Monday, January 31, 2005
Rant of the Day:-
My inability to go to a hostelry without consuming my own body weight in cider.
Song Lyric of the day:-
In the morning I awake
My arms, my legs, my body aches
The sky outside is wet and grey
So begins another weary day.
Quote of the Day:-
EVIL BEAST MOUGABE BANS THE SUN
A headline on the back page of the sun a couple of months back. The whole article was in the vein of - banning the Sun 'newspaper' from covering the cricket tour was the crowning crime in his long history of infamy.
Gag of the Day:-
She dont loike parrots in beer
But she loikes a cockatoo in cider.
Gibber of the Day:-
Last night was Bob and Bridgets last night in the Green Dragon. There was music, dancing and much much drunken stupidity. I can't however remember much of this, I think also their may have been some misguided attempt at dancing by me.
Was halucenogenically pissed and didnt get into work until 11 this morning. Shouldnt have bothered.
My inability to go to a hostelry without consuming my own body weight in cider.
Song Lyric of the day:-
In the morning I awake
My arms, my legs, my body aches
The sky outside is wet and grey
So begins another weary day.
Quote of the Day:-
EVIL BEAST MOUGABE BANS THE SUN
A headline on the back page of the sun a couple of months back. The whole article was in the vein of - banning the Sun 'newspaper' from covering the cricket tour was the crowning crime in his long history of infamy.
Gag of the Day:-
She dont loike parrots in beer
But she loikes a cockatoo in cider.
Gibber of the Day:-
Last night was Bob and Bridgets last night in the Green Dragon. There was music, dancing and much much drunken stupidity. I can't however remember much of this, I think also their may have been some misguided attempt at dancing by me.
Was halucenogenically pissed and didnt get into work until 11 this morning. Shouldnt have bothered.
Thursday, January 27, 2005
I feel that maybe I am too negative so lets have :-
Good thoughts of the Day:-
Doesn't it say alot for the human spirit that despite the evils of the world (such as people killing each other for no reason, and a mournful future of global warming and nuclear war) that we can still get out of bed every morning (well most mornings). We can still detach ourselves enough from all the horror and the torment outside, that we can have a laugh with mates and drink in good company and good pubs with fine cider.
My job is rubbish, my pay is pants, and prospects worse, but I can still see my friends, smile, drink, fall over and enjoy life (even if I can't remember much).
Joy to the world I say.
Sing Jerusalem, take a good lung full of air, have a pint, and think of Englands Green and Pleasant land.
Good thoughts of the Day:-
Doesn't it say alot for the human spirit that despite the evils of the world (such as people killing each other for no reason, and a mournful future of global warming and nuclear war) that we can still get out of bed every morning (well most mornings). We can still detach ourselves enough from all the horror and the torment outside, that we can have a laugh with mates and drink in good company and good pubs with fine cider.
My job is rubbish, my pay is pants, and prospects worse, but I can still see my friends, smile, drink, fall over and enjoy life (even if I can't remember much).
Joy to the world I say.
Sing Jerusalem, take a good lung full of air, have a pint, and think of Englands Green and Pleasant land.
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
Rant of the Day:-
1) Robert Jackson. After 25 years of political mediocrity, warming his little seat on the back benches, this dull and unimaginative non-entity has decided to finish his last three months as an MP in a blaze of glory. Except it wasn’t really a blaze was it, sort of like fireworks you buy from Kwik Save, or trying to ignite a wet fart. I feel sorry for the old boy, I really do. Never liked him very much, and he wasn’t even charismatic enough to get me wound up into a decent rant. Will this make his Knighthood closer, or take it further away? Sir Boresalot, Sir Prisingly-Dull, Sir Tanely-not-worth-voting-for.
2) 24 hour drinking. What a bloody stupid idea. Going to lead to really serious problems. What they should do is ban all day pub opening (except for special occasions), ok people could go home and drink between lunchtime and evening opening, but if they were too pissed they wouldn’t be allowed in for the evening session. Also, they need to have a six month heavy police presence to come down hard on post-booze violence. We do not have a café culture (so it doesn’t matter how many expensive surveys you conduct into French drinking habits), its too bloody cold half the year, and I couldn’t physically make a half last 5 hours. The cardigan wearing Guardian readers who like to holiday in Province twice a year should really remember the less sedate period of their lives when they got whammed at university. The British have always drunk too much, the only way we managed to get people to fight in the Napoleonic War, was by promising them a pint of rum a day (the crappy wages were always months late, but the rum ration never was). This is not a good thing, and I’m not suggesting that it is, but British attitudes to booze are different, and it would take a generation of 24 hour drinking before it all settled down. Better surely to tighten the law again.
Song Lyric of the Day:-
She steps out of the bus with a burst suitcase and a frown
And she could smell the breweries and abatoir on the edge of town
And the man who wants her money won't even lend her an ear
When she phones to demand, his answer's vague
He says - I'll get back to you but, right now I've got to catch a plane
By the time the sun set she was penniless and frozen to the core
The salvation army girls refused her on the grounds they didn't know her
So she asked some wine-o for advice, but he turned out to be
A Sunday Sport reporter who was following his nose
He saidI'll get back to you - but first we need a picture without clothes
Literary Quote of the Day:-
"The reason, Mr. Sharpe, that we do not mistreat prisoners, whatever the provocation, is that the enemy will then mistreat their prisoners in the same manner, and use it as their justification"
(Sharpes Battle, Bernard Cornwall)
Gibber of the Day:-A Summary of All the Stuff thats Happened to me Since my Return
1)The mobile phone 'incident'.
Got a wee bit tipsy on a Sunday night, and was coming back over the boundary between East and West Hendred. Trying to avoid passport control, I took the route over the fields via the Mill and Claytons yard - "over slabby way" to those in the know. Slabby is, a now broken, concrete slab (an old sluice) through which the boundary stream runs. About to leap gracefully and Gazelle like over the stream, bottle in one hand, the mobile phone rings, and I attempt a mid-air answer. This does not work, the phone lands with a fizz, and I land with a splash. I do not however drop the bottle, although it is more full than previously. I go home to search for a torch and return with two candles, more booze and some matches to search for my phone, well aware that even L'oreal and their anti-fizz serum Nutralieum cannot save it.So there I am, on slabby with two candles illuminating the concrete and the surrounding watercourse, drinking booze mumbling and dancing with frustration before realising that I may be shot by a Clayton at any moment for indulging in some bizarre pagan ceremony.
