Theo's Birthday

Just to let you know that he did have one and we didn't just ignore the occasion. We skipped school and spent the morning at the local playgroup instead. Theos was particularly amazed to discover that there are other people of his age, and got Happy Birthday sung to him in English and Korean.

Annie was skipping the afternoon off work, so it was into town for a celebratory lunch in a restaurant by the Harbour. Theo had Fish and Chips and I had a beer. His party took place in the evening, he was the guest of honour at Dinner provided by our hosts Doreen and Annie. There was fish and chips again, and some chocolate brownies made my myself. Jay helped blow out the candle.

So, gone are the days of infanthood and Theo is looking forward to starting to walk. He has a good line in standing up, but can't quite do a step just yet. He also has a good line is switching off the computer while jay is using it, but this is not such a handy skill.

Free Comic book day

Jay has spent a lot of the holiday reading comics. I couldn't quantify the split between reading and just looking at the pics, but they have served him well as in-car entertainment, bribes for good behaviour and he does seem to be getting into reading as a way of having fun. His and my choice of mainly Simpsons comics may not be nurturing the finest vocabulary possible, but the sooner he can read Theo a bedtime story, the better.

So the prospect of Free Comic Book Day at the Onehunga comic store has been eagerly anticipated for a couple of weeks. 2 free comics for walking in, 2 free comics for a donation to the local school, and 2 free comics for wearing a super-hero outfit. Our lack of super-hero outfits got us 4 free comics each. That's 12 as we didn't claim any for Theo. We were expecting the shop to be offloading their lost product onto us, and to be spending the week reading copies of Millennium Bug vs Pager Boy, but actually they were giving away special editions of all the latest comics that were distributed across the world on what I discovered is a universal event aimed at combating illiteracy (and selling comics).

Not to be out done, the supermarket had free-knife day on the preceding day. This could feature in the 'things they don't do in Stokey' blog, and had less noble motives than combating stupidness. There was no requirement to dress up. You simply had to listen to a sales pitch about some larger knives and you got a free small knife. The small print was that you had to be over 21 so Jay and Theo did not get tooled up.

Toy Drought is Over

Whilst my attempts at home education of Jay have been somewhat successful, the real credit for Jay being able to divide oranges into equal piles of segments for us all to share must go to Theos Dios. His patience in the mornings and ability to play on his own has been essential when trying to sellotape basic arithmetic to Jay's brain. But after a few days, my guilt at watching Theo banging a few plastic bottles together grew too large and I resolved to score him some toys.

After failing to find anything nice in a couple of second hand stores, I found out about the Toy Libraries. Not just an option for those that can't afford toys, Epsom Toy Library provides a social drop in on wednesday mornings and a chance to act like a kid with the keys to a toy shop. Membership entitles you to 3 of the big bags, 2 of the small bags and a puzzle. You then get to stand in a small room stacked to the ceiling with toys and decide which you'd like. Then the admin, you have to check the detailed inventory of lego pieces before signing out your bags of plastic stuff.

The toys are all in good condition, there are no weapons, and best of all, you get to bring them back and swap them for new ones once you start getting bored of clearing them up all the time.

Palace at Onehunga

The Picture is captioned: The lady with the big butt is at my door again

So glad am I that we are not in a caravan. So here's a little tour of our new apartment. We enter via the coded gateway at the back, down some steps into the garden, and then enter the lounge thru the sliding doors. We have baby-proofed the entire lounge area, so moving to the open plan kitchen requires a big step over a kind of low table. The kitchen features a breakfast bar from where I throw lumps of breakfast to the boys as though I were feeding the seals at the aquatic centre. Then its up a couple of steps into the one bedroom where the four of us squeeze in. Out the front door, a quick beep on the remote control and the gate swings open, and we can drive away.

The accommodation is attached to the side of our hosts', Doreen and Annie's house. It's what is known as a 'sleep out', and could translate into english as a granny flat. It differs from a caravan in several ways: it has its own bathroom, sky TV, laundry shed that doesn't require the correct change or guarding our stuff, and room to move around. Although the record player doesn't work, but this is probably for the best as the boys would probably have scratched them all by now.

The hi-tech entry and exit procedures do mean that anyone can simply climb over the gate and freely access our home. But everyone seems cool about this, so I'm trying to be so too.

I said I'm going to the Museum...

I'm not yet certain what effect taking Jay from school will have on him. I never thought it would be bad for him, and I prefer to show him that the world is a big place with all sorts of different things to do, than to ensure he knows knows all his times tables just yet. And I'm not certain if I'm providing evidence for or against Educational Institutions, but this photo was accompanied by Jay calling out 'I said I'm going to the Museum and I'm going to the Museum'.

The building in question is the Auckland Museum, with lots of Maori stuff (war canoes, kiwi feather cloaks) and stuff about the dude that climbed up Everest (his pick axe, video of him being very modest about it all). It is located in 'The Domain', Auckland's biggest city park. We also saw a band who do easy listening, smooth jazz versions of classic rock songs play in this park. A very coool way to spend a sunday afternoon.

But what can't you learn from jazz versions of Bob Dylan songs?

I have gone completely mad

For all of you who believed that I would probably just end up living in a caravan one day, well that day nearly came. As you may know, Annie has scored a month's work in Auckland. So while our holiday is soon to come to an end, we will not be returning to England quite so imminently. Annie's supreme talents got her the job offer a while back, but also required was some affordable, temporary accommodation. If we couldn't find any, then we could extend our stay by taking the job, but it wouldn't actually make us any money, so no point really.

Looking at a few of the commercial options gave us little hope. A few of the cheaper motels offered us a slight discount on a month's stay, but the discount would be very small, and the motels were in busy parts of town, although near Annie's central work location. So it was back to one of favourite places of the early part of the trip: Takapuna Holiday Park. Located across the water from the city centre, a small field right on the beach with a few cabins, campervans and caravans is surrounded by really swanky houses. How long it will last I don't know, but it should remain in business for a month. It is possible to commute by bus or by ferry, yet the whole village feels like a holiday resort. So I just need to get over the communal bathrooms and I can spend a month hanging with the kids on the beach. Sweet as (as they say over here).

Couple of nights later the reality check