Gawd Bless The Queen!..

(Oh my gosh, pictures are back!)

This is Lise outside the High Commission awaiting to pledge allegiance. Yes, Lisa today officially became a British citizen - well, 1 in 10 New Zealanders are so why not keep up with the Jones'.

G&T's all round, we're off to celebrate.

Comment is free!

Well I am glad to see that we have one confirmed viewer of the blog. It makes it feel all very worthwhile, don’t you think. Thank you Doug for your comment. Whilst on the topic, not comment slackness but the effects of carbon on the environment in which we live, I emplore you all to go down to your local cinema and watch “an inconvenient truth” if you haven’t already.

For those that already have an interest, it’s an erudite call to arms. For those who aren’t aware, it is a compelling overview of the facts that will probably have great influence on your remaining time on this planet. And for those who don’t give a damn, may highlight some of the possible pitfalls and ironies in remorselessly busting a gut with the retirement plan invested in BP and beachfront villas.

September

Fresh from the vigour’s of skiing we loaded up our gear and made tracks to the west coast.

I nearly forgot how strenuous the ascent to Lisa’s dad’s house was; up an overgrown path, over mossy boulders and streams till you reach a small clearing in which the house dominates with impressive views over the bush and sea. The walk may have been pretty tiring, even for us fit young athletic types but to our surprise Lisa’s dad could outpace us all the way. This is even more remarkable as he had one foot in plaster after severing all the tendons after dropping corrugated iron on it. Jesus! I better quit moaning and toughen up.
Days were spent chilling out while learning to appreciate the finer qualities of wine - Lisa’s dad is a true connoisseur: running a course at the local college, writing a regular column for the local rag and having consumed more than his fare share of plonk.

We then got dropped off at Lisa’s mum’s a further hour and a half up the coast road. On the first night we hit the local boozer in Granity to see New Zealand’s local guitar legend, Billy TK - and dare I say, best of all the guitar legends. Apparently he started around the same time as his contemporary - Jimi Hendrix - and sounds much alike. However, unlike Jimi who plied his skills in London, Billy decided to stay faithful to his homeland, managed to sell a total of 85 LP’s and due to the unfortunate lack in supply of hard drugs, still lives. Rock and roll my friend.

The weather can get reasonably dull on the coast, especially when magnificent uninterrupted views of the sea indistinguishably blur into the horizon, and it rains for grey day after day. For those used to civilisation, being stranded in a house with no visible neighbours, the pub being 8 miles away and the only means of transport disappearing for a few days, what do you do? Rock gently too a throe? Lick the window? Solve world debt? Hmm? I started to cryogenically imbalm myself with G&T until rescue came. Thankfully the weather cleared so we decided to burst excitably from the house, walk the dogs and release all our energy hammering in fence posts. Ahhh the country life - a calling?

On the home straight we called in at Jen’s ma and pa en route. We stayed the night and were delighted with the planned activity of going round the local Marlborough vinyards tasting loads off different bottles of vino. Hmm wine tasting - a calling?

These things have recently occupied our time and thoughts: the ferry, hills, reading, southerly gales, job searching, iron thighs, walking, an earthquake, cable car, money, coffee, cake, beer, shopping, the coldness, an ozone hole, insulation, visiting guests, bizarre costumes, big drums.

Yes we have arrived in Wellington. Actually we are very fortunate to be house sitting for someone, which has been a complete godsend before we rent a place of our own. We have travelled many thousands of miles and have ended up one vowel further away from where we departed - Kelburn. Here the similarities end. This is a really nice suburb with a village feel and a distinct lack of kebab shops, curry houses, dog crap on the pavement, the pervading smell of urine, rubbish strewn everywhere, caustic pollution, threatening thugs, the mentally insane roaming the streets, 24-7 police sirens, time-warp Irish pubs, puke, dust, grime and loud music. Yep, and as you’ve already guessed, I kinda miss it. However Wellington does have a really good vibe, with loads of entertainment, plenty of culture and enough activities to encourage us to make this place home for the foreseeable.

The picture saga continues. Can't load onto here and having all kinds of problems with Kodak so, please find them here.

So, back to finding that calling….

AAaaaaarrrrrgghh!!!


I have been having many words with this blog - tourettes style. No matter how hard I try I can't add pictures to it anymore. I am as yet reluctant to blame user error. Why the hell won't it let me do what I bloody well want it to do?!? (answers on a postcard please).... Arse!!

Sometime in August...


After two long weeks of saying fond farewells to friends and family the final crescendo took form of the final Kilburn house party. Life is all about pushing the envelope - a maxim for which our internal organs and mental stability were not entirely happy with - but we had a great time, so to hell with the consequences!! A huge thanks to all those that attended the do and made it a memorable event. Extra special thanks goes to Mark, Jason (who kindly donated wallet shoes and belt to less worthy Kilburnites whilst sleeping off hangover in a doorway on the highroad), Jungle and David 'you filthy savage!' for assisting with the entertainment and carrying the torch through to closing time on sunday.