2)Back to work in Oxford.Hmmmm.
Hand in notice on first day back but say I will work until April
3)Go from going to the Gym 3 times a week +squash, +rugby to, well, just eating and drinking more.
4) Christmas and New YearAll good fun and frolics, broke as usual, miguided singing in the Hare, fell out of a walnut tree. East Hendred don't turn up for the tug-o-war, possibly because 3 nights before I had answered taunts from them about their 'forthcoming victory' by shouting, pissed off my mind, in the Eystons - "Oh, and what exactly is East Hendred famous for - I'll tell you Big Women and Little Blokes". This drunken wisdom is actually very true.
Tease Jerome Mercilessly - it was funny, New Years Day about 5 in the morning, theres 5 or 6 of us, Jerome has some bet where he's not allowed to talk for half an hour. After two minutes he writes on a pad "Admit it, I've won, or I won't let you look at the pictures I took tonight", we all laugh at classic manifestation of Jeromeness. I reply. "Couldn't give a shit mate" so he starts to scribble again, so I say "you can write what you like mate, I just won't read it", after two minutes of frantic writing and throwing pieces of paper at me, I say, "Ok mate, I'll read it, but only if your write it in triplicate and in your own blood". Probably a bit harsh.
5) Keith's pool day. Good laugh
6)The Dancing poo. Long story.
Cheerio all, sorry about dull content, being ridiculously opinionated (please feel free to disagree with all or any point) and me dodgeee spelling.
Am very tired.
Love and hugs.
Dan
1) Robert Jackson. After 25 years of political mediocrity, warming his little seat on the back benches, this dull and unimaginative non-entity has decided to finish his last three months as an MP in a blaze of glory. Except it wasn’t really a blaze was it, sort of like fireworks you buy from Kwik Save, or trying to ignite a wet fart. I feel sorry for the old boy, I really do. Never liked him very much, and he wasn’t even charismatic enough to get me wound up into a decent rant. Will this make his Knighthood closer, or take it further away? Sir Boresalot, Sir Prisingly-Dull, Sir Tanely-not-worth-voting-for.
2) 24 hour drinking. What a bloody stupid idea. Going to lead to really serious problems. What they should do is ban all day pub opening (except for special occasions), ok people could go home and drink between lunchtime and evening opening, but if they were too pissed they wouldn’t be allowed in for the evening session. Also, they need to have a six month heavy police presence to come down hard on post-booze violence. We do not have a café culture (so it doesn’t matter how many expensive surveys you conduct into French drinking habits), its too bloody cold half the year, and I couldn’t physically make a half last 5 hours. The cardigan wearing Guardian readers who like to holiday in Province twice a year should really remember the less sedate period of their lives when they got whammed at university. The British have always drunk too much, the only way we managed to get people to fight in the Napoleonic War, was by promising them a pint of rum a day (the crappy wages were always months late, but the rum ration never was). This is not a good thing, and I’m not suggesting that it is, but British attitudes to booze are different, and it would take a generation of 24 hour drinking before it all settled down. Better surely to tighten the law again.
Song Lyric of the Day:-
She steps out of the bus with a burst suitcase and a frown
And she could smell the breweries and abatoir on the edge of town
And the man who wants her money won't even lend her an ear
When she phones to demand, his answer's vague
He says - I'll get back to you but, right now I've got to catch a plane
By the time the sun set she was penniless and frozen to the core
The salvation army girls refused her on the grounds they didn't know her
So she asked some wine-o for advice, but he turned out to be
A Sunday Sport reporter who was following his nose
He saidI'll get back to you - but first we need a picture without clothes
Literary Quote of the Day:-
"The reason, Mr. Sharpe, that we do not mistreat prisoners, whatever the provocation, is that the enemy will then mistreat their prisoners in the same manner, and use it as their justification"
(Sharpes Battle, Bernard Cornwall)
Gibber of the Day:-A Summary of All the Stuff thats Happened to me Since my Return
1)The mobile phone 'incident'.
Got a wee bit tipsy on a Sunday night, and was coming back over the boundary between East and West Hendred. Trying to avoid passport control, I took the route over the fields via the Mill and Claytons yard - "over slabby way" to those in the know. Slabby is, a now broken, concrete slab (an old sluice) through which the boundary stream runs. About to leap gracefully and Gazelle like over the stream, bottle in one hand, the mobile phone rings, and I attempt a mid-air answer. This does not work, the phone lands with a fizz, and I land with a splash. I do not however drop the bottle, although it is more full than previously. I go home to search for a torch and return with two candles, more booze and some matches to search for my phone, well aware that even L'oreal and their anti-fizz serum Nutralieum cannot save it.So there I am, on slabby with two candles illuminating the concrete and the surrounding watercourse, drinking booze mumbling and dancing with frustration before realising that I may be shot by a Clayton at any moment for indulging in some bizarre pagan ceremony.
2)Back to work in Oxford.Hmmmm.
Hand in notice on first day back but say I will work until April
3)Go from going to the Gym 3 times a week +squash, +rugby to, well, just eating and drinking more.
4) Christmas and New YearAll good fun and frolics, broke as usual, miguided singing in the Hare, fell out of a walnut tree. East Hendred don't turn up for the tug-o-war, possibly because 3 nights before I had answered taunts from them about their 'forthcoming victory' by shouting, pissed off my mind, in the Eystons - "Oh, and what exactly is East Hendred famous for - I'll tell you Big Women and Little Blokes". This drunken wisdom is actually very true.
Tease Jerome Mercilessly - it was funny, New Years Day about 5 in the morning, theres 5 or 6 of us, Jerome has some bet where he's not allowed to talk for half an hour. After two minutes he writes on a pad "Admit it, I've won, or I won't let you look at the pictures I took tonight", we all laugh at classic manifestation of Jeromeness. I reply. "Couldn't give a shit mate" so he starts to scribble again, so I say "you can write what you like mate, I just won't read it", after two minutes of frantic writing and throwing pieces of paper at me, I say, "Ok mate, I'll read it, but only if your write it in triplicate and in your own blood". Probably a bit harsh.
5) Keith's pool day. Good laugh
6)The Dancing poo. Long story.
Cheerio all, sorry about dull content, being ridiculously opinionated (please feel free to disagree with all or any point) and me dodgeee spelling.
Am very tired.
Love and hugs.
