Slide your Hide at the Hydroslide

A return to Nelson where we found this beauty a couple of days ago. A couple of days ago it was closed. But not permanently. It just opens for the weekends now. Which I think means that we are technically no longer in the holiday season over here. Although it is still plenty hot enough for a go on one of these.

I wailed and moaned until Annie agreed that we could come back when it was open. Me and Jay spent an hour walking, not running, to the top of this one slide and then flying down it on the spongy mat provided. No time for a rest. No time for discussing the intricacies of the ride. Not much to discuss really, there's just this slide. You go down it. In fact there is nothing else here. You pay for half an hour or an hour and you get to go on the one slide. There's no pool other than the one you land in, which is immediately occupied by the next grinning bullet of flesh to appear from the tube. There's no seating area nor refreshment stand. You just go on the slide then return to the top like an inverted Sisyphus until your time runs out and you are abruptly told you can't do it any more.

But a thirst quenched for the moment. Further water slide reports will follow.

Top Ten hits on cassette

One of the particular joys of my new found enthusiasm for motor transport is the rediscovery of the Cassette as the rubbish medium for music that it is. A twelve year old car has various things that still seem the height of new fangled-ness to me. Auto gears with 'Overdrive'; a Moon roof; Soapy water that squirts out the actual windscreen wipers themselves; even the dual drink holders strike me as luxuriant beyond even the most needy necessity. But the TSN-5125 Full Logic Control original car audio Cassette Player has me realising that everything except the steering wheel, the stop and go buttons on the floor and perhaps the mirrors are purely icing. Icing that will one day be as old school as boasting Auto-Reverse is now.

Auto-Reverse is, of course, the tape player's ability to play the other side of the cassette without the need for me to get the cassette out and turn it over. Does it save me listening to five minutes of silence at the end of each side? No. Does it mean I have no idea which side of a cassette is going to be played when I insert a new one? Sure, but why let this get in the way of some further tiny print on the front of the machine. There's already so many buttons that the off-switch has been reduced to a button half the size of my finger tip. Marked 'pwr', positioned just between 'sel' and 'auto-p' it is the quickest option for those of us who didn't want to hear really loud, poorly tuned-in radio in between our cassettes.

Next problem is not the fault of the enthusiastic developers at Toyota Audio. The range of music in cassette format available to me in 2009. I won't bore you with playlists, suffice to say: big shout out to Glyn in Auckland for allowing us to raid his old cassette collection. Don't know if it's your cassettes or my player, but all traces of bass guitar seem to have dissolved with time. And a big 'get your act together! To Nelson Hospice second hand shop, whose catalogue of cassettes is second to none only in the sense that it has a catalogue of cassettes. I want my dollar back!

Perhaps I waited too long to own a copy of Dark Side of the Moon. But Jay summed it up well when he reviewed it as 'sad' music. The unhappy feel of one of the biggest selling records of the late 20th century was added to by the slight tugging of the magnetic strip holding the tunes. Flattening the already downbeat drones and weightening the plodding beats. Cassette quality aside, I still recommend that noone ever bothers listening to this record ever again. You must always choose Easy All Star's Dub side of the Moon instead. It's simply a better version.

Next week: My kingdom for a Blipper and why on earth does my door centrally lock every door, but none of the others do?.

Tommy Love and The Loungerines

There can be no better way to finish of Valentines day than to groove along to unique stylings of Wellington's finest purveyor of the Love Song, Mr Tommy Love. Ably assisted by the Loungerines, he performed a kind of retrospective cum autobiography to a very appreciative open air crowd near the harbour. I particularly enjoyed the Roller Skating numbers and the reworking of a jingle for the Discount Carpet Warehouse where he used to work. Young Theophilus is, of course, a fan of the smoochy ballad, but Jay found the whole thing a bit too loud and didn't really enjoy staying up so late.