Aftert a huge clean-up effort, transforming our lounge and kitchen back from a scale model of Beirut back to some semblance of normality (with myself mopping like a demon between heart palpitations and cold sweats) we started packing for the flight south.

Our flight was at 9pm but due to the inconsiderate actions of the axis of evil we had to be at Heathrow 4 hours earlier than planned just to stand in inordinately long queues that enlivened the holiday spirit and readied us for the ensuing 26 hour flight. Genius.

So we arrived in Brisbane - thankfully with all (and considerable amounts of) baggage - jumped in a hire car and headed north up the Sunshine coast to the Glasshouse Mountains to visit my god mum. After all the frantic goings on of the last few weeks we couldn't have asked for a better opportunity to chill out and recharge the batteries.

We then took flight for the final leg to Christchurch in time for the Ewer ski trip. We stayed in Castle Hill and ski'd both Porter's Heights and Mount Cheeseman fields. All great fun apart from the perilous dirt tracks that creep along the side of the mountains with precipitous drops and no barriers. After overcoming the fear and sweaty palms I still had enough nervous energy (and vin chaud) to ensure the skiing was top notch fun. It was great for Lise to rejoin the clan and me to get another glimpse of what I am letting myself in for.

PICTURES

As discussed, I have given up on posting photos on this site. Click here for a small selection of pics from August, including: the rise from his slumber of the mighty pagan fire horse at Tom's party, A pic of where we stayed in Oz and the view of the valley in the morning plus a few of skiing, apres ski golf etc. Nice!

Odysseus I presume....


The heroic bronzed adonis boards the good ship Granny Knot to set sail for New Zealand after becoming wildly frustrated with shipping agents and the prospect of airline food. Obviously things may take a little longer over sea, especially with the lure and temptation of sirens, mermaids, ferocious giant squids and meeting the mighty Poseidon on an off day.

Undaunted we set sail with our good friends and skippers Mel and Nick on Saturday morning from Portsmouth. After beating into strong winds and straining sinew to keep Granny on tack we finally made it all the way to Bucklers Hard. Much joyous drinking and celebration ensued. With a foggy head and after an extended lie in the next morning, skipper sat us down to consider the following: Wellington is 11,119 miles and 93 days away. The Ewer family ski trip is a mere 21 days away. We had just covered the least perilous 16 miles to Bucklers Hard and Mel was keen to get back to work on Monday.

Dissapointment was evident from the crew but reality took precedent as we headed back home, enabling us to start packing for the more conventional plane flight south.

Travelling by Granny Knot all the way to Wellington, although a romantic idea would also be very stupid. I start to get cabin fever after two days and it also takes at least a month to acquire sturdy enough sea legs to go below deck. However, sailing is considerably kinder to the environment than 747's burning tons of fosil fuels that have serious environmental consequences. So with an environmental conscience Lisa and I decided to carbon neutralise our flights, which is cheaper than you would think to invest in excellent carbon reducing 'grass roots' projects.

Even if you're just on your way to Torremolinos for a knees up, be aware and try to stop global warming turning Kilburn into Death Valley (....hmmm, hang on a second!..)

Welcome Amaya!


The Ferry-Jones' have a daughter and I became an uncle for the first time over the weekend . Quite extraordinary and good to know that at least some of the Jones germ line is making it onto the next generation. Lisa is also completely chuffed to become an aunt again. Amaya is only just over a day old when we visited and look! her head's almost as big as Lisa's already!!!

Going with the Flow..

After a year toying with the possibility of (rather inevitably) moving back to Lisa's native New Zealand we've finally decided to go for it. After going on hols there a couple of times and finding it agreeable, I was then press-ganged into paying exorbitant amounts of money to their government and had medics probe me all in the name of a stamp in the passport. Jesus! don't they know I'm a valuable asset, not some run-of-the-mill Daily Mail'esque sponging, evil, communist, immigrant villain.

The waves of excitement, nerves, packing and characteristic spells of self induced apathy are ensuring that these final weeks are flying by. One-way tickets have been purchased for the 15th August and notice has already been handed in with employers, landlords and my Amazon cd purchasing account (sell your shares now!).

We are stopping en route in Brisbane to visit GM, arriving on the south island just in time to join the Ewer family's annual ski trip. A leisurely jaunt up the west coast will be rapidly followed by frantic efforts to find jobs and accommodation, which we are aiming to do in Wellington but no set plans.

All exciting stuff, but hang on. Before we go......


Leaving bash.

We're organising another one of our do's (the fifth and final dalliance) in Kilburn to provide us with a fitting farewell, memory loss, sleep deprivation and plenty of collatoral damage to cope with the next morning. It's going to be in conjunction with our house mates who are also moving onto pastures new (Aotearoa and Archway). Party details will be sent shortly, otherwise email me to find out the score. It will be on Saturday August the 12th.