In swings the tide....you walk into my life....

Late last year, Richard and I were heading out the door for our deliciously long holiday break. Nineteen days of pure fun, involving beaches, fishing, babies and bubbles, all our favourite things.

If you didn't already know, I am a planner, and an organiser, and a list-maker. Rich gives me assholes about not doing anything if it's not on my clipboard. I don't HAVE a clipboard - yet. I do however have a laptop and a pen and paper, and when I go into task-mode, you do not want to argue with me, or delay, or decide to watch football results or go to the toilet for a long time.

So on the morning of the 23rd of December 2009, we have packed the car, using every available inch of space. The cat is in his cage, already letting us know his displeasure every 10 seconds. There are fresh sheets on the bed. The furniture is polished, the dishwasher clean and empty, ditto the fridge. I have vacuumed. Rich finishes mopping, backing towards the front door as we go. At the last square metre of floor, he tips the mopping water outside in the garden, and throws the bucket into the laundry, landing neatly in the tub. We close the door, and are happy in the knowledge that when we return, AT LEAST WE HAVE A CLEAN HOUSE TO COME BACK TO.

This is what I'm like to live with.

We high-five, and set off on the 2.5 hour drive to Tauranga, with a stop in Pokeno to drop Basil at a cattery. No holiday for him.

I don't remember much about the trip, other than that we were super excited, and relieved to be finally on holiday after a super shit year. When I say it was Super Shit, I'm not exaggerating. We had to leave our home in Tauranga and move to hell-hole Auckland because I lost my job. We had to endure living in a tiny home, that had no insulation, for one of the coldest winters on record. Our landlord, who lives next door, enjoyed smoking cigarettes outside our bedroom window late at night, or liked fixing his Porsche at 8 at night when the noise of the exhaust made the house shake, and filled the lounge and kitchen with fumes. We paid $450 a WEEK for this. Rent in Tauranga is half this. My new job SUCKED. (I can say this now, because I have resigned). Richard had 2 jobs, which also SUCKED, and he left one, and was made redundant from another. Into this equation also goes 40 minute trips to see friends who live 5 km away (fucking, fucking Auckland traffic), $11 glasses of wine, $80 taxi rides, $10 for one hour's parking. All the while, my house in Tauranga was being tenanted by people who didn't think to open windows, meaning the dampness caused my fresh paint job to peel.

Our trip away on holiday was to be an escape. Yes we had to still deal with the fact that Rich had lost his job, and would need to job hunt when we got back. I had to make a decision on whether I wanted to stay in my role, that was literally bringing me to tears most weeks. But for now, it was all about Eddie Vedder's soundtrack to Into the Wild, and getting used to being in jandals again, and trying to avoid camping equipment to come loose from its precarious position and whack us in the back of the head on the Karangahake Gorge. It's a beautiful, sunny day, and traffic is minimal. All in all, we're in the best mood we've been in for ages.

We're nearly at Richard's parents, who live in Papamoa, near the beach. Rich says, let's go to the beach! I say, nah. I need to go to the loo. (Once we start driving, we don't stop for anything. God I'm awful). He says, please. I want to see the surf! I say, nooooooo. I really need to go to the loo. Let's go later. He says, PLEASE. This is Richard putting his foot down. FINE, I say, and swing towards the camp ground in Papamoa. There are kids running around in togs, parents in towels and caps and sand all over the place. I feel out of place in my city clothes. We find a park, near a public loo. I use it, grumbling all the time about DISGUSTING germs and FOUL smells and other affronts to my personal hygeine. He says, let's go down to the beach. I say, I can see it from here. Plus, all the Christmas presents are in the car. What if the car gets nicked? There are TEENAGERS hanging around, no doubt up to no good. You go. I'll wait here.

But he doesn't hear me because he's already strode purposefully on. I sigh, and follow, picking amongst the sand and stones in my lily-white, soft feet. I stare at people in their togs, all brown and warm, and feel totally out of place in my office-glow. For some reason, I notice Rich is walking very strangely. He has his hand jammed deep in his pocket. I stop walking, feeling very shaky all of a sudden. He turns around.

"FOR GOD'S SAKE WOULD YOU HURRY UP! I HAVE A RING THAT'S BURNING A HOLE IN MY POCKET HERE!"

He goes a bit further along the dunes and sits down. I sit beside him, already leaking tears.

He says lots of nice things, and I nod and wipe away tears. He asks a question, I say yes, and we hug. It all feels very surreal. We both stare out to sea, trying to figure out What Just Happened.

On the way back, I want to say, OMG! We just got engaged! to people that are around. Instead, we get in the car. Anika Moa's "In Swings the Tide" is on the stereo, fittingly. We get back to Richard's parents. She cries buckets. It's been a long time coming, and now that it's here, she can finally buy a new hat, and plan for a longed-for grandchild. Richard and I are a little bit uneasy. Rich sits on the couch, looking a bit stunned. I am not quite sure what to do. Eventually, we come up with a solution.

A frosty beer. Works every time.

We relax, and hug, and admire the ring, and call my family and friends. Richard had called my parents the day before to ask permission, so they are not that surprised, but still very happy. My friends scream, and cry, and promise many celebratory drinks when we see them.

We go to bed happy, with 18 days of celebrating ahead of us. It made for the best holiday we've ever had, and it turns out that after The Year of Tears and Awful Times is giving way to So Far, the Best. Year. Ever., with our wedding coming up in August, and a new job (Richard starts mid-February) but best of all, a move back to Tauranga, into our old home, with my beautiful garden and carpeted floors and insulated roof. Who would have thought. Maybe it was what we needed all along.

Happy Days!

