war. The sign pointing to the stairs was one of those signs you see in the background of pictures of Churchill and his war cabinet. You know the fifty year old ones that are actually made of tiles and plastered to the tile wall? And instead of an arrow it had a gloved, cuff linked hand pointing you in your direction?
I was already extremely dehydrated from the sweaty walk (and the complete lack of water this morning). Now I was dizzy, and coughing and my legs were starting to give way, sweat making my hair droop like a sick dolphin's dorsal fin.
No matter. At the entrace to every tube station is a star mart or newsagent or somewhere I can buy a bottle of water, some kleenexes to mop myself down and some gum to get the smell of death's sweet kiss out of my mouth.
Not this one. Not the tube stop for London's biggest tourist trap. There was nothing helpful at all. Just miles of overpriced, shithouse restaurants and -somewhat oddly- a large Punch & Judy show in full swing.
There wasn't even anywhere to sit because every horizontal surface was covered by comfortable, hydrated, non-sweaty Americans sporting fanny packs. Just sitting there like cows in a yard. Cows sitting on seats.
So I staggered 'nonchalantly' down the street, noting the little lane behind me that was the actual location of my job interview. I can't go straight there looking like this. "Excuse me, could I please have some water, two towels, a nap and then a job offer? No? Well, I think you made the right choice there."
It was when I turned the corner that God decided to cut me a break. Either that I or got away with something good while he was on the can.
Because two teenage girls in white boots and tank tops handed me a coke zero.
Promo whores!
Truly, you are the sea's most magnificent and friendly mammal.
Except... Have you ever tried to drink coke when you are extremely (dizzy/headachey) dehydrated?
Yeah. It's like sand.
This wasn't going to cut it. So picking the best of a bad bunch (ie somewhere that has napkins and bottles of water for sale but doesn't have table cloths and packs of waiters) I went into a nearby muffin shop.
I went in through it's oven. Honestly, I'm pretty sure they just leave the dough out in the shop and it fucking cooks right there cos it was sweltering.
By now I must have looked like I had been in a water fight.
I paid for my water and asked the guy behind the counter if I could have "a couple" of napkins as well. He said "sure, take as many as you like," and pointed to the dispenser I hadn't seen right in front of me.
Fortunately for the both of us he decided to spare my dignity by looking away as I took a handful. Otherwise I would have had to beat him to death with the dispenser and then turn it on myself.
Then it was back outside to inhale the water (I am keeping the bottle as a trophy) and wipe myself down like a prize horse in front of the -now quite large- audience of children watching the Punch & Judy show.
The Interview
It went extremely well. Teck (that's his name. How cool is that?) was great. He didn't care that I was sweating like a rapist.
Also got a call from another recruiter but her job is far more junior than the ones Teck suggested I go for so we'll see.
But yeah, a few nibbles. Not bad for two days of jobseeking.
The Lunch
Caught up with Lara over lunch for the first time in years which was great. She's got all snooty with her successes which is fantastic because so have I. In fact, she went to suggest James and I go to some outdoor music event in Clapham and I stopped her mid sentence.
I'm too fat and rich for that kind of carry on. She said "me too" but I'm fairly certain she wasn't referring to the fat part because she then told me she cycled to Brighton for the hell of it the other weekend. Six hours.
The Return
Okay, so the bus back from Marble Arch was really enjoyable. It just took me a while to find. (Because it says it leaves from Marble Arch but it actually leaves from two blocks away, around the corner from Selfridges.)
Riding red double decker buses count as touristy things to do, right? I assume so, because I pushed in front of an equally excited six year old boy (clearly his first trip on one, as well) and zoomed up to the top level to take the best seats... Which I did.
Oh! And I saw the British Library on the way back, quite by accident. And because I am a massive nerd it was really exciting even though it's just a brick building that actually looks like an over sized high school.
As we were pulling back into Islington/Angel I had a weird sense of deja vu from my first ever bus ride in Auckland on my own. I had successfully used The Link as a legitimate public transport option rather than a tourist toy and I was pleased as punch. In fact I think it was also a trip to and from a job interview in Newmarket.