But we can not spend all our time Disco Dancing. It is time for us to get our wheels on and head for the South Island. We have plans to hook up with more of Annie's friends in somewhere called Golden Bay, and I fully intend to live up to my promise to myself to find and fling myself down some hydroslides.

Wellington, yes it really is windy

Wellington

Wellington is a great city. Whenever I arrive here, I get excited. In a plane, you come in over the sea to land on the very short airstrip at Seatoun. You wonder if the pilot will make it or drop the plane in the sea. You gaze out at the wooden houses dotting the green hills and the harbour sparkling below. By car, you come round the corner on the motorway to see the harbour and the city laid out in front of you. On a good day it is fabulous. But of course, Wellington's weather is its downfall. Often cooler than the rest of the North Island and geographically placed to be pretty much the windiest place in the country, it may look great but when you get out of the plane or car you are bombarded by the elements.

Returning this time, the weather has been fairly kind to us. The wind has been a feature, as usual. We went to the Island Bay festival. This was a cute affair with a market, fishing boats being blessed by the local clergy and some very good local bands. Unfortunately, the wind threatened to blow the whole thing away! Not a lot has changed in Wellington in the last couple of years. The harbour area has been done up and new playgrounds and cafes abound. It's great to catch up with friends here. I do miss them. Everyone says New Zealanders are friendly. I think this is largely true but for me the thing that marks out New Zealanders in terms of attitude is their ability to see the positive side of everything. There is very much a 'can do' undertone to Kiwi life. When I first arrived here in 1993, I found this rather annoying and suspicious – 'They can't really be that nice. Are they taking the...' - but it is genuine.

What I think about when I'm running – The Blue Lake, Rotorua

8 in the morning. Theo still asleep, Jay and Fran reading comics. Head out of the campsite. The Lake is just across the road. Blue, beautiful, surrounded by bush. Down to the end of the beach and onto the track that goes all the way round the lake. The track is OK to run on, some stones and roots but not too bad, a few steps too. The lake is on my left, glittering through the trees and the track winds through the bush. There are loads of different kinds of trees and plants ranging from vibrant green to olive coloured leaves and black branches and it smells rich and earthy. The cicadas (not sure how to spell this – pronounced 'sick ada z') are deafening. These insects start making their buzzing, rasping noise at dawn and continue till dusk. One landed on the tent today. They look like large grasshoppers and are black with jewels of bright green. 20 minutes out. Am I halfway round? Maybe. The track opens onto a beach. A man is there playing with his granddaughter. The only people I've seen so far. I walk for a minute or two, it's hot and humid. The track is narrower now, twisting and turning through overhanging ferns. Fantails flutter in my path. Where is the end? It's an hour and a half to walk they said at the camp office. 40 minutes and ah, the road. I'd better go and give Fran a hand. Yesterday, Theo had his first go on a trampoline. He lay on it and Jay bounced around him. Gently at first and then not so - 'it's too boingy mum, I can't help it' – Theo's little body is thrown ever higher while he laughs with delight and hysteria. Jay is keen to relive the experience this morning – 'He needs practise mum'. It definitely needs supervision!

One for all the Theophilus lovers out there

One thing you may have been missing from the blog so far is any mention of young Theo. Well he is still here, we haven't left him anywhere along the way. He isn't doing much so hasn't really got any spectacular anecdotes to add to the diary, but he has been advancing in his own way, and is getting a lot of general adoration as he grins his way into friendship with various locals.

He is right there every time I turn round, so I can't really empathise with any of you out there who may have been missing him, but I'm trying to make amends by giving him his own chapter today. He certainly deserves it.

Here comes the Science bit: he's got the hang of crawling pretty good, can pull himself up to a standing position, is less snotty and his excema has cleared up. He still has only one tooth, not sure if he'll ever have another, although he can just about suck down a banana on his own. But other than that is the same smiley, randomly sleeping guy he was when we left. He has a bit more hair, but we still can not work out if it is to be straight or curly. You decide.