Dan
Thursday, January 13, 2005
Rant of the Day:-
1) Made up scientific stuff. Its bad enough L'oreal coming up with Nutraliem, which apparently is an "anti-frizz serum", but one of those yoghurt companies have come up with a positive bacteria with the name something like Munchium Digestivum. Maybe, or probably actually, I'm just ignorant, but those have got ot be made up haven't they? Jonathan?
2) Work. Whats the point. We spend a third of our lives asleep, a third at work, and that leaves only a third of our lives as actually ours to do with as we wish. What a bunch of arse. We could utilise some sleepy time obviously for the benefit of leisure (no jokes please), but ultimately we always have to pay back the sleepy time over-draft (particularly if you're a Riggs kid). So what should we do, should we, as I am now, use our work time to follow our leisure pursuits? I say yes, why not, as long as its not for too much of the day.
3) OK, off work today and am unwell. Just heard someone on the TV describe something he referred to as a "Permanent Travellers Camp". Is this not a contradiction in terms? would this not make them stationers? Got to stop watching the TV.
Song Lyric of the Day:-
Some died in ecstasy
Others died in poverty
But they all died with their boots on
At the shouting end of life.
Literary Quote of the Day:-
Holmes and Watson are on a train to Winchester through the rolling Downland countryside in the Adventure of the Copper Beeches, and Watson remarks on the beauty of the isolated farmsteads.
"They always fill me with a certain horror. It is my belief Watson, founded on experience, that the lowest and vilest alleys in London do not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and beautiful countryside".
"You horrify me!".
"But the reason is very obvious. The pressure of public opinion can do in the town what the law cannot accomplish. There is no lane so vile that the scream of a tortured child, or the thud of a drunkards blow, does not beget sympathy and indignation anong the neighbours, and then the whole machinery of justice is ever so close that a word of complaint can set it going, and there is but a step between the crime and the dock. But look at these lonely houses, each in its own fields, filled for the most part with poor ignorant folk who know little of the law. Think of the hellish deeds of cruelty, the hidden wickedness which may go on, year in, year out in such places, and none the wiser".
Gibber of the Day:-
The End of the Shoogventure. The Coromandel peninsula, Aukland, Slight Return.
Friday - We head off to the Coromandel Peninsula, hoping to stop of and do some Zorbing on the way. This involves get sealed into a large see-through plastic ball with some water and getting pushed down a hill until you reach terminal velocity. We find the place, but on arrival I enquire at the desk whether there is a weight restriction, and the bloke says laughing, "well yea, but its like twenty tons bro" I step on the scales just to check as the shoogster and I were going to go in the same Zorb ball thing and I didnt want to crush him (Anna would kill me). I come in a hefty 5 kg over the limit and the bloke stares wide-eyed and shouts "Jees bro, where do you put it all". I smile and decide to leave before he calls me a "feckun big unit" and walk back to the van where Tom is giving Bertie a quick servicing (Bertie is the van if you remember). I thought Tom would be disappointed, and try to encourage him to go Zorbing on his own as I fancy something to cheer me up, but no - its Zorb for all or Zorb for none.
The drive up is really beautiful, as is this whole country, but there is a definite feel of the Carribean (to which I've never been) about the topography. We talk about all sorts on the way, from birds to booze and Britain, and whether the Wombles ever really existed. We have breakfast in a roadside diner that has an Ostrich, and a small horse in its grounds. A very small horse - this is where Tom took the 'Big Dan, Small Horse' picture - positively Lilliputian.
We decide to stay at a place called something like Tairau, a beautiful place in a natural harbour at the feet of Mount Something (still havent found my notes). We climbed Mount, well, lets call it Edam, and the views were superb (see the shoogsters photo album - Shoogs, forgot to send you mine to add - pester me). The Hostel was in a really nice spot on the opposite side of the bay from Mount Edam, and we sat on the beach and did tunes that night and got significantly whammed before proceeding to the Tavern in the Town:-
Was it Tom's hoodie that did it, or my mock jollity; scarcely have I encoutered a frostier welcome, and I've been made to feel unwelcome in some pretty posh places in my time you know. That night we get more hammered, and old Dan formulates a conclusion. The menus were in German, most of our fellow hostellers are German, - a ha, I have it, Tairua is a former German colony which thrived on cheese smuggling (thankyou Tom), and has no love for the Britishers.
Saturday - Get up earlyish and we decide to take a wee visit to the rather beautiful Catherdral Cove. We decide against going to Hot Water Beach on the way there, apparently it's VERY popular, you dig a hole in the beach, it fills up with hot water from the springs, and you sit in it until the tide comes in. As I say, apparently its very popular?!?.
While at Catherdral Cove we decide to go snorkelling. We hire some stuff (and it fits me too!) and we make sure that there are no sharks in the area, by asking the nice bloke at the hire shop. We climb down the cliff face in the hot sunshine, although Tom makes us hide from a rum looking group of swarthy cheese smugglers on the way - hiding there ill gotten cheese prize before taking it into Tairua harbour. I wonder if he's still drunk. I absoloutely cack myself while snorkelling although Tom takes to it like a Shoogs to water, feeling a bit of a wimp I swim out to one of the bouys marking the safe area - I grab the bar which girts its cirumference, and it swiwngs towards me almost knocking me unconsciuos. Tom pretends concern, but I can see its relief that he doesnt have to perform life saving operations on a chunker, half a mile out to sea.
Lots of fun, lots of fish, bloody tiring. Can I just say at this point Tom that the bloke lied to us, there are sharks off the North Island, bloody big ones to, I read recently in the paper how a group of swimmers were saved from sharks off the North Island by Dolphins. Bastard, wish I'd relieved myself in his wetsuit now, nearly did anyway just thinking about sharks.
That night we had a bloody nice meal in town and everyone was really friendly, there was no saurkraut on the menu, and crucially Tom wasnt wearing the hoodie. They obviously thought he was a gang-stA. One of us got very buckled, can't remember which one so it was probably me.
Sunday - Set off back to Auckland, and on the way we stopped at some roadside place for brekky. I had a Trukkies Special (actually on the board it looked like a Fukkies Special - I was dissapointed!). This monster breakfast arrived and my arteries screamed, Tom took a piccie I think. The worst thing was that not only did I finish all mine, but I wolfed down half of Tom's aswell - to much shoogie hilarity.