Completing your first public transport journey somewhere new is like getting yourself to the end of those physiotherapy bars when you are re-learning to walk. You are a bit shaky at first and it's something that everyone around you is doing so effortlessly but you are just so damn proud.
Yep. It was a good day.
Arrived at Abbie's and Tan's place an hour ago.
Neither of them are here. It kinda reminds me of waiting for Christmas when you are a small child. I am really looking forward to seeing both of them (especially Abbie cos I saw Tan the other month. It was okay.).
But when we got to London they were in Italy.
And then on Wednesday night we couldn't swing by.
And on Thursday afternoon we are at their house and they are still not here. Sigh.
But we have queer-eyed the nook so that it is ready for sleeping, we have found their internets (obviously) and now it's just a waiting game.
In the meantime check this awesome book out:
It's been sensory overload so -inspired by the awesomeness of twitter- I am just going to give little headings and comments... Maybe a few photos that don't belong to me.
There will be more photos and video actually created by me in the next few days. We're taking this blog offroad and going non-linear! Wooooo!
First Impression
London is exactly what you expect it to look like. That sounds facetious but it's not. No where else is exactly what you expect it to be like... In fact it is so familiar it looks fake. Like someone has built a theme-park replica of London in the style of Old Sydney Town, MOTAT, etc.
But I think I get this 'mini' impression because the buildings that are nineteenth century or earlier have slightly smaller door and window dimensions because people were more hobbit size back then. It's a little bit creepy but awesome.
On Having Foreign Flatmates
Heidi lives with a veritable Benetton ad of different nationalities and she has a theory behind it which I like. That crap about not wanting to be a kiwi who goes to London and only hangs out with other kiwis is actually more cliched that the kiwi that goes to London and does hang out with other kiwis.
But it's unavoidable.
Here's why. Think of your home town. Your social group is filled with friends you have had since primary/high school. When was the last time you inducted a new member? A decade ago? Exactly.
So why would Londoners be any different? What in hell would they want with a bunch of Antipodeans who view their hometown as a tourist attraction? The things they want to do are the things you want to do in your home town. Hang out with relatives, replenish your groceries, sleep in, play PS3, gossip about the slut from high school who is divorced and living in a trailer with three kids.
Now, kiwis and other internationals actually want a new social group and want to engage with the city in a more intense way.
You see? It's literally impossible to insert yourself into a foreign culture and completely deny your upbringing. So if I hear one more kiwi/australian say they don't want to hang out with other kiwi/australians I am going to stab them.
Which brings me to:
Stabbing
There's actually heaps more stabbings than get reported internationally. And it's never too soon to make jokes about it. Usually in the context of going somewhere for a drink. Example: "where is the cheapest place to get a drink around here without getting stabbed?"
Hyde Park
As mentioned on facebook, no Victorian prostitutes waiting to get murdered which was a little disappointing.
The first fifteen squirrels weren't disappointing, either. But its on about your sixteenth squirrel sighting when you realise that you haven't just been incredible fortunate in seeing so many squirrels... The park is literally overrun with the fuckers and it was probably squirrel armies not Jack The Ripper that killed all those prostitutes.
And the Diana memorial fountain really is absolute rubbish. It's clearly designed by someone who found her annoying and pointless. Someone like me. Or, oddly enough, Germain Greer.
Heidi's Magical Adventure
She begged me not to talk to Shashma about this hilarious incident so I am going to blog about it instead.
Heidi met us after work (2:30pm) at Liverpool Station -which is mere metres from her workplace- and then spenty forty minutes getting us extremely lost on the way to a pub that was literally down the road.
During this magical adventure through the warehouses of Shoreditch we passed her work. Twice.
Not content with ruining our afternoon plans, she then invited us to dinner in Brick Lane which meant standing up Shashma.
All in all, a truly excellent afternoon and many thanks must go to Ms Regan
Brick Lane
Awesome. At least my food was... Heidi's wasn't as great. But that's the luck of the draw.
Customs
Passing customs at Heathrow for the first time as a permanent resident who has never been here before was easier than getting the Heathrow Express train.
I was literally asked more questions and given a more thorough credentials check waiting to board the train than I was as I entered the country.
And think about it... An Australian passport that was issued with a family visa in Wellington because of a gay de facto relationship with a kiwi travelling on an Irish passport who has never been to Ireland in his life.