Spontaneity

A few days ago I was reading a question on the Dooce Community. It was asked by a girl who was in the “Trying” stage of pregnancy, and had maybe been having a bit of a battle with it. So she asked: what can I appreciate now whilst I’m still childless? What do all of you parents miss the most?
It was a popular question. The number one answer was undoubtedly sex. Do it whenever you can, was the advice given there. Morning, noon, night, all rooms of the house etc. Resolving to ensure Richard never read this post, I kept reading. Number two most popular was spontaneity. Apparently when you have a child, doing things like going to the supermarket requires a five minute break in between nappy changes, feeds, naps, and laundry. Spontaneous decisions to go to the beach/park/local pub are out the window.
With this very much in mind, Richard and I found ourselves with a commitment-free weekend. We’d done all our Christmas shopping, it was a beautiful day, and most importantly, we woke up on Saturday WITHOUT a hangover. Sleepily, I said, “it’s a sunny day. What shall we do?”
Rich thought about it.
“Puhoi.”
And 30 minutes later, we were showered, Berocca’d (gets you through the party season beautifully) dressed in our best summer casual-dressies and in the car.
Puhoi is an historic village situated about 30 minutes drive north of Auckland. It was settled by migrants in the 1880’s from Bohemia, which is now about 30 minutes out of the Czech Republic. Back then, it was part of the Austrian-Hungarian Empire. New Zealand had literally just been colonized, and there were whole areas that hadn’t yet been slashed and burned. With that in mind, the Government passed the Waste Lands Act. This meant that inhospitable areas of the country could be settled and cultivated by migrants who only had to pay their way to New Zealand. On arrival, each adult was given 40 acres, and each child 20 acres of absolutely inhospitable land. The migrants, who had heard glowing reviews of New Zealand, had suffered over 100 days voyage, leaving in early Spring, to arrive in mid-Winter, turned up at a hastily put together whare (like a bivouac but larger) made from nikau palms. They would have looked around at the muddy paths, the claustrophobic bush cover and the total lack of anything suitable for farming, and no doubt burst into tears. I would have.
You can only imagine the conversations that the settlers would have had with Mr. Michael Krippner, who convinced these settlers to leave their families – never to see them again – and travel halfway around the world to farm mud and bush.
“Um – I’m pretty sure you said there were sea views?”
“Oh yeah, definitely – just climb this kauri tree and squint – you’ll see it in the distance. Maybe build a four story house....from the very available building supplies you see growing around you.”
“Can I have another look at our sale and purchase agreement?”
Anyway. The settlers were hardworking, and soon enough had cleared enough land to build more whares. They made money by shipping the tall kauri trees down river to Auckland, mining kauri gum, coal and ore. Local Maori helped with hunter-gathering. They stayed out in the bush all week, coming home in the weekend to their wives – “it’s YOUR TURN WITH THE KIDS!” – and to attend church.
With all of this in mind, Richard and I strolled around the village, which you can walk across in 15 minutes. There are not many buildings, but those that are there are beautifully maintained. Main attraction is definitely the Puhoi Hotel, a large, ramshackle building with chairs and umbrellas on a sloping lawn, dotted with people enjoying beers in the sun. The bar’s interior is literally covered in memorabilia. There are old photos, signs, newspaper articles, photos of famous people at the pub (Billy Connolly!) and the usual backpacker paraphernalia of bank notes, school IDs, scribbled signatures and business cards. It would take two days to go over it all, but the bright sun was beckoning and we took ourselves out to the lawn with a cider. Friendly dogs were wandering around, and kereru and tui were flitting in and out of the pohutukawa and cabbage trees nearby. It was stunning.
We ordered a ploughman’s platter for lunch. This is my favourite lunch – satisfying, filling, yet doesn’t make you feel overstuffed. Plus you eat with your hands, which always makes a meal extra good. This platter didn’t disappoint. The bread was soft and tasty, the ham fresh off the bone. The piccalilli was homemade with visible chunks of cauliflower and gherkin, and the pickled onions were so strong I got lemon lips. It was very British indeed.
Having eaten our fill, we wandered onwards to the Bohemian Museum, situated in the old school house. Entrance was an honesty box donation of $3.00, and there was not a soul to be seen. I loved this. In Auckland, or overseas, there would be a security guard and alarms ensuring that no one could touch anything or get too close. And while the entry fee may be voluntary, rest assured you will have to fight through three different desks each asking if you would like to pay this fee. But this felt like you were going into someone’s home. Brushing away cobwebs as we went in, (the visitor’s book hadn’t been signed since October) we discovered a charming room beautifully presented in a timeline of settlement. There were prayer books and musical instruments, kitchen utensils (found at the bottom of the river) and wedding dresses. A lot of work had gone into this room, no doubt by some hardworking volunteers. I poked a pipe and the child’s exercise books and waited for the alarms to ring – nothing.
Feeling parched, we walked up a quiet lane towards Puhoi Cottage. Passing a house blaring Christmas carols, a self-righteous boxer dog with a greying muzzle took it upon himself to bark furiously at us from behind a large gate. His owner called him off and he quietened down to a few indignant ruffs. Peace restored, we arrived at the cottage, which is apparently the oldest tearooms still serving Devonshire teas, don’t you know. I knew it would be good when I saw it advertised itself as a “diet-free zone”. A sprightly chap read the entire menu to us and explained who the house was built for, when and what with – I wasn’t listening though because I was still salivating over the menu. 2 “devo” teas – I love Kiwis, lucky I am one - were ordered, and we took ourselves around the overgrown cottage garden. Bunnies and guinea pigs, birds and bees abounded and the sun shone. The teas arrived with scones that were the size of rugby balls. The cream was freshly whipped, the jam gooey and bright and the tea strong and hot. It was perfect. So it should be for $10.00 each.
We started to get dozy in the heat, so we paid up and headed back to the pub, which was of course what we had in mind all afternoon.
It was much busier. Puhoi, like most small settlements in New Zealand, is a haven for bikies (not scary gang bikies, just people that like motorbikes) and classic-car owners. There were ranks of gleaming chrome lined up on the road, and lots of people sweating in their leathers. Richard drooled over a brand new Harley, while I eyed up a fantastic black e-Type Jaguar. My red Golf looked far too jaunty and new.
Sitting down with another cider, we do what all sight-seers love to do. Eavesdrop. Next to us was a large table filling up with people around our age. They werere all wearing T-shirts advertising “Pamplona ’97 Reunion” and “Redback Tavern – London”. One has a picture of a kiwi giving it to a kangaroo in the canine position. This one says “Show them some Kiwi style!” Cheap watches bought in London markets, fake handbags from Thailand on the way home, and all with leather wristbands.
They’re all obviously back in NZ after some years overseas. Drinking stories abound – who’s been the furthest distance away, who’s been away the longest, who can put on the fakest English accent. There are discussions on how they’re going to open a bar “near the beach, do some funny shit, just clean it up with the backpackers mate, clean it up.” I’ve seen these groups before, and as soon as one gets engaged, or has a baby, they all start dropping like flies and moving home. Saddest thing on earth? A guy who just doesn’t know when it’s time to hang up the passport and money belt. They’re all drinking crate bottles of Lion Red – including the girls – and the largest of them all takes his shirt off in the sun. I thought at one stage they were going to do a haka.
Richard and I stop staring and instead take note of a large stag do bus that’s pulled up, no doubt on a tour of country pubs, a very popular stag at the moment. Here is another sector of Kiwi society beautifully presented. About 40 guys pile out of the bus – all absolutely blotto. They’re at the stage where their legs seem to be attached to their bodies only by the merest suggestion – maybe some Blu-Tak. I take a look around. A table of beautiful blond girls quickly get up to leave, no doubt anticipating the amount of verbal banter that will get thrown in their direction. Remembering the last stag do we ran into and the amount of male genitalia that was on show, I decide I don’t want to ruin such a perfect day with that as a memory, and instead we finish up, and head off home.
If this is the kind of day I will fondly remember as I’m up at 3am with a squalling child, so be it. It was wonderful.