We got back to Auckland, and checked into the Brown Kiwi once again, we went for a beer only to find that All Nations Tavern (see first entry) has been shut for non-payment of debts, we go somewhere else and have an empathitic bevvy. The Cavalier was where we went I believe - off to smell the Randal, and look at the Colonial piccies once more. The NPC rugby final was on, and very entertaining it was too, I also make Tom eat one more steak (for old times sake). We got, I think, very mashed.
Monday - Departure day. I got up early, about 2 hours pre-shoogie waking hour, and went and had breakfast in Cafe Liason (to be read in a voice like Boycey from Only Fools and Horses), and went for a quick beer (amazing how many places serve booze for brekky), before returning to pick up the Shoogs, and go for a farewell beer in the Cavalier. Tom wrote about a few post cards for me to deliver (one of which I think I actually have - Bid D mail is the opposite of E-mail), and the shoogs took me to the airport. I am soiling myself with fear over the flight, but feeling tearful I hug the Shoogster, pat faithful Bertie, the van of legend, and haul myself and my worldly possessions onto the plane (after getting drunkish at the airport - for courage of course).
Not much to say about the flight back really, no time for booze or poos at any of the airports (apart from Brisbane which recieved my particular attention). Sat next to an enormous rude man most of the way, and was gasping for water (I'm sure they did something to the air). Oh and all the films were the same as on the way over.
I ran back through customs as fast as possible, flashing my passport to Immigration (who frisked me and looked askance at my steelies), I made it to a booze repository, bought some cider (Scrumpy Jack to be exact), headed to the station and necked some of the elixior of life.
There are few things we can be proud of these days in this country, but we do make the finest Cider, anything else is a poor immitation.
And so ends the Shoogventure. Thankyou to you my friend for treasured memories I shall have all my life (apart from the booziest bits I couldnt even remember then). Sorry about all the steaks and fry-ups, all the booze, and for the bits of Napier where it all went wrong. You, young man, are a legend.
What a beautiful country New Zealand is.
Apart from the sharks
Love and Hugs
Dan
1) Made up scientific stuff. Its bad enough L'oreal coming up with Nutraliem, which apparently is an "anti-frizz serum", but one of those yoghurt companies have come up with a positive bacteria with the name something like Munchium Digestivum. Maybe, or probably actually, I'm just ignorant, but those have got ot be made up haven't they? Jonathan?
2) Work. Whats the point. We spend a third of our lives asleep, a third at work, and that leaves only a third of our lives as actually ours to do with as we wish. What a bunch of arse. We could utilise some sleepy time obviously for the benefit of leisure (no jokes please), but ultimately we always have to pay back the sleepy time over-draft (particularly if you're a Riggs kid). So what should we do, should we, as I am now, use our work time to follow our leisure pursuits? I say yes, why not, as long as its not for too much of the day.
3) OK, off work today and am unwell. Just heard someone on the TV describe something he referred to as a "Permanent Travellers Camp". Is this not a contradiction in terms? would this not make them stationers? Got to stop watching the TV.
Song Lyric of the Day:-
Some died in ecstasy
Others died in poverty
But they all died with their boots on
At the shouting end of life.
Literary Quote of the Day:-
Holmes and Watson are on a train to Winchester through the rolling Downland countryside in the Adventure of the Copper Beeches, and Watson remarks on the beauty of the isolated farmsteads.
"They always fill me with a certain horror. It is my belief Watson, founded on experience, that the lowest and vilest alleys in London do not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and beautiful countryside".
"You horrify me!".
"But the reason is very obvious. The pressure of public opinion can do in the town what the law cannot accomplish. There is no lane so vile that the scream of a tortured child, or the thud of a drunkards blow, does not beget sympathy and indignation anong the neighbours, and then the whole machinery of justice is ever so close that a word of complaint can set it going, and there is but a step between the crime and the dock. But look at these lonely houses, each in its own fields, filled for the most part with poor ignorant folk who know little of the law. Think of the hellish deeds of cruelty, the hidden wickedness which may go on, year in, year out in such places, and none the wiser".
Gibber of the Day:-
The End of the Shoogventure. The Coromandel peninsula, Aukland, Slight Return.
Friday - We head off to the Coromandel Peninsula, hoping to stop of and do some Zorbing on the way. This involves get sealed into a large see-through plastic ball with some water and getting pushed down a hill until you reach terminal velocity. We find the place, but on arrival I enquire at the desk whether there is a weight restriction, and the bloke says laughing, "well yea, but its like twenty tons bro" I step on the scales just to check as the shoogster and I were going to go in the same Zorb ball thing and I didnt want to crush him (Anna would kill me). I come in a hefty 5 kg over the limit and the bloke stares wide-eyed and shouts "Jees bro, where do you put it all". I smile and decide to leave before he calls me a "feckun big unit" and walk back to the van where Tom is giving Bertie a quick servicing (Bertie is the van if you remember). I thought Tom would be disappointed, and try to encourage him to go Zorbing on his own as I fancy something to cheer me up, but no - its Zorb for all or Zorb for none.
The drive up is really beautiful, as is this whole country, but there is a definite feel of the Carribean (to which I've never been) about the topography. We talk about all sorts on the way, from birds to booze and Britain, and whether the Wombles ever really existed. We have breakfast in a roadside diner that has an Ostrich, and a small horse in its grounds. A very small horse - this is where Tom took the 'Big Dan, Small Horse' picture - positively Lilliputian.
We decide to stay at a place called something like Tairau, a beautiful place in a natural harbour at the feet of Mount Something (still havent found my notes). We climbed Mount, well, lets call it Edam, and the views were superb (see the shoogsters photo album - Shoogs, forgot to send you mine to add - pester me). The Hostel was in a really nice spot on the opposite side of the bay from Mount Edam, and we sat on the beach and did tunes that night and got significantly whammed before proceeding to the Tavern in the Town:-
Was it Tom's hoodie that did it, or my mock jollity; scarcely have I encoutered a frostier welcome, and I've been made to feel unwelcome in some pretty posh places in my time you know. That night we get more hammered, and old Dan formulates a conclusion. The menus were in German, most of our fellow hostellers are German, - a ha, I have it, Tairua is a former German colony which thrived on cheese smuggling (thankyou Tom), and has no love for the Britishers.
Saturday - Get up earlyish and we decide to take a wee visit to the rather beautiful Catherdral Cove. We decide against going to Hot Water Beach on the way there, apparently it's VERY popular, you dig a hole in the beach, it fills up with hot water from the springs, and you sit in it until the tide comes in. As I say, apparently its very popular?!?.