Here's the latest pics of him on Youtube for you to adore.

NEWSFLASH: The second tooth has arrived. A large flappy bit of his gum has appeared and there is most definitely another tooth below it. That is all.

A beginner's guide to Schweebing

I'm not sure that I've emphasised it entirely on here, but I do really like my new car. It has all sorts of things that I've always wanted from a car. It goes (for the moment). It has lots of space, which is good as there are lots of us and we have lots of stuff. It is sleek and it looks good, which is a necessary for any vehicle of quality. But there aren't any cars that are ever going to be as a good as a bicycle. Sure they have space and can look good, but with a bike you can barely carry anything and you're going to smell bad once you've got there, so all concerns of possessions and vanity become irrelevant. Like traffic lights.

So anything kind of bicycle shaped is bound to catch my attention and having me grinning at Annie for some pocket money to have a go on it. Enter the Schweeb. A combination of a recumbent bike and an upside-down monorail. You lay inside a bubble that is suspended from a glorified curtain rail. You head forward as fast as your legs and the seven gears will propel you, and then swing out wildly at the corners. All this happens a couple of feet off the ground. You take in a shortish oval track that also has a couple of vertical undulations just to give it an extra Return-of-the-Jedi, Speeder Bike feel. But this sensation will be improved once the track is made a touch smoother, longer, and the recently planted trees have become more of a forest.

All very interesting, I hear you say, but where do you rank amongst the world's Schweebologists? I am proud to reveal that I am the world's 4th fastest Schweebist in my Class. My Class being: piloting a Schweeb with a small boy stuffed inside the bubble too. My solo run made me the UK's 16th fastest Schweeb Driver in my age group, but the tabloids will have a field day when they find out I tried to claim Lebanese heritage in order to increase my ranking. New Zealand computers have not heard of Lebanon, so I was unable to pull that one.

Calamity at 20,000 litres above the Sea

When visiting Rotorua before, I happened upon one of the finest establishments I have ever visited. A water park which utilised the area's thermal riches to provide a selection of hydroslides that ran on warm water. I visited on a pretty hot day, but it was still clear to me that you could slide all day, any day, with these. No breeze could give you a chill that would not be soothed the moment you were re-immersed in the cool bath-like temperatures. If it only had an escalator instead of slippery steep steps, it would truly be a wonder of the modern world.

Having found this place simply by spotting its tubes as I drove past, glaring at me like a primary coloured Pompidou, I assumed that Rotorua would be filled with facilities that combined gravity with the power of volcanoes to give me a thrill that excited but never shocked. Little did I know. Roto-vegas, as it has become (not entirely affectionately) nicknamed, has an abundance of Spa pools featuring the warm water, and a cosmos of zorbs, luges, and even agro-cycles for the thrills but the only water park was the one that I now find closed.

Closed for that most lame of reasons, safety. There is still a couple of feet of water in the landing pool, but I doubt that it is still warm. The only patrons now are the dinosaurs. Look closely at the photo. They are there. They used to be the stars what was probably the only reason anyone ever towelled off and put their clothes back on: The Prehistoric mini-golf course next door. Also now out of business.

I have to sign off now. The tears are welling up again. I will try to find some hope in this dark, dry time. Perhaps I will gain solace in the QEII slides at Christchurch. They boast the Colossus; 105 metres, completely dark inside. As well as the Body Bullet, The Cruiser, Titan and the Terror Tube.