The cattle are blowing the baby away.....*

So it turns out that attending church for the first time in years make you re-think your choice of underwear.
I normally wear thongs, and have done for years, because they are so comfortable and wash and dry faster than normal nana-knicks, but last night whilst getting ready for the Carol Service at Holy Trinity Cathedral in Parnell, I had a re-think. I can’t go to CHURCH wearing a THONG. God will judge me.
And this is odd, because I don’t believe in God. However, I LOVE a good singalong, and other than getting blottoed at the pub and singing karaoke, church is about the only place you can exercise your pipes.
I went to a school that was very Christian, and we attended chapel every day at 8.10 to 8.30. We would sing a hymn, listen to a reading, someone would give a talk, then we’d receive a blessing and be off to start our day. At the time, chapel was a place where you’d slowly wake up, mumble the Lord’s Prayer, get in trouble by eagle-eyed prefects for laughing (I’d always get an attack of the giggles at inopportune moments). However, as much of a drag it was to attend chapel every day, how lame, OMG God doesn’t exist, etc., everyone always perked up when we began practicing for the end of year carol service. Who doesn’t love a good carol, I say. It means the end of the year, summer, exams over, and some truly beautiful singing.
So last week I saw the cathedral advertising its carol service for 2009, and I raved about it to Richard. Being Richard, he agreed to come along even though he can’t sing a note and disliked having to wear suit pants on a Sunday. I love him. We willingly set foot inside a church for the first time in years, save weddings and tourist larks.
And it was truly beautiful. The cathedral is light and airy, and quite modern with a high soaring roof to gaze up at. We chose a seat that was near a seeing-eye dog, because I love animals as you may be aware. As we sat down, a ray of light hit Richard in the face. Smugly, he said “that’s God giving me a sign I’m going to get a job soon.” Choosing to believe in God for that reason, I agreed.
We were surrounded by nodding white/purple heads, hearing aids, God-Squadders, and farmers that had brushed off the tweed coat and driven hours to come into town because it was the traditional thing to do.
As soon as the choir started singing Once In Royal David’s City, I got tears in my eyes. It was so beautiful. I felt like I was in an episode of the Vicar of Dibley. I got over it soon and was singing my lungs out on all my favourites, Hark the Herald, O Little Town of Bethlehem, O Come All Ye Faithful. We even gave $10.00 to the collection plate, it was that good.
We left feeling cleansed and I was glad I could still hit the high notes. I’ll definitely be doing this again.

*this is what my Uncle John apparently thought the words were when he was young.

Crossing the ditch

I am in countdown mode this week, as we're off to Surfers Paradise on Saturday morning. Rich and I have both been struck down with the flu, for which I am thankful, because how often do you hear of people getting sick on their holiday? At least we're getting it now.
So after what seems to have been an exceptionally long and dismal winter, we're super excited about getting our pins out and wearing our jandals again. I have even bought a new nail polish to celebrate. I know. It's called Suzi and the Lifeguard and is an OPI polish. It's a lovely pale pink with a slight shimmer to it.
We also are feeling pretty smirky because we have a Thing where, if we have coins in our pockets/wallets/back of the couch, we put them into a money box. I hauled the contents into the bank today and the sum total will pay for a new fragrance for us both and should stock up the booze cabinet also from Duty Free. I absolutely love Duty Free shops...I know it's only a bit cheaper than normal, and you can probably find better prices online...but there's something about knowing that you're getting a bargain and everything smells delicious and everyone's happy because they're going on holiday. Brilliant. Fragrance-wise, I'm going to get Ange ou Demon by Givenchy, because it's the first perfume in a long time that I've actually been able to single out from the myriad of others on the market these days. Rich is getting Fahrenheit, which I adore. Mmmm.
So while we're in Surfers we're going to visit some theme parks - Rich is DYING for Wet n Wild, but being a lady and terrified of heights, I might need to talk him out of this one. We're going to Dreamworld too, but what I most want to do is lie on the beach in the sun. It was 31 degrees there in the weekend - and 16 here. Ahhhhhhh.
Basil has also been in the wars this week. He's very....licky. Like, his fur is sticky, he's so licky. I sound like Run DMC. So he's off to the vet tomorrow before his trip to Karakakats this weekend. Poor wee button.
Our weekend was lovely. We had drinks at ours with some friends on Friday night. We made the most delicious nibbles platter. It had wasabi peas, pistachios, havarti cheese, pate, grapes, feta dip, rice crackers and normal crackers. We mowed it. We also mowed a heck of a lot of wine. We then toddled off up the road to a very small and casual pizza place where we terrorized the owner into having a wine with us and giving him all sorts of advice on how he should do his pizzas. We were awful. It was great though. Hangover the next day - not so great.
Last week I had a tiny operation.... I had a neuroma in my leg. It's this thing. This big hurty thing. So the doctor cut it out....it looked like a cooked lentil. Amazing that something so tiny could cause me soooo much pain. Anyhoo, I now have 3 stitches on the back of my thigh, and an excuse to get out of doing pretty much anything. The word "stitches" opens a lot of doors. Thankfully, it's not a tumour. Well, probably not.
I bought a pair of jeans yesterday. This is only because I have lost 4kgs. Me and jeans shopping do not have a happy relationship. Because I am apple shaped, and short, I have a battle of a time finding a pair of jeans that fits around my tummy, and doesn't make my ass look like the saggy baggy elephant. But, minus 4kgs and nothing to eat for breakfast = success! 3 inches of hem are being removed as we speak, so I can finally throw away my old pair of jeans that I've had for 3 whole years. Madness.
Summer is on the way here......the entire neighbourhood has caught the gardening bug. All we can hear is leaf blowers. In my day, we used a broom. It seems that spending 2 hours chasing leaves all over the place with a roaring, stinking piece of plastic is what you do in the affluent suburb where we are renting. The neighbours also chopped down an enormous lovely pine tree near to our backyard, where tui and keruru would play. I think it annoyed them because every so often, a pine needle would fall off, and land on their Audi, possibly scratching the paintwork and necessitating in an upgrade to the newer model. Thankfully, the tui have now adopted the puriri tree in our backyard, so we are treated to their beautiful song day in and day out. Luckily Basil only shows interest in sparrows, of which there are billions, because they are smaller than him and have ninety million feathers for him to distribute around our hallway and under the furniture. Richard and I have a pact - I do poos and spews, he does dead things. We both think the other got a better deal.
So, back to our Australia trip. We're planning on doing a lot of eating, drinking, lazing about, and spending of money. We finagled really good costs for tickets, and accommodation, thanks to knowing people in the right places. So we're going to spoil ourselves, because we have both had such a difficult year - not with each other, but money-wise, job-wise, living-wise, it's been rough. Here's to a well-deserved rest and celebration time, and what a way to bring in Summer by getting a tan ahead of everyone else. Yessssssss!