While at Catherdral Cove we decide to go snorkelling. We hire some stuff (and it fits me too!) and we make sure that there are no sharks in the area, by asking the nice bloke at the hire shop. We climb down the cliff face in the hot sunshine, although Tom makes us hide from a rum looking group of swarthy cheese smugglers on the way - hiding there ill gotten cheese prize before taking it into Tairua harbour. I wonder if he's still drunk. I absoloutely cack myself while snorkelling although Tom takes to it like a Shoogs to water, feeling a bit of a wimp I swim out to one of the bouys marking the safe area - I grab the bar which girts its cirumference, and it swiwngs towards me almost knocking me unconsciuos. Tom pretends concern, but I can see its relief that he doesnt have to perform life saving operations on a chunker, half a mile out to sea.
Lots of fun, lots of fish, bloody tiring. Can I just say at this point Tom that the bloke lied to us, there are sharks off the North Island, bloody big ones to, I read recently in the paper how a group of swimmers were saved from sharks off the North Island by Dolphins. Bastard, wish I'd relieved myself in his wetsuit now, nearly did anyway just thinking about sharks.
That night we had a bloody nice meal in town and everyone was really friendly, there was no saurkraut on the menu, and crucially Tom wasnt wearing the hoodie. They obviously thought he was a gang-stA. One of us got very buckled, can't remember which one so it was probably me.
Sunday - Set off back to Auckland, and on the way we stopped at some roadside place for brekky. I had a Trukkies Special (actually on the board it looked like a Fukkies Special - I was dissapointed!). This monster breakfast arrived and my arteries screamed, Tom took a piccie I think. The worst thing was that not only did I finish all mine, but I wolfed down half of Tom's aswell - to much shoogie hilarity.
We got back to Auckland, and checked into the Brown Kiwi once again, we went for a beer only to find that All Nations Tavern (see first entry) has been shut for non-payment of debts, we go somewhere else and have an empathitic bevvy. The Cavalier was where we went I believe - off to smell the Randal, and look at the Colonial piccies once more. The NPC rugby final was on, and very entertaining it was too, I also make Tom eat one more steak (for old times sake). We got, I think, very mashed.
Monday - Departure day. I got up early, about 2 hours pre-shoogie waking hour, and went and had breakfast in Cafe Liason (to be read in a voice like Boycey from Only Fools and Horses), and went for a quick beer (amazing how many places serve booze for brekky), before returning to pick up the Shoogs, and go for a farewell beer in the Cavalier. Tom wrote about a few post cards for me to deliver (one of which I think I actually have - Bid D mail is the opposite of E-mail), and the shoogs took me to the airport. I am soiling myself with fear over the flight, but feeling tearful I hug the Shoogster, pat faithful Bertie, the van of legend, and haul myself and my worldly possessions onto the plane (after getting drunkish at the airport - for courage of course).
Not much to say about the flight back really, no time for booze or poos at any of the airports (apart from Brisbane which recieved my particular attention). Sat next to an enormous rude man most of the way, and was gasping for water (I'm sure they did something to the air). Oh and all the films were the same as on the way over.
I ran back through customs as fast as possible, flashing my passport to Immigration (who frisked me and looked askance at my steelies), I made it to a booze repository, bought some cider (Scrumpy Jack to be exact), headed to the station and necked some of the elixior of life.
There are few things we can be proud of these days in this country, but we do make the finest Cider, anything else is a poor immitation.
And so ends the Shoogventure. Thankyou to you my friend for treasured memories I shall have all my life (apart from the booziest bits I couldnt even remember then). Sorry about all the steaks and fry-ups, all the booze, and for the bits of Napier where it all went wrong. You, young man, are a legend.
What a beautiful country New Zealand is.
Apart from the sharks
Love and Hugs
Dan
Tuesday, January 04, 2005
Rant of the Day:-
1) My own weakness once more. First day back at work. I cant cope without my 11 o'clock booze / snooze. I'm going to be all tired and cross this afternoon. I wonder how many calories I've poured through myself over the years.
2)The absurd pointlessness of politics, the French and Linda Barker. I will now leave Linda Barker alone, if she promises not to send me badly addressed and incorrectly titled letters. Sorry Linda, I'm sure that you are lovely - in real life.
3) The comparative cheapness, but shocking rarity in pubs of the wonderful fermentation of that naughty apple fruit -Stowford Press Cider. Thats the bloody breweries that is. Closed shop isnt it. As if its not bad enough that they close village pubs and flog them off for housing, they hike up prices and turn decent pubs into, into, into.....wine bars, no, now they deprive us of the best pub cider money can buy. Strongbows good for everyday use I suppose, scrumpy jack is better but still not there. Dry blackthorn is the poor or desperate mans option, and Olde English, once a pillar of the cider world, I suspect has been altered to change its sacred taste. Merrydown, the Old Mezza, Old faithful is excellent cold and does the trick, and K lovely K, again cold you are a Countess amongst ciders. But the cider Kingdom is ruled by Stowford.
And my homebrew.
Song Lyric of the Day:-
People say you are a stand-up guy
You'd never hurt no-one and you'd never try
And you laugh, and you cry,
And you do all the things that anybody does to show they are alive
Friends say you are a careful Man
You're always showing reason, Where you can
And you laugh, and you cry,
And you do all the things that anybody does to show they are alive
But wherever you go
Whatever you do
You know that they won't find a fool
Quite like you
Yeah life is cruel
Literary Quote of the Day:-
"but the solar system!" I protested.
"What the duece is it to me?" he interupted impatiently: "you say that we go round the sun. If we went round the moon it would make not a pennyworth of difference to me or to my work".
(Sherlock Holmes - A Study in Scarlet).
Gibber of the Day:- The Kiwi Diaries - The Not Quite Final Entry (Woof). Part Three. Surreal weirdness, near death experiences, copius amounts of cheap red wine..
Right, Well, I've lost me notes, so I shall have to depend on booze-hazed memories and Shoogs correcting this where its wrong.
Monday - Awoke in the morning, or rather, was awoken by siesmic rumblings (which was a bit freaky), and went for a couple of beers and a read of me book at a pub down by Lake Taupo, where a couple of hours later Tom joined me, and we made an executive decision to stay in Taupo again that night, as we were both shattered. As I recall, we had a very pleasant relaxing day, except when Tom decided we should 'do something', so we went to the Craters of the Moon, where there are volcanic craters and hot bubbling mud. Quite exciting I hear you cry, no I reply. There were just some steaming holes in the ground that smelt like Jeromes feet. We did however feel better for exploring and had justified a return to the pub. That night, we sang songs before our evening session, went back to the Irish pub for tea and biscuits (booze and steak), talked happily, returned to the hostel and played music, til the wee lad passed out mid song and slumped over his guitar, and I sent ill-advised text messages to people.