If that's not some terrorist shit then I don't know what is.
iPhones
Sigh. Not yet as James's HSBC card hasn't been activated. This is because you can't ask for or set a pin in a branch. HSBC will instead send a letter to itself (at your local branch) that it will then destroy after two days if you haven't claimed it.
Then it will send itself another letter.
This is my bureaucratic nightmare. When we asked if we could just choose our own pin instead the woman behind the counter looked at us as if we just asked if she had any spare cats we could rape.
Fosters
I'll be damned. It wasn't just the buzz at the New Orleans Jazz Festival. The export shit really is drinkable. That's several countries worth of proof now.
Not that I drink it. It just comes free with a sandwich around the corner where I am staying so we've had it a bit.
Instead, we're currently having a love affair with cider over ice. Yep.... roll on more cliches!
Tom's drinks
This was last night in Westminster. You know you're not in kansas anymore when the two block walk from the tube stop to the delightful old english pub walks you past numerous policemen with machine guns and half million dollar fortified SUV convoys roar past you down tiny cobblestone streets.
It's creepy because you know that they are the kinds of cars that literally cannot stop if you are in the way and will mow you down rather than risk an abduction/assassination of whatever deposed/exiled African president is behind the black windows.
All in all it was an awesome night.
Our Accommodation
We're vacating our hotel room this morning on our way to Abbie and Tan's place.
Now listen. Very. Carefully.
Anyone wanting to holiday in London needs to hit me and James up for details about this place. Sixty nine quid. Own bathroom. Free internet. Reasonable size room (we have 3 chairs, coffee table, desk, cupboard, etc) and it's metres from a tube stop.
Some things are walkable, others aren't. But I don't think you'll find better in Zone 2 (it's on the cusp on Zone 1).
Peace!
Sydney to Bangkok
Premium economy is SO worth it… unless you were in our seats. Or the seats behind us. In fact, especially the seats behind us. None of the reading lights worked on our side of the premium economy cabin, our VOD didn't work (but would play whatever was on), neither did the couples' in the seats behind us... and the woman behind us was getting cold water dripped on her from the air conditioning! Suck!!
Plus, it transpired that whenever I plugged my Mac into the power socket, it shorted out the entire entertainment circuit in the cabin. Apparently Boeing plugs aren't set up to take such "powerful" computers. (It's more than a year old and was bottom of the line back then.) But then the same thing happened when I plugged in my super-ancient, super-shit three year old laptop.
This sounds like complaining but really I'm not. The cabin manager, Kerry, was extremely helpful.
In fact, a couple of hours into the flight when I ran out of battery and I lied about being a writer who actually had to do some work on this flight (I really just wanted to watch the DVDs that I had packed specially) he took me all through business class and first class to see if there were any plugs that worked. This was just so he could find somewhere to charge it. I wasn't getting an upgrade. He wasn't that nice.
Oh my god, and first class is freaky. I wasn't even sure if I was still on the plane anymore. We emerged up the stairs into this very dark room. You could just make out a few pods spaced out evenly like alien eggs -but none of the occupants. I was pretty drunk so the fact that I remember it as being a little misty is probably because it was like a scene from Alien and I have subsequently collapsed both memories together in my head.
Then this woman (the flight attendant) emerged from out of the darkness at the front of the plane, abruptly whispering at us about what it was we were doing there. (The guardian of the eggs!)
Yeah, so travelling first class must be something like returning to the womb... But with champagne.
Anyway, Kerry worked out that if we removed the battery from the Mac or the acer, my "super computers" wouldn't short the entire plane and lead to us dropping out of the sky over South East Asia.
Here's something that's a little weird... I have absolutely no recollection of dinner. None. According to James I was quite lucid, but I must have been pretty wasted or something. And what's weird is that I don't get memory loss from intoxication. I do recall having a weird mental freak out whilst listening to the ipod after dinner so maybe the whole "changing my life forever" thing temporarily snapped my mind or something?
Nah, it was probably the booze.
When we landed in Bangkok we were told that we didn't have to get off the plane if we wanted to. But we totally wanted to because we stank like we had been holidaying inside a dead yak.