Girl's night in

So this week Rich backed away from me and said, "I've been invited to a boy's night out on Friday...and I've said I'd go," while ducking. I have no idea where he got the idea that I'd be mad if he went out without me. No idea at all.
So I have asked my friend to join me for a girl's night in. We're borrowing my parent's apartment in the city (because my house is just too cold and you can't hang around in PJ's in the COLD!) and we're going to do the following:

• Arrive
• Make fruit platter
• Open champagne
• Drink champagne
• Eat fruit platter
• Get into (horror) togs, robes and slippers
• Avail ourselves of the sauna, spa and lap pool
• Return to room
• Make nibbles platter of crudites, pita bread, dips, chicken kebabs and chorizo
• Eat said platter, washing down with more champagne
• Do face masks, hair masks, pedicures, and manicures
• Watch Twilight (I read the book - the first one - and didn't like it. Another friend of mine who is obsessed with Twilight said I have to watch the movie just to make sure I don't like it. So we are).
• Finish off champers and drink lots of water before going nigh-nighs.

If I were doing this properly, each bullet point would be interspersed with another: Gossip. Because that's what girl's nights in are really all about aren't they?

Toddler fun

I'm baby sitting Amelie tomorrow morning and as usual am worried about all the things she could kill herself on in our non-baby-proofed house. Do I light the fire? Or will she faceplant into it? What about the gas heater? Or just strap her to a hot water bottle?
Luckily when Amelie was born my sister made me an Amelie fun kit, which basically has all the toys she didn't have room for in it, along with some of my old books from when I was a wee tacker, like The Nickle Nackle Tree and Amy's Place, or Kimi and the Watermelon.
However, Amelie's attention span is short, being 2 years old and all, so I'm going to have to come up with games and toys of my own.
First on the list is the fluffy toy that's alive! Basil the cat will be roped into a game of chase. Thankfully, Basil is very good around children. He tolerates, but never scratches. Thank god. Basil may even get a brushing if he is very good.
Second is that old favourite, musical kitchen utensils. Pots and pans will be assembled into a kit Lars Ulrich would admire, and we'll wake up the neighbours.
Third is dressups. I have a jewellery and makeup collection that makes many kids' dreams come true. I just know that Amelie can pull off bright red lippie with some feathered earrings and Karen Walker necklaces.
If she's not tired by this time, we'll go for a stroll down by the creek where many ducks are hiding out from the hunters during the season. A loaf of bread, mittens and a jacket = good photo opportunities.
After this, it's on with the Disney Channel while Aunty Amy has a rest and a cuppa.
A couple of rounds of Row Row Row Your Boat might be in order, or as Amelie calls it, "Wo Wo" followed by some dancing around to the Ministry of Sound.
Her parents will no doubt be back by this time so I'll tearfully hand her back and clean up the chaos. God I can't wait to have one of my own.

Fatted calf for one.....

...the Prodigal Son has returned. Basil turned up at 10:30 last night, presumably after a day's hiding and getting spooked by things. He smelled suspiciously herb-like, so either he was in a neighbour's well cultivated veggie garden, or in the student flats over the road. He was really hungry when he got back.
So thank you all for your positive thoughts..they worked! Now keep them coming for Richard...he has a second job interview today. Crossing all my fingers!

Happy New Year!

As Chandler would say, could I BE more late? I think not.
What a crazy summer, mes amies, losing and gaining jobs, moving cities, parlez-ing le francaise, I tell you it's been mad. But am here to tell all about it.

So yes as I previously mentioned, I was made redundant. Which is veeeery common these days in NZ. So I didn't feel too bad. What was horrible, was the amount of recruitment people I had to go and see in Tauranga, who all built me up into feeling like super woman, then at the end of the interview, saying, yeah well, there's actually no jobs but hey...we'llbeintouch. Recruitment consultants: not my favourite people. The jobs I did apply for I wouldn't hear anything from, for up to two weeks after deadline. Then it would be "you are not successful. We had 200 applications for this role" etc. And that was for a lame-ass admin role. Paying diddly-squat.
Rich and I put our heads together and had a conversation that went like this.

Me: I'm NOT moving back to Auckland. I refuse and don't ask me again.
Him: But we're not going to find jobs here. You don't have to sell your house, you can rent it out.
Me: But it's Basil's HOME.
Him: *rolls eyes*
Me: And my garden. My beautiful beautiful garden!!
Him: Take the chili plant with you.

So after many, many tears and arguments, here we are in Auckland! With one chili plant. We have found a place to rent in Remuera, which is the ponciest suburb in Auckland. Every house looks like it was built for a visiting Lord back in the colonial days. How we found the place (actually Rich found it) is a miracle. Maybe someone - FINALLY - took pity on us.

Rich is looking for work - poor lamb, it's the worst - and I got a job - literally had it confirmed - in my last half hour of my old job. This meant I had a spectacular leaving do.
I'm working for a sporting organisation that is based all over Oceania. I'm expected to speak French lots - luckily I studied it at school - and I'll be doing lots of travel. Will also be organising competitions and meetings and various other things. I am fully loving it so far and it's amazing how much you realise the finance industry is insulated. There's a whole other world out there people. Put it this way - I think we had 3 Maori staff at my old office. No Asians. In my office here, I sit next to a Solomon Islander, take orders from a Tahitian and assist Samoans. It's brilliant.

So we are trucking along nicely. We're staying at an apartment in town until our flat is ready - another couple of weeks. Basil is having a fat camp holiday at KarakaKats in... Karaka. Gorgeous place, if anyone's looking for a cattery. He has his own hammock and according to the owner, "eats like a horse". Mais bien sur!