Tuesday - Suprisingly awoke in the morning, and we eventually set off for Napier, choosing that destination after circling a round-a-bout 8 times and saying to each other, "I dont know what do you think?" about a hundred times. Nice long journey, beautiful scenery, and a good old gibber about life the universe and everything. We had been given some vouchers for money off if we stayed in the Old Prison at Napier, this we thought would be quite cool, despite the information literature containing expressions in the vein of (and these are not my "inverted commas") Why not try "doing some time", and "hanging around" at the Old Prison.
Napier was beautiful full of art deco buildings and the like, although Tom and I have a mild disagreement about which is bette - a gold fountain in the form of a naked lady, gilded and with water coming out of her head (Tom's favourite), or a large corrugated iron King Kong, holding a coke can, climbing out the top of a dancing school (my personal favourite). Tom I think has more class, although I failed to see the attraction of the plastic dancing mussels on the side of the seafood restaraunt - I still do you big plastic-thing-loving-freak.
We decide to skip the prison tour until the morning, mainly because we're scared, but also cos we want to get to the pub. Tom meets me in town where I am tucking into my second steak of the evening, and we venture of to a really nice pub whose name I cant remember. Its fantastic, all original art deco inside and out, and we really start warming to the place. We have a Jeeves and Wooster moment and order cocktails, it really is rather cool, and we are definately into the theme now. The barman takes our piccies as we slurp our manhattans. Then Tom does it again, he leaves me to go to the loo. Fatal. This is where it begins to go surreal and wrong.
While Tom's in the loo, two deaf Irish girls come up and ask if they can join us, I say 'of course' as they seem very friendly and pleasant. As I am a little worse for wear I do not notice that they are steaming drunk. Tom returns, is suprised but we all chat away happily, Tom however keeps forgetting they need to lip read and keeps talking into his Manhattan. They call time in the pub, and we go our seperate ways, Tom and I fairly pleased to be on our own again, we decide to double back to a different pub and get a few late ones in. They girls find us again, and in the intervening period have got more pissed, they've also picked up the attentions of a couple of o.k.ish seeming Kiwi lads. While Tom tries to fend off the attentions of one of the girls, while her friend and I try with little success to shut up one of the Kiwi blokes, who is banging on about being a multi-millionare even though he's only 23 - on and on and on he went - telling us about a thousand times how he'd been at that barbeque where the former french rugby captain shot his wife. His mate seemed OK though.
To cut a long story short, just as Tom was saying to his devotee (as she was trying to stick her tongue in his ear) "OK, I think that’s quite enough now. Stop please.", the barman comes up the stairs and shouts "I told you to get out, f*cking get out now". Tom and I have no idea what this is about until theok mate of the boring captain of industry says, in a calm voice, "that’s me I’d better go, have a good trip" and leaves. I pretend to go to the toilet and ask the barman about what happened. He said, fair play to him "don’t worry, I don’t tar everyone with the same brush, you’re more than welcome to stay". It turns out that the quite bloke had dropped his money at the bar and a couple of locals had tried to help him pick it up and he’d started screaming "touch my f*cking money and I’ll cut you, I’ll f*cking cut you". I appologised profusely and said we didn’t know him and that I was surprised cos his mate was far more of a knob. I went back upstairs and pointedly suggested to captain yawn that he go and see if his friend was OK, which thankfully he did. We were then thankfully left alone. We just finished our drinks and left wondering what the next day would hold.
Wednesday - The next day we discovered that the two girls were actually in the room next door, but fortunately they didn’t join us on the prison tour which we had booked for the morning. This tour was horrendous. The people at the hostel were lovely, but I found the slapstick approach to the prison tour, and the hanging of inmates, somewhat macabre, it was very grim, we both feel glad that we didn’t do the tour yesterday. We both feel a little shell shocked by our visit to Napier and decide to leave after breakfast. As we are driving away we have to go around a man drilling a hole in the middle of the road with a hand-drill, he has a manic glint in his eye and we are fairly sure he isnt a council official, and doesn’t work for the utilities. Neither of us speak or exchange glances until we see the sign telling us we are leaving Napier. Tom slows down to look at the plastic mussels again and I can contain it no longer - In the calmest voice I can muster I cry "are you insane? quicker man, quicker".
We have a fantastic and very long drive to Rotarua, driving first through the wine producing country of the fertile lands around Napier and then up through the unsealed (ie shit)roads of a fantastic National Park, where we see forests, lakes, waterfalls and all manner of natures beautiful bounty. Its fantastic, and we have a great chat about birds and stuff. As we come down from the mountains of the National Park (after about 8 hours) we are encountered by the brightest, biggest double rainbow I ever thought existed. No sign of zippy, geoffrey and bungle anywhere though (where george and bungle an item we ask ourselves). Lovely it was. Then via a long straight Roman-like road into Rotarua.
The place stinks, and I cant help thing that maybe I inadvertantly packed one of Jeromes socks, as the smell is following us. Its a bit of a dive but the hostel is OK, and we meet Jo, one of Tom's friends from the hostel in Aukland. Couple of nice pubs, 's'alright, we have a laugh, get a bit whammed - obviously.
Thursday - This is our day of watersports, fear not faint hearted, not of the German variety. We decide to go white water rafting. Level 5 or 6 or something, I'm a bit concerned as my travel insurance only covers me up to level 3. We get a mini-bus to the site, and prepare to don our equipment. I suddenly realise the disadvantages of being blubbery in this sport. They find a wet suit to fit me, but the life jackets are going to be tricky "Jees", the lad shouts, "these are supposed to be one size fits all.....looks like you could be the exception to the rule bro". With some breath holding we get it on (the life jacket). Now comes the hat, the bloke slaps me on the arm and shouts "you're a feckun big unit bro" - does he mean I'm a penis or that I'm a chunky chap. Judgement call.