So we raced off to the Qantas club, having been told that the plane will be re-boarding in half an hour. That should be just enough time. Of course the Qantas Club was ages away so we worked up a sweat doing that "airport waddle" that everyone does when they're trying to walk fast with multiple bags but not actually break into a run because they don't want everyone else to think they're holding up a plane or are lost in any way.
We get there, shower while two middle-aged thai women waited just outside the frosted glass of each shower cubicle. (It was weird, but not weird enough to stop me. If they see anything, well, that's their problem. I hope that hadn't recently eaten.)
I finished before James and waited out in the main area by the bar.
The bar!
Must. Drink. Free. Alcohol.
Factoring in that I only had a few minutes before James got out, and that we had to get back into a shaky, metal object, and that I was wearing winter clothes in the tropics, and that I had just brushed my teeth... Wine was out of the question.
But there wasn't enough time for a beer.
Bailey's Irish Cream! On the rocks.
I had time to throw two of them back before James emerged and we had to airport waddle off. It made sense at the time but, to be completely honest, I wouldn't recommend it.
Bangkok to London
After Bangkok they turned the lights out.. I took a sleeping pill and
went to sleep. Apparently you are supposed to sleep for six hours and
then wake up on the dot.
Mine lasted exactly three hours and then I was completely awake and lucid. (“three, two, one… you're back in the room.”) This is not surprising as I managed to build up a tolerance to rohypnol in my teens -and that's an illegal date rape drug.
Anyway, the VOD didn’t work, the plug for the laptop didn’t work and neither did the reading lights plus I felt completely awake.
I was literally trapped in the dark slowly going insane.
This only lasted an hour (they re-set everybody's in-seat entertainment just for me. Suck it!) and then it was back to Billy Connolly’s World Tour of Ireland, England and Wales. (Incidentally a really handy intro to being a foreigner in England.) But I made sure I mentioned it to several of the cabin crew during that hour of dark boredom. This has relevance later. Read on.
Oh yeah. Our flight plan took us over Western Pakistan, Northern Afghanistan, up into the Middle East, over Iran, skirting under the Caspian Sea -just missing Georgia- before flying in through Eastern Europe.
We literally toured the conflict zones of the world. I found that hilarious.
Anyway, so we finally make it over Eastern Europe and I swap seats with James (as agreed) to get the window. Being that I had never seen Europe before in my life I was extremely excited.
And then disappointed.
Clouds.
Clouds to the horizon. Ain't never seen nothing like it. We literally saw NOTHING until Germany, which we only caught a glimpse of.
Also only a few glimpses of North West Europe, one little patch of farmland in England and then… London.
In the peculiar way that typifies the English weather, it was somehow a lovely summer day underneath the thick cumulus blanket that completely blotted out the sun.
And it was worth the wait.
There was an audible gasp as the plane dropped below the clouds. The
guys sitting in front of us were traveling on business and they fly
regularly into London. I eavesdropped as they remarked on never having
seen it look that good from the air in fifteen years.
It was way better than this but I didn't take any photos, did I? So this is someone else's shitty (compared to mine) arrival in London town. But you get the idea/
The impressed guys in front of us even got some of the lesser known tourist destinations wrong/didn’t recognize them, it was that clear. But Gordon, the big fat nerd who has spent the last eight weeks reading guidebooks cover-to-cover got them right. (“Oooh. Look. That must be some kind of palace.” It’s Hampton Court you losers!)
So yay. Best landing ever.
Oh, and as a result of the snafu with our seats we each got a hundred bucks worth of duty free gift vouchers for anything in the in-flight magazine. We both picked things to the total value of exactly one hundred dollars. I love being that passive aggressive.
So thanks Qantas!
Your planes explode mid-air and are somehow less sophisticated than my three year old, broken laptop but we got some great noise canceling headphones and a universal power adaptor out of it.
Yes, thank you. I WILL be renewing my Qantas Club membership.
I love being in transit... It turns the simplest of things into Macgyver-style adventures.
We have just spent the last three days holed up in a Citylife apartment (where you have to PAY for internet, hence no posting) and tasks like opening beer or toasting champagne -yes, there's a theme to my tasks- is that little bit more difficult because there aren't enough glasses, or there isn't a bottle opener.