Summer has been alternatively mild, perfect, death like, and now, cooler. The death like days were caused by temperatures of 32.4 deg (hottest ever in Auckland) and 100% humidity. It was like trying to swim through dryer lint. You have a perpetual sheen of sweat. Plastic chairs become mini swimming pools. Poor Rich had to change shirts 3 times a day. However it's back down to the low 20's at the moment and everyone is much more sprightly. Autumn clothes are in the shops, shudder.

We had a very small Christmas holiday and went down to Mahia which is on a very isolated peninsula on the east coast of the North Island. It's Kiwiana to a T. Small, weatherboard baches, on scrubby lawn with no fences. Dogs running free, huge sand dunes sloping down to the most perfect smooth sandy beach, with small tubular waves cruising towards shore. Sunburnt shoulders, sticky fingers, sandy hair and cool beer were the order of the day. Most amazing of all, Mahia has a resident dolphin, Moko. She swims in most days and lazily plays with fellow bathers. We rushed down to the water whenever we saw her come in, and someone would throw a ball or a flutterboard. She would use her nose to bat it away then go diving after it. I got to stroke her twice and squealed like a little kid each time. She felt like a warm wetsuit, so smooth. Some people were muttering that you shouldn’t get too close etc, etc, but if she didn’t like it, she could swim away. She loved it. I could tell.
Rich's favourite bit that he told his teacher about on his first day of school was when he got to go with the fishermen? And catch lots of fish? Like 13 hapuku (groper)? And 10 crayfish? And we ate them? And then got really drunk for New Years Eve?
So anyhoodle that was me for the last two months. My hair has grown even more. I read lots more books. Recently finished Parky. He is totally awesome. Now reading Yes Man by Danny Wallace. Keeping Richard awake with my sniggering. As an aside, I love Danny Wallace. He's in my top five.
So, tell me your news! I'll just make a coffee then sit down and listen.

A day you remember fondly

Yesterday was a nothing special day, a day during which I went to work, did my work, went to the gym, got bored to tears during the looong afternoon of clock watching, and went home.
And then, people, something amazing happened. I got my mail in. Looked like a couple of bills. Sat on the couch watching the end of the Simpsons. Opened one of the envelopes. A bill for my curtains. Ho hum. Opened the other. What looked like one of those stupid letters from the Readers Digest appeared. “Money in your Hand!” it stated. “Concession Card!” showed a couple of times. Brow furrowed, I read on. And then noticed what looked to be a cheque attached to the bottom. For over $300.00. Made out to me.
I realised then that this wasn’t a nothing special day. It was a day, where, by receiving an unexpected large payment in the post, it became the most awesome kind of day you can have.
Seriously. Who gets cheques in the post? In this electronic age of phone and internet banking, the only time I get a cheque is on my birthday, from my Dad. And that’s for putting up with his shaggy dog stories and endless self-absorption (I mean that in the nicest possible way).
Turns out that the power company I belong to works like a trust, and pays out to its customers a cut of their profit every year. I rang my sister to confirm this.
“Is someone playing a trick on me? Am I going to take this into the bank and everyone’s going to point and laugh and post me on YouTube?”
She confirmed that it was indeed, my money, to do whatever I pleased with. What’s hilarious is that it states on the back of the letter options for you to choose from when dealing with the cheque.

Option One: bank it into your bank account. Well, durr.
Option Two: use it to pay further power bills. Snigger.
Option Three: donate back to power company. They will then donate it to charitable causes. Roaring laughter plus a bit of thigh-slapping.

This cheque is going straight onto my gasping and wheezing Visa card, so it can have a bit of a breather, before this wekeend’s onslaught of buying Stuff for the Garden.
May you all also, have a day like this, sometime soon in your future.

You're reading the writings of a medallist

So last Friday was our Olympic Day at work, and as predicted, "work" was somewhat thin on the ground. We had tasks to complete every hour, involving rowing machines, speed eating, trivia questions and singing of parody National Anthems. Our team was Australia, which we didn't mind, because being the IT department of a large corporate, everyone hates us anyway.

That's me in the front, looking a bit 'special', wearing Australian everything. Even got Olympic sunglasses on. The actual Olympian is behind me holding her torch.

This is me coming third in the rice eating competition. Mum taught me well with chopsticks.

This is me coming first equal in the Peaknuckle competition. What's peaknuckle you say? You have to hold the other's thumb down with your own and say PEAKNUCKLE! Due to a mis-spent youth flirting with a guy who had a double jointed thumb when I was 12, I am a peaknuckle queen, even with my cat paws. Note that Dick (representing North Korea), the guy who battled me for a long 5 minutes, has hands twice the size of mine. I should have won with that disadvantage. Totally unfair.

Anyway my and my teammates' efforts led to us getting the Silver overall. Pretty good for a bunch of net geeks.

So there you have it - I'm an Olympic Medallist. Michael Phelps couldn't beat me at peaknuckle I'll bet.

My heaven

So am back at work after the most awesomest weekend ever. Yes it was even more awesome than expected. Totally awesome.
We went for a lovely long walk past the Huka Falls overlooking the Waikato River, which was so clear we could see the bottom, and all the beautiful autumn colours reflected on the surface. One of the nicest walks there is, and if you're in Taupo, it's over the Huka Falls bridge, turn right and the track starts there. There's some nice hills to make you feel like you're doing something but it's pretty easy. It ends up at those natural hot pools by the carpark and to do a there-and-back takes about 1.15.
We then headed to the hot pools at deBretts which were totally glorious, and I got to show off my new one-piece which is Fifties-style and has a great halter neck and excellent shelfing for the girls. We got bored of local kids doing bombs and blowing their noses into the pool though pretty quickly. Seriously....everyone's afraid to tell kids off these days.
I made a great roast lamb and even cooked brussel sprouts, which I hate, and still hate, but maybe because I didn't cook them long enough so it was like eating .....raw brussel sprouts. We were asleep by 9:00 and up at 10:00 the next day which was fully necessary. Feeling sweet today - been to the Gym! Doing lots of work! Have a spreadsheet of groceries I need to get!
It's my little niece's very first birthday on Tuesday - I will post photos from her party this weekend! I'll be the crazy one covered in fairy bread and cheerios.

I approve of your choice.

The house is a pig sty at the moment, what with the painting and testpots and carpet samples and dust and furballs and washing that hasn't been done all week because it has been raining solidly for 72 hours. I am not exaggerating. The concrete footpaths squelch. It's good news for the farmers who were suffering from a TERRIBLE drought, WORST in a hundred years, we're ALL going to die and lose our farms etc. Now that it's raining it's all, our topsoil has been DESTROYED....our feed has turned to MUSH and we're all going to die and lose our farms. Seriously. The only thing that makes a farmer happy is a hot meal and a whiskey.