Off we go down the river, bit of a laugh, bit scary. Its ok until they say things like "wad-ever yu do dont fall out of the boat now" - like its within our control, we try to drop down an 8 metre high waterfall in the raft, we land, the boat tips, Tom is thrown clear I hide in an air thingy underneath until they shout to us to get clear. Pleased to be alive we clamber back into the raft. and wait around as a support boat for the next waterfallees. Tom and I both feel a little uncomfortable about shouting "flip, flip" at the next boat to try it, so despite orders, only mumble it as the next boat elegantly slides beneath the foaming, boiling water, dispensing its cargo of people over sharp rocks, and churning eddies. And on we go, the rest of the ride is more relaxed - how could it be more scary. On completion of the ride we help to carry the boats back to the vans. The blokes keep saying how much of a "feckun big unit" I am and ask me how tall I am, so I reply 6'2", but 6'8" in my heels. My attempt at comedy was ill advised as they now believe me to be a "Big Feckun Tranny", they dont say it, but I can see it in their eyes. I try to recover the situation, but make it worse. ALWAYS remember, when trying watersports, the only thing golden is silence.
The blokes at the rafting place have taken stills of the ride from the cliff sides. As Tom and I watch the slide show of our boat approaching the waterfall as its about to drop down, our group leader bloke says "thats the money shot". We look at each other and hope that this means something different in New Zealand.
That night at the raft blokes'(they were very nice blokes) recommendation we try a steak place in town. Its very expensive though and all the "inverted commas" on the menu are driving us slowly insane. We have a steak at a pub in town then head back to the hostel, where we have a few drinks with Tom's friend Jo and her really nice but very skinny mate. We all get a bit battered and I end up going off on one about pretty much everything, with the prolific use of the phrase "and I'll tell you another thing", and "ooh, don't get me started". Good night though.
Friday -
We set off for Coromandel, leaving our room copiusly sprayed with red wine from the night before. We dont feel too bad and dont 'fess up (as the kids say)as we are told the place has been flogged over night to new owners.
NEXT INSTALLMENT
The Coromandel peninsula, Aukland, Slight Return.
Love and hugs, sorry about the spelling
Dan
1) My own weakness once more. First day back at work. I cant cope without my 11 o'clock booze / snooze. I'm going to be all tired and cross this afternoon. I wonder how many calories I've poured through myself over the years.
2)The absurd pointlessness of politics, the French and Linda Barker. I will now leave Linda Barker alone, if she promises not to send me badly addressed and incorrectly titled letters. Sorry Linda, I'm sure that you are lovely - in real life.
3) The comparative cheapness, but shocking rarity in pubs of the wonderful fermentation of that naughty apple fruit -Stowford Press Cider. Thats the bloody breweries that is. Closed shop isnt it. As if its not bad enough that they close village pubs and flog them off for housing, they hike up prices and turn decent pubs into, into, into.....wine bars, no, now they deprive us of the best pub cider money can buy. Strongbows good for everyday use I suppose, scrumpy jack is better but still not there. Dry blackthorn is the poor or desperate mans option, and Olde English, once a pillar of the cider world, I suspect has been altered to change its sacred taste. Merrydown, the Old Mezza, Old faithful is excellent cold and does the trick, and K lovely K, again cold you are a Countess amongst ciders. But the cider Kingdom is ruled by Stowford.
And my homebrew.
Song Lyric of the Day:-
People say you are a stand-up guy
You'd never hurt no-one and you'd never try
And you laugh, and you cry,
And you do all the things that anybody does to show they are alive
Friends say you are a careful Man
You're always showing reason, Where you can
And you laugh, and you cry,
And you do all the things that anybody does to show they are alive
But wherever you go
Whatever you do
You know that they won't find a fool
Quite like you
Yeah life is cruel
Literary Quote of the Day:-
"but the solar system!" I protested.
"What the duece is it to me?" he interupted impatiently: "you say that we go round the sun. If we went round the moon it would make not a pennyworth of difference to me or to my work".
(Sherlock Holmes - A Study in Scarlet).
Gibber of the Day:- The Kiwi Diaries - The Not Quite Final Entry (Woof). Part Three. Surreal weirdness, near death experiences, copius amounts of cheap red wine..
Right, Well, I've lost me notes, so I shall have to depend on booze-hazed memories and Shoogs correcting this where its wrong.
Monday - Awoke in the morning, or rather, was awoken by siesmic rumblings (which was a bit freaky), and went for a couple of beers and a read of me book at a pub down by Lake Taupo, where a couple of hours later Tom joined me, and we made an executive decision to stay in Taupo again that night, as we were both shattered. As I recall, we had a very pleasant relaxing day, except when Tom decided we should 'do something', so we went to the Craters of the Moon, where there are volcanic craters and hot bubbling mud. Quite exciting I hear you cry, no I reply. There were just some steaming holes in the ground that smelt like Jeromes feet. We did however feel better for exploring and had justified a return to the pub. That night, we sang songs before our evening session, went back to the Irish pub for tea and biscuits (booze and steak), talked happily, returned to the hostel and played music, til the wee lad passed out mid song and slumped over his guitar, and I sent ill-advised text messages to people.
Tuesday - Suprisingly awoke in the morning, and we eventually set off for Napier, choosing that destination after circling a round-a-bout 8 times and saying to each other, "I dont know what do you think?" about a hundred times. Nice long journey, beautiful scenery, and a good old gibber about life the universe and everything. We had been given some vouchers for money off if we stayed in the Old Prison at Napier, this we thought would be quite cool, despite the information literature containing expressions in the vein of (and these are not my "inverted commas") Why not try "doing some time", and "hanging around" at the Old Prison.
Napier was beautiful full of art deco buildings and the like, although Tom and I have a mild disagreement about which is bette - a gold fountain in the form of a naked lady, gilded and with water coming out of her head (Tom's favourite), or a large corrugated iron King Kong, holding a coke can, climbing out the top of a dancing school (my personal favourite). Tom I think has more class, although I failed to see the attraction of the plastic dancing mussels on the side of the seafood restaraunt - I still do you big plastic-thing-loving-freak.
We decide to skip the prison tour until the morning, mainly because we're scared, but also cos we want to get to the pub. Tom meets me in town where I am tucking into my second steak of the evening, and we venture of to a really nice pub whose name I cant remember. Its fantastic, all original art deco inside and out, and we really start warming to the place. We have a Jeeves and Wooster moment and order cocktails, it really is rather cool, and we are definately into the theme now. The barman takes our piccies as we slurp our manhattans. Then Tom does it again, he leaves me to go to the loo. Fatal. This is where it begins to go surreal and wrong.