What I think about when I am running - Himatangi Beach

6 o'clock in the evening. Set off, music on, set timer on watch...Down the street. It's still pretty hot. A group of boys are messing about with a go-cart, laughing. It's only a short way to the beach, past a couple of streets of baches (holiday homes), all pretty basic and all different. Past Tartz Cafe and the Cosmopolitan Club (The Cossie) where you can get a meal on Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays. Although I don't think there will be much for veggies – we'll see tomorrow – and onto the beach. People don't stop in the carpark and walk to the beach here, they just drive on and park up! We spent the afternoon here running in and out of the waves. Jay had a great time and Theo had his first sit on the beach – yes, he did eat sand. Only a couple of cars around now though, which way shall I go? Left, up to the sea's edge and along. A wide expanse of flat sand bordered by dunes and wood that has been twisted and worked by the elements into fabulous shapes. The beach stretches as far as I can see and it feels like it was made to run on. Fifteen minutes in and Amy Winehouse is providing the soundtrack. I turn and look down the beach to go back, There is nobody in sight. It is so beautiful I laugh out loud.

Tofu Luncheon Frogs

Now I didn't come here to start disrespecting the national traditions. I really enjoyed the Auckland anniversary. We spent it in the Devonport barrio of Auckland and had a fantastic view of the Harbour where everyone who has a boat had taken their boat, while everyone who doesn't have a boat had camped up next to the water to watch all the boats through binoculars. More specifically, we were on the North Point, a dormant volcano on the coastline that not only affords a fantastic view, but also has lots of dormant heavy artillery and bunkers and tunnels to climb on, run through, etc. When asked why the olde folk may have decided to build their defences atop a large hill, Jay hazarded a guess: 'Because there's a massive cannon up here?' Got to ask the right questions, I suppose.

Also, its Waitangi day tomorrow, its a national day celebrating a treaty between the Crown and the Maoris, which the Crown went on to renegue on and take all the land anyway. Major rioting used to be the order of the day back in the 70's but Annie's friend Pete now works for Ministry of making up for bad Treaties. Its a slow process, but the will does seem to be there now.

But I can not see how this turgid piece of browny-orange tofu with tiny bits of pepper and carrot embedded in it forms any part of a tradition. So I'm going to feel perfectly ok about totally dissing it, without any fear that I may be oppressing some minority who have been ritually eating this stuff for generations. I have tried it raw, fried, and barbecued, but it always tastes unsurprisingly dry, flavourless and almost instantly becomes little threads of perished rubber on the roof of my mouth. I knew that the chances of being offered a range of vegetarian repasts in the one supermarket in Foxton (100k north of Wellington's more tolerant approach to vege sausages) was likely to be slim, but I expected to at least get some pre-mixed felafel.

On the plus side though, I have discovered Tiramisu Toffee Pops. No description required. They're just good. You know they are.

Himatangi Rocks

We are just coming to end of our stay in Himatangi. Our reason for visiting is a common one on this trip, we were offered some free accommodation. Annie's friend Chell offered us her bach (NZ word for a house three times the size of our old flat in london) and said that the 'settlement' of Himatangi was stuck in the 70's. Note the use of 'settlement', not 'town', 'village' or even 'resort'. So far, so concerning.

But after a few nights here, the one thing we know is that we will be returning. The beach is fantastic. Big spiky seed pods get blown from the dunes across the huge, flat sand. Signs warn that the beach is a road, but there really are hardly any cars.

I have been warmly welcomed by the local Karate aficionados. I noticed in the local info pamphlet, the Beach Press, that the JKA meets at the community centre and is open to anyone over 8. I fit that criteria, so went along. Good group with an enthusiastic Sensei, who after we had worked on the punchbag, invites all-comers to punch him in the stomach as hard as they can. Well I couldn't come close to hurting him, so why shouldn't he?

The Cosmopolitan Boating Club is the place to hit in the evening. It's basically a pub, but it asks you to sign in and there does seem to be a Constitution. We were told that they did a meal on Wednesday nights. I was expecting to stay for a beer, thinking the meal was unlikely to appeal. There was actually a fully functioning kitchen and we had some fine fresh fish and chips followed by homemade Brownies and Cheesecake. And then you are expected to scrape your leftovers into a bucket and take your plates back to the kitchen, so there's no airs and graces about the place.