Anyhoo. I have nearly finished the painting of my office, and it looks seriously cute already. Basil follows me around, gingerly high-stepping through the plastic drop sheets and getting a good sniff of paint fumes.


He also has approved of my decision on carpet, by taking his pick of 9 or so different samples lying around the lounge, and sprawling on the very one I chose.

I luff him. The carpet is a sisal pattern with pale/dark grey bits. It looks very smart under my awesome armchair and couch.

In other news, I'm off to Taupo this weekend for some R&R with R, and I have sorted out the worlds best menu. All this painting means I've been eating some terrible meals on the run.

So this is what we're having over the weekend:

Friday night: Home made pizza, with wild mushrooms, blue cheese, caramelised onion and crispy sage (lifted shamelessly from SPQR's gorgeous pizza menu) with a fresh green salad

Saturday brunch: Eggs benedict on split muffins with wilted spinach and home made hollandaise

Saturday dinner: Roast lamb with all the trimmings. I have just read Eating for England by Nigel Slater and have been craving a good roast ever since. Excellent book. This will be followed by feijoa crumble and, I'm guessing, a lot of Central Otago Pinot Noir.

Sunday brunch: There's a gorgeous cafe up the road in Acacia Bay - I can't remember the name of it - but it's fantastic. I'm thinking the newspaper, strong coffee, and something with bacon.

At the same time we're going to do a big walk around Huka Falls, then go to the hot pools at DeBretts. Maybe some golf at Wairakei. Or maybe, I'll lie on the couch and read my Florence Broadhurst biography and have my head patted. Bliss.

Things I did in the weekend

Had lunch in the sun with a workmate…eye fillet sandwich with chips for $22. That’s a bargain.
Drinks in town that weren’t that bad. I made myself have a hiatus from the Strand in Tauranga because it is Always The Same so first night back – okay.
Caught a surprise episode of Little Britain… “shut up! Don’t go giving me evils!”
Had a fun hour at Mega Mitre Ten where I bought buckets and plants and damp-rid stuff and a BBQ cover. Sometimes I think I should have been a guy. I even stood with my feet wide apart and my arms crossed.
Did 4 loads of washing and cleaned the BBQ and popped it into its smart new cover.
Tidied out all the wardrobes and changed the sheets on my bed. Is there anything more annoying than stuffing a duvet into a new cover? All of a sudden it seems to have 39 corners and the fabric is made of velcro and refuses to move and after ten minutes of swearing and getting all red in the face it’s just in one big ball in the far corner. Bed making knack: I don’t have one.
Went to the paint shop where I was helped by a very sweet but dim assistant.
“I kinda like red, but also green. What would you suggest?”
“Um, I’m not sure…..um…..”
“Look I want to spend money here. I’m thinking I like this green. What goes with it?”
“Let me just flick through an enormous file of paint colours and not say anything for ten minutes in the hope you’ll go away.”
Then went and found a cute little Asian supermarket tucked away not far from me, and bought some kaffir lime leaves, galangal and lemon grass, and along with a few other things made R and me Tom Kha Gai for dinner. Then we took a couple of bottles of wine down to the beach, in the dark, wearing a sheepskin jacket, and we watched the surf by moonlight. It was cool.
Dayligh savings went back overnight so it was another early start on Sunday, with a trip to my sister’s and a special cuddle with Amelie who has started to walk with the aid of a little trolley…she’s very happy with herself. I miss the tiny baby though! It’s her very first birthday on the 22nd – what’s good for a one year old? She tends to grow out of any clothes I get her so I’m thinking toys. So far she likes cat biscuits, wallets, handbags and my jandals, so I could just give her a purse stuffed with Whiskas.
Megs had lots of awesome fabric samples from Freedom so she sorted me out with a colour scheme and sent me back to Resene where I bought 9 pots of light greys, blue greys, deep reds and whites. Looks very cool.
I then swept and dusted and re-organised the potting shed, sorted out my crazy yuccas around the house – I hate them and if anyone wants them please come get them – then I painted some sheets of newspaper with the test pots and blu-tacked them around the house. Am battling with finding the right red.
Then R brought round some fresh fish which I put with some roasties and we watched the Simpsons. I fell asleep at 10 to 8. So you know, I didn’t do much.

In which I discuss the trajectory of lingerie

So this weekend I am Getting out of Tauranga! finally, and pootling down to the Hawkes Bay where I am from, to attend to one of my yearly traditions.
No matter what, I always attend the concert at the Mission Estate winery. It's held around this time every year, and is always a great day out.
This year the star of the show is none other than Mr Tom Jones. While I have never been a huge fan of his, I am really looking forward to this concert because he is such a showman. I have stocked up on large granny knickers to hurl at his face with a catapult, so look out for a headline "Tom Jones suffocates on a pair of incontinence panties".
The concert day will go something like this:

• Eat enormous breakfast
• Cover self in sunscreen
• Make large picnic lunch of bread rolls, chicken and coleslaw
• Pack silly amounts of alcohol and ice into a chilly bin. (yes you can take booze in. I know. It's awesome).
• Head to a mate's house for a pre-concert BBQ. Play Tom Jones CD, get halfway through it and put good music on instead.
• 3pm- get to concert and spend a good 10 minutes staking out our area with cut-in-half rubbish bags which will end up in shreds by the end of the night
• 5pm - wave arms in the air to the first support act, usually a 14 year old kid from the local highschool on a banjo
• 6pm - go nuts to Jimmy Barnes, who is the main support act - especially to "Last Train out of Sydney". Voted best rock song ever in Aussie when I was there. Beating Queen and the Rolling Stones. Insane.
• 8:30pm - hazily glance toward stage and realise Tom Jones has started. Try to stand up and sing along. Realise I know none of his songs. Weave my way to the loo.
• Bump into a thousand old friends from school and have a good natter. Miss most of the concert.
• Leave 15 minutes early and hitchhike home with a cruising boy racer to beat the crowds. I have done this every year and always get home in 10 minutes. Waiting for a cab can take up to 2 hours. Dangerous? Hey by this stage I'm invincible.
• Have lovely cold shower and fall into bed after drinking a litre of water and chopping 2 nurofen.
• Wake up, wish for death.

So it's going to be an awesome weekend - I shall let you know how it goes and post pics!