So you have to improvise.
Or you get invited out to dinner and you only have the crummy travel clothes you have crushed into your bag. Somehow you have to make something presentable out of what you've got.
It's like one of those tasks they give to groups on corporate retreats that always ends up with some guy naked except for his newspaper wedding dress -that then rips apart.
Or how when you're in the Qantas club you only have non-vintage french champagne, brie, crackers, bread rolls and chivas regal whiskey to make your... Actually that one doesn't really work. But I'm posting this from the Qantas club so it's in my mind.
No, wait... here's a better example: my net access got hijacked (on a Mac!) in Auckland and so the rest of this post comes to you from Sydney.
But hey... That adds further fuel to my love-fire of transit. James and I spent two hours trying to get net access on this machine in Auckland (choice words were thrown around) but I compromised by writing this in text edit and posting it from Sydney.
Anyway... So we're here for another ninety minutes in which I will liquor up to better enjoy the next ten hours to Bangkok.
PS - We got the upgrade to premium economy which is awesome.
I was going to write one of my 'funny' posts about how shipping a library to London makes me feel like Dracula but FUCK THAT.
We just got an email that the visa has been approved and is being couriered to us overnight.
So all systems go.
Because all our shit is going to be in London, anyway.
We've just finished packing up the library and the bravia and are about to take it to the shippers.
Then it's the salvation army pick up tomorrow to completely empty the house. Then it's a small squad of asians coming to clean the apartment and steam the carpet. (No, really. They're all asian. They made a point of mentioning it on the phone. I didn't bring it up. Don't look at me like that.)
Oh, and we won't be around from tomorrow night. We'll be in hotel rooms from them.
So it's H-day minus one! (For this to work, 'h' stands for homelessness not homo.)
Phone is still good and we'll have the internets. As if I could go that long without the internets.
How was your weekend?
Mine included landslides, blizzards, cults, stoners, several luxury car brands, members of Her Majesty's Government, seven thousand dollars in cash, rural graveyards... and Huntly. There's going to be some awesome video which I will post here as well.
To Grandmother's House We Go
It began -like so many things these last few weeks- over drinks at The Bog. (Incidentally, one of my first blog posts was about 'how I would never get to go to the bog again'. Now I go there almost every fucking day. Shows what I know, huh?)
Anyway, it was the last couple of days of Royce's unemployment and I -for one- wanted to get the fuck out of Auckland because I was going stir crazy.
Karl suggested his grandma's house in Taumarunui.
Taumarunui was a place I had never been and really my only requirement was that it be "somewhere out of Auckland". Plus Royce had never seen snow
Royce was selling his car on the weekend so we opted for Friday/Saturday and back to Auckland on the Sunday.
Friday
Some of this was covered in the previous post. James and I were picked up in two cars (like rappers) by Karl and Royce. One was a gold BMW (gaaaaaaaay) and the other was Royce's car. Royce's car which he was this afternoon selling to some stoners in West Auckland who worked for -wait for it- the Switched On Gardener.
Hilarious.
Anway... Here's the video for that. There will be more video from the trip once I have cut it all together and put some inappropriate music on it.
So anyway, the guy paid Royce in CASH for his Jaguar (remember what I said about them being stoners? They're obviously very "successful" ones) and -in order to beat the Friday traffic out of Auckland- we decided to find a bank further down the line.
Further down the line turned out to be Huntly. After hours. The woman behind the counter reacted as if she had never seen so much money in her life. (Maybe she hadn't?) While Royce was impressing the natives the three of us "took in the sights." "The sights" are, in fact, a single platform over the Waikato river.
Plus these fake coal carriages:
One last fun fact about Huntly: The whole town stinks of shit. You don't notice it while you drive/speed-through-with-your-eyes-closed down SH1 but we stopped at the supermarket. And yeah... Horse shit.
And so we carried on down the line in the rented BMW. Karl's "shortcut" was the first shortcut suggested by a New Zealand that was actually shorter than taking the main roads. Usually they involve some combination of backroads and a flux capacitor that add further proof to my theory that kiwis can't judge time/distance. (I'm far from alone in this belief.)
Thus it was that we arrived in good time at Grandmother's House in Taumarunui.