We have recently missed the Miss Himatangi 2009 contest at the Cosmopolitan Club, and shall be missing the Sand Castle Sculpturing Compo this weekend. I am really hoping we can get back for when the Cozzy hosts 'Himatangi's got Talent'.

Maranui Surf club

The Maranui Surf and Life Saving Club is a proper Beach cafe. It is on the Beach, and it's a cafe. I don't mean it's some kind of kiosk on the beach, It's a proper building. The Clubhouse for the surf club has a cafe on the first floor. It's surrounded by sand on three sides, and by the road on the other. Fantastic views of the rough waves crashing onto the sand and planes taking off from the airport just further on.

I didn't select the tradesman's special. I thought it would probably be fraudulent or disrespectful or both. I took the Victory Breakfast, which consists of 2 bits of 5 grain toast with 2 poached eggs; some grilled mushrooms with a kind of whole nut pesto stuff with big almonds in it; you've then got a side of spinach, a side of guacamole, some rosemary potatoes, and a few grilled tomatoes. What exactly I'm supposed to win after that I'm not sure, but I certainly felt like I deserved a trophy.

Oh my gosh! As I write, there has just been an earthquake! A bit of a rumble, like a train going past (of which there are none) followed by quite a thump to the building. Nothing on the news about it yet so presumably pretty minor. Must... publish... information... about... breakfast.......

Student House in Wellington

We are now down the South end of the North Island, in Wellington, the capital city in that the government is based here, but not the biggest city, that is Auckland, where we were last week. We spent a few nights just outside town in a house right by the water. You park your car at the top of the hill and then descend a variety of unstable steps to actually reach the house. The residents moved their furniture in by boat, and this is definitely the best idea. Carrying our luggage back up all the crazy steps is making me concerned about the fact that we may stay there again in a couple of weeks.

Nice to be next to the water though, and to exercise my naval skills. We had use of a craft so I donned my captain's cap and taught young Jay a lesson or two in nautical theory. We got about half way to our target of a buoy out in the briny stuff, but I could see that others had managed to get as far from the coast as us just by walking in to the inlet that we were kayaking in. Jay still has a bit to go before getting his full pirate qualifications as he didn't really like getting his bottom wet, so we haven't been back out in it yet.

Into Wellington city for the last couple of days though, and we're staying in a big house overlooking the bay – view pictured above. The result of one of Annie's friend's brother's hospitality. We have a six bedroom townhouse to ourselves. It is normally occupied by a bunch of students, I think, but they are all away or staying somewhere else or something. So we've been taking in NZ culture by sitting in cafes down by the harbour whilst keeping in touch with UK culture by watching Alan Partridge videos in the evening. A ha.

Its Here

It's here, and its been working smoothly for a couple of days now. Its high in comfort, high in style, and the driving position is quite high off the ground too. Various seats fold up in the back meaning it can swallow all our luggage without a problem. Another configuration of seats means there's a kind of flatish bed sized area. But we are yet to try sleeping on it, so I'll save judgement on that for later.

Its Automatic, systematic, etc. It has coped with driving on a beach and with doing a long cross country run. It has a superb cassette player and we are grooving to Talking Heads. It has a total of 12 windows including a Sun and a Moon roof. If anyone knows what the Overdrive button on the gear stick is for, let me know.

What's also required from you is some help in naming the new guy. All our suggestions revolve around it being black and the first car we've ever owned so are based around the world's new overlord. Can we get away with calling our car Barack Obama? Should we? I prefer 'The Barack Obama' rather than giving the car a personal name. The Obamamobile is too alliterative. The Presidential Suite describes the car well, but doesn't slip off the tongue well enough for everyday use. Car force 1? El Presidente? Help us out, let us know your favourite derivation on the new World Leader's moniker, or just tell us to stop being so racist now that we've left london.

Full tribute to the vehicle is available on Youtube.