Get a cup of tea for this one

To say that the weekend just been was exhausting would be to gloss over how bone-crushingly tired I ended up yesterday evening, necessitating in a bedtime of 7:30pm, which, with daylight savings still going strong, meant I pulled the curtains to shut out the sun.
As previously mentioned, the weekend was spent in Auckland, and I had quite forgotten how spending money there comes as naturally as breathing. My monthly budget is now completely screwed. But! There is always an upside to spending money, you have heaps of fun doing so.
Friday night saw me fly into Aucks at the speed of ...... 120km/h - the Red Rocket performed beautifully up over the Bombay Hills and delivered me to a beautiful Italian restaurant in St Heliers where my friends and I had a hilarious dinner and much banter was delivered. Sample conversation:
"Dude, when you read the menu, do you just hand it back to the waitress and say 'I'll have it thanks'?"
We headed back to their house and spent a lovely summer's night on the deck swatting mozzies and drinking Sauvignon.
Saturday morning I was enjoying a nice sleep in, when it was GET UP! time at the unholy hour of 8am, as it was birthday present opening time for Sarah. I ran into their room screaming MERRY CHRISTMAS! We all jumped into bed together - 5 of us - and for a moment we all forgot we were nearing 30 and had 2 weddings and 2 kids between us all. Sarah loved the nail polish I got her. I'm a bit obsessed with nail polish at the moment aren't I?
Brunch took us to La Vista in St Heliers, which was super awesome, and Sarah had a birthday brekkie of mince of toast with a fried egg. I was all, hmmm, but when it came out I had plate envy something chronic. Although my french toast with the usual banana bacon maple syrup was so delicious and very very naughty. I highly recommend this cafe if you are ever in St Heliers.
It was a mega hot day so we retired back home to sit on sun loungers with mags, and glasses of bubbly. Cam and I poured Sarah one, and being without strawberries, put a cherry tomato in there. I informed her of this fact about half an hour later.
Cam had organised a surprise lunch for Sarah at a restaurant in Parnell, and here, people, is where the great day came to a crashing great halt around my ears.
We were at a lovely outdoor table munching calamari and sipping beers, and were commenting on how great the service was. We all expressed surprise at this, because this restaurant is not known for its great service. Me being me, outdoes everyone elses gripes with a tale of my own.
"I was here with Mum and Lauren, and we ordered some calamari and wine." (This all said in a voice at approximately 2000 decibels).
"We had a couple of glasses and then Mum had to leave to catch a flight. She paid for the calamari and wine, and left. Lauren and I stayed on and had a couple more wines." Everyone is nodding sagely and going, of course, you and Loz, wine quaffers from way back.
"We decided to head home, and got up to pay for our drinks to the lady owner behind the counter. Imagine our surprise when we see the calamari on the bill. I question this, and say my mother paid for this when she left. The lady disagrees with me, and I am a bit taken aback. I say, well she specifically came back to tell us so, and was dealing with that guy behind the bar. She then says, well he must have pocketed the money because it's not showing on the receipts." Indignant comments are echoing around the table, along the lines of, isn't the customer always right? and, it's not your problem if the staff are dishonest.
"I say to her well I'm not paying for it twice and I'll get my mother to call you if you like to sort it out. She humphs and lets us go. And I haven't been back since till today."
Everyone is nodding and saying good on you, yeah she's nasty etc etc when all of a sudden it happens. A lady at the next table is slowly getting up - leaving half her lunch - and walking quickly into the restaurant. One of our guys goes, oh, that's her, that's the lady. And it was. She was obviously on her day off, enjoying a lunch with friends at her restaurant. And they had all heard everything.
The ironic thing was, I had just been discussing with Sarah that morning that I thought I gossiped too much, and was going to try and stop. Talk about learning the hard way. I felt like absolute shit for a couple of hours and needed a Gloriax to stop stressing out - and am still really pissed at myself. But who knows, she may have needed a wake up call - I certainly wasn't the only one with a bad experience with her - but nobody likes overhearing gossip about themselves.
I perked up when we left the restaurant - 3 interminable hours later - and headed to Lizzie's place for a couple of drinks before the concert. We were able to walk to the concert from there, and got there as Fergie was halfway through her show. Not that we watched it, because we were too busy lining up for beers. Imagine our surprise when we discovered that they had stopped selling booze at 8:30pm (!!!!) and had also run out of water (!!!!!!!!!!). We decided that it was fate that there's no booze, meaning we won't be hungover the next day. So we arming ourselves with disgusting Pepsi we headed back to our seats. Who should we bump into but our future Prime Minister, Mr John Key. He was more than happy to listen to us rave about why we'd vote him in (namely, because we hate Helen Clark) and we watched him about 10 minutes later dancing so badly it was almost cool.
The Police got started, and man they were good. Real musicians if you know what I mean. I especially liked the drummer dude. BUT! And there's always a but. 2 songs into the concert, we're standing on our chairs, bopping away, when I realise that my arm feels a lot lighter. I then realise that my watch is gone. My brand new, Calvin Klein, arm-and-a-leg watch, is no longer on my wrist. I grab Sarah's arm and make I'm-dying, please-help-me faces. She, being Sarah, is very straight up, and says it's either under your seat, at Lizzie's house or never to be seen again.
I am on the verge of losing it entirely, having already had a shitter of an experience, so after wildly looking under our chairs in amongst the jandals and toes and chair legs and bottles, I reach into my bag to get a calming cigarette. What should I find, but my watch.
To say that I had a epiphany would be to understate it. I actually had to sit down. I am not, I repeat NOT, a lucky person. For my watch to have fallen off INTO MY OWN HANDBAG was something I could not comprehend. I babbled to Sarah that I had found God, he must be looking after me, and she's patting me on the back and laughing. I rave that even after I ruin someone's day by gossiping, someone up there still likes me enough so that I don't lose my treasured watch.
After zipping it into a pocket in my bag and tying the bag to my leg I get back into the concert and have a ball.
We headed straight home afterwards, and while everyone else went straight to bed (bloody couples!!!) I sat up on the deck looking at the moon and listening to the crickets, having a frosty cold beer. What a day. Life lessons learned, fun was had, money was spent, music was enjoyed. What more could you want?

Girls girls girls

So this weekend I am pootling up to Auckland (or as we like to call it, Auckalofa) for a myriad of reasons, number one being it's my besties' birthdays on Sat and Mon and I feel the need to celebrate with them; number two being that I have a ticket to the Pol-ees and Fergie Ferg on Saturday; number three being that I haven't been out of Tauranga since before Christmas and I'm feeling the need to leave my comfort zone; number four being that it's a nice 2.5 hour drive and the little Golf is going to get a workout.
So there you have it. I am very much looking forward to a fun weekend of hanging with my oldest friends in the sun singing 80's tunes.