But not good enough time to catch the kitchen at the RSA. So we decided to dine in 1985 instead:
Taumarunui is where all those fish n chip shops have gone to retire. There were about five. This one was the best out of the several we sampled.
Then it was back to grandmothers house to drink until 3am.
Saturday
Drinking until 3am in front of a roaring fire was a poor decision. (It was Karl's.) We got up to late and the dry horrors were fifty times worse.
And so instead of cooking, we went to the flax cafe:
Then it was off to the mountain.
You know, ever since I moved to New Zealand my life has followed a vaguely LOTR 'shape'... sequences of events, people I have met. Others have remarked on it as well, so it's not just me being crazy. (This time.)
Visiting Ruapehu (Mt Doom) is like that. Despite having driven by it many times and been near it several more, I never went up it until last weekend... Until my last few days before leaving NZ. Weird.
Anyway it was symbolic and extremely fun... despite the hideous weather. It was one of those disgusting skiing days where it's sleeting in a white out... But still. I love snow. Always have.
This was the view on the way back. The weather was insane... It made everything just that little bit more difficult and thusly more of an adventure.
Then it was a quick trip through a very pretty graveyard to pay our sodden respects to Karl's dead relatives. (James has since worked out why The Warehouse sells so make fake flowers: graves.)
Then more take away Not as good this time. If you're ever in Taumarunui and wish to partake of their fine culinary tradition be sure to choose Hong Kong Take Away over The Golden Kiwi.
Then more drinking by the fire.
It was at this point we heard the civil defense alarms. Actually it was just Karl that heard them. That little poof has the ears of a bat! The three of us wouldn't have a clue what a civil defense alarm sounds like -or what we are supposed to do when we hear it. Is it some kind of sale? Are they calling last drinks?
Sunday
It turns out the road into town has been washed away.
Next morning, when we were heading home... low and behold: gone! If that had happened the night before we would have fallen into a swollen death river. Remember those school kids who got washed away earlier this year? Same river.
Oh... and the whole country was visibly flooded for my last ever trip back up to Auckland. I'm choosing to end on this point because regular readers (Donna) will recall a post from the other week where I said it has been raining since early June and nobody had said a thing.
Well.. Now I have video proof! Also there are a numer of news reports how it was the wettest July on record and blah blah blah... but still... this isn't a fucking metservice blog so I'm claiming it.
Peace!
PS - I think this is actually the first legitimate piece of travel blogging on my travel blog and it's Taumaunui. Ha! I'm so awesome.
You know how sometimes things line up so bizarrely that fate/destiny/etc is a more rational answer than coincidence? Like the direct intervention of something or some things very old and definitely not human seems far more logical.
Well, that was Friday.
Karl had an excellent interview with a cult, Royce sold his car and we got a call from the BHC apologising for the mix up and letting us know that our application was at the top of the queue.
Then we went on a road trip.
Our call actually came whilst we were driving out of the carpark having, just that minute, handed over Royce's car. And we were talking about Karl's job interview when the phone rang.
Why it feels like something more than coincidence is that it occurred after I had "let go", so to speak. Instead of railing against the world and loathing New Zealand for trapping me here, I accepted our fate and... more than that... remembered what it was I like most about New Zealand: it's landscape.
Put another way, it was as if it took me remembering what it is I love about New Zealand before she would even think about letting us go. I had left it all up to the universe and the whole thing just kind of manifested. (In fact, as I was typing the words "I had left it all up to the universe" just then the phone rang. It was the BHC confirming I will have my visa in the next couple of days.)
It's not coming across very well but the feeling in the car as everything lined up in the space of a couple of minutes was weird. Like we all became aware that something very large and invisible had appeared in the car.
Sorry for the occult sidebar but if you know me then you will understand.
More on this awesome development later tonight.
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Ryan said:
Oh and I resent having to sign up to comment - I dont have that kinda attention span read more
on Impressions of London -
Gordon said:
We only got one free beer each... but two rounds of entrees as well. The sister minged like a vase... read more
on Impressions of London
hmm... public transport in london sucks, eh?did you know that a man got bitten by a dog yesterday, too? read more
on Tube Tubeson, Mayor of Tubetown