While Tom's in the loo, two deaf Irish girls come up and ask if they can join us, I say 'of course' as they seem very friendly and pleasant. As I am a little worse for wear I do not notice that they are steaming drunk. Tom returns, is suprised but we all chat away happily, Tom however keeps forgetting they need to lip read and keeps talking into his Manhattan. They call time in the pub, and we go our seperate ways, Tom and I fairly pleased to be on our own again, we decide to double back to a different pub and get a few late ones in. They girls find us again, and in the intervening period have got more pissed, they've also picked up the attentions of a couple of o.k.ish seeming Kiwi lads. While Tom tries to fend off the attentions of one of the girls, while her friend and I try with little success to shut up one of the Kiwi blokes, who is banging on about being a multi-millionare even though he's only 23 - on and on and on he went - telling us about a thousand times how he'd been at that barbeque where the former french rugby captain shot his wife. His mate seemed OK though.
To cut a long story short, just as Tom was saying to his devotee (as she was trying to stick her tongue in his ear) "OK, I think that’s quite enough now. Stop please.", the barman comes up the stairs and shouts "I told you to get out, f*cking get out now". Tom and I have no idea what this is about until theok mate of the boring captain of industry says, in a calm voice, "that’s me I’d better go, have a good trip" and leaves. I pretend to go to the toilet and ask the barman about what happened. He said, fair play to him "don’t worry, I don’t tar everyone with the same brush, you’re more than welcome to stay". It turns out that the quite bloke had dropped his money at the bar and a couple of locals had tried to help him pick it up and he’d started screaming "touch my f*cking money and I’ll cut you, I’ll f*cking cut you". I appologised profusely and said we didn’t know him and that I was surprised cos his mate was far more of a knob. I went back upstairs and pointedly suggested to captain yawn that he go and see if his friend was OK, which thankfully he did. We were then thankfully left alone. We just finished our drinks and left wondering what the next day would hold.
Wednesday - The next day we discovered that the two girls were actually in the room next door, but fortunately they didn’t join us on the prison tour which we had booked for the morning. This tour was horrendous. The people at the hostel were lovely, but I found the slapstick approach to the prison tour, and the hanging of inmates, somewhat macabre, it was very grim, we both feel glad that we didn’t do the tour yesterday. We both feel a little shell shocked by our visit to Napier and decide to leave after breakfast. As we are driving away we have to go around a man drilling a hole in the middle of the road with a hand-drill, he has a manic glint in his eye and we are fairly sure he isnt a council official, and doesn’t work for the utilities. Neither of us speak or exchange glances until we see the sign telling us we are leaving Napier. Tom slows down to look at the plastic mussels again and I can contain it no longer - In the calmest voice I can muster I cry "are you insane? quicker man, quicker".
We have a fantastic and very long drive to Rotarua, driving first through the wine producing country of the fertile lands around Napier and then up through the unsealed (ie shit)roads of a fantastic National Park, where we see forests, lakes, waterfalls and all manner of natures beautiful bounty. Its fantastic, and we have a great chat about birds and stuff. As we come down from the mountains of the National Park (after about 8 hours) we are encountered by the brightest, biggest double rainbow I ever thought existed. No sign of zippy, geoffrey and bungle anywhere though (where george and bungle an item we ask ourselves). Lovely it was. Then via a long straight Roman-like road into Rotarua.
The place stinks, and I cant help thing that maybe I inadvertantly packed one of Jeromes socks, as the smell is following us. Its a bit of a dive but the hostel is OK, and we meet Jo, one of Tom's friends from the hostel in Aukland. Couple of nice pubs, 's'alright, we have a laugh, get a bit whammed - obviously.
Thursday - This is our day of watersports, fear not faint hearted, not of the German variety. We decide to go white water rafting. Level 5 or 6 or something, I'm a bit concerned as my travel insurance only covers me up to level 3. We get a mini-bus to the site, and prepare to don our equipment. I suddenly realise the disadvantages of being blubbery in this sport. They find a wet suit to fit me, but the life jackets are going to be tricky "Jees", the lad shouts, "these are supposed to be one size fits all.....looks like you could be the exception to the rule bro". With some breath holding we get it on (the life jacket). Now comes the hat, the bloke slaps me on the arm and shouts "you're a feckun big unit bro" - does he mean I'm a penis or that I'm a chunky chap. Judgement call.
Off we go down the river, bit of a laugh, bit scary. Its ok until they say things like "wad-ever yu do dont fall out of the boat now" - like its within our control, we try to drop down an 8 metre high waterfall in the raft, we land, the boat tips, Tom is thrown clear I hide in an air thingy underneath until they shout to us to get clear. Pleased to be alive we clamber back into the raft. and wait around as a support boat for the next waterfallees. Tom and I both feel a little uncomfortable about shouting "flip, flip" at the next boat to try it, so despite orders, only mumble it as the next boat elegantly slides beneath the foaming, boiling water, dispensing its cargo of people over sharp rocks, and churning eddies. And on we go, the rest of the ride is more relaxed - how could it be more scary. On completion of the ride we help to carry the boats back to the vans. The blokes keep saying how much of a "feckun big unit" I am and ask me how tall I am, so I reply 6'2", but 6'8" in my heels. My attempt at comedy was ill advised as they now believe me to be a "Big Feckun Tranny", they dont say it, but I can see it in their eyes. I try to recover the situation, but make it worse. ALWAYS remember, when trying watersports, the only thing golden is silence.
The blokes at the rafting place have taken stills of the ride from the cliff sides. As Tom and I watch the slide show of our boat approaching the waterfall as its about to drop down, our group leader bloke says "thats the money shot". We look at each other and hope that this means something different in New Zealand.
That night at the raft blokes'(they were very nice blokes) recommendation we try a steak place in town. Its very expensive though and all the "inverted commas" on the menu are driving us slowly insane. We have a steak at a pub in town then head back to the hostel, where we have a few drinks with Tom's friend Jo and her really nice but very skinny mate. We all get a bit battered and I end up going off on one about pretty much everything, with the prolific use of the phrase "and I'll tell you another thing", and "ooh, don't get me started". Good night though.
Friday -
We set off for Coromandel, leaving our room copiusly sprayed with red wine from the night before. We dont feel too bad and dont 'fess up (as the kids say)as we are told the place has been flogged over night to new owners.
NEXT INSTALLMENT
The Coromandel peninsula, Aukland, Slight Return.
Love and hugs, sorry about the spelling
Dan