In other news, life at my humble abode has brightened considerably with the arrival of a temporary flatmate. Another bestie has arrived back from the UK and is doing some locum work here and needs a place to stay. She is a better flatmate than Basil, because she empties the dishwasher and gets my washing in, and doesn't eat cicadas in full view of everyone. We have conversations like this:
"Ohmygod I love that nailpolish, where did you get it?"
"I got it sent over from London, it's the latest cool colour!" (Russian Navy by OPI FYI)
"Oh can I please borrow it? You can borrow my ones. Let's pool our nail polishes!"
"Oooh I like that orange one. It looks really good on tanned feet."
"I wore that one to the races this year. It chips really badly though."
"I never get chips, it's because I take silica."
"Silica you say? I tried it but it didn't work...I take a multi."
"I reckon you should try magnesium too if you're going to the gym this year."
"Do you think? Oh my god is that Scarlett Johansson? She is so boring."
"Urgh I hate her. Do you reckon Nicole Richie has had work done?"

and so on. These conversations, involving beauty routines, celebrities, weddings, people we know and boys, last approximately 10 hours, and even Basil escapes outside to find a bloke to have a beer with so we can't paint his claws bright pink. It's the best.

Get out of my dreams....

Well, not much chance of a guy getting into my new car when it's as girly as this!






Yes I am the proud owner of a '99 VW Golf - which is so bright red the side of the house is tinged pink when I'm parked there.

It is in tip-top condition, and purrs like a kitten. Basil must like it too, because his pawprints were all over it this morning.

This is my old car:

A '90 Suzuki Escudo. It was a most reliable vehicle, but really, is it REALLY fitting for a 29 (gasp) year old with a good job and nice home to drive around in a car advertising surf wear with no stereo and squeaky brakes? I think not. Luckily I was able to trade it in, and only felt a small pang of regret as I peeled away from the dealers. Regret that I didn't sell it sooner!

So I have already kitted out the glovebox with all the necessities of travel, tissues, pens and gum, and have even put coinage in a little compartment for toll roads. I have worked out how to use the stezza, which is all in Japanese, and have my favourite CD's on high rotation. The air-con is on freezing and the seat set to laid-back, and I think I would live in there if I could. My friends are all, wow, it's uh......really Bright. And it is! It's a snazzy bit of sunshine to brighten my day, and damned if it isn't the best therapy I've had in a long time. Oh the joy.

I'm not boasting but....

I have recently moved seats in my office, which is an open plan environment, to a flash corner desk by a window. I know, it's the little things. I tend to spend a fair amount of time staring out of said window.

At the moment, the view is driving me nuts. I can see a huge vista of bright blue sky, trees dancing in the breeze, and scantily dressed mallrats heading into town to perve at the hot surfer backpackers who have turned up for the summer. Feel sorry for me then, as I contemplate making a cup of tea to warm my hands because the air-conditioning is up so high one of my workmates complained to Help that he couldn't get out of his desk because of all the frozen corpses. I just went for a walk around the block to warm up a bit, and upon walking back into reception, I was reminded of walking into the beer cooler rooms with Dad when I was a kid, at the local bottle store. We would have a competition to see who could stand it the longest.


But anyway. It is nice to get home and sit here:

This was my spot at 6:30pm last night. A ciggie, a vodka lime and soda, and a biography of Walt Disney. I could feel the warmth seeping back into me like warm butter.

Tonight I'm zipping home, grabbing my togs and meeting a friend for a swim at the beach. We're then going to grab a bite to eat and watch the sunset. Stink huh?

Serious cliche

I just joined the Gym.
Hopefully I won't become another one of those, joined-the-gym-in-January, gave-up-the-next-day statistics.


I just had my first interview with spunkrat Craig, at a nice big gym just 2 blocks from work. 2 blocks? Why didn't you join earlier? I hear you say. The answer, mes amies, is because anything that makes me red, sweaty, and my boobs wobble that doesn't involve me and another naked person is on my verboten list. I just hate exercise. Always have, always will. It is simply not in my nature to get up and go somewhere just to crack a bead, as my brother in law would say.


A workmate and I both look at each other all, you're weird, when she says Oh I go for an hour's run to chill out, and I'm all, oh really? I like to support the country's wine industry and drink a bottle or two.


BUT the time has come, the walrus said, to use it or lose it, and my goal is to hit 30 in December and be able to touch my toes for the first time since I was 8. (Hey, I have freakishly short arms - like Matthew McConaughy. Seriously. Have a look next time). I also hope to get rid of some of my bingo wings, but because I am naturally an endomorph (curses!) this will be difficult. Madonna I certainly never will be.


So it's off to the gym 4 times a week, and gorgeous Craig recommends Spin and Circuit classes. I immediately started panicking at the thought of being the one falling off in a heap, bright red and panting like a emphysemic bull on heat, while everyone else is madly pedalling away, all secretly laughing at the rhino in the corner.
Paranoid? You know it. But I have to stop caring what everyone else thinks and just get on with it...in 3 months it'll be me smirking away.


Oh yeah and I bought a new car today. Pics coming soon! In the meantime, here is a scarily close up shot of my feet, encased in my new sandals. I like to call them Boudicea. Don't laugh at my yam toes. They're covered in OPI Candy Apple Red if you're wondering.

Gliding along

I have spent the last few days under an aura of acceptance and patience, which is my little project for the coming year. All too often I worry and fuss and judge and get all wound up - "You're like a coiled spring!" my ex would say to me.

So far, it is going well. I'm just cruising along, seeing what happens, taking the joy of out tiny situations.

Like this morning. Basil was doing his morning perve at me in the shower when he discovered a furry black thing hanging off his backside (his tail). He proceeded to gently pat it with one paw for about 5 minutes. I love it when the first thing you do in the morning is laugh.

On Friday, I met up with a friend and we took a bottle of wine and some takeaways down to Pilot Bay, the western side of Mount Maunganui, and watched the sunset. It cost us $20, and was fantastic.

On Saturday, I found the coolest pair of shoes, black leather sandals with gold dome things, all Roman styles, and they were $50, down from $220. I grinned for about half an hour.

At lunchtime I'm going into town to buy the CD of Robert Plant and Alison Krauss, and tonight, I'm going to sit on my deck by the candlelight and listen to it. Life is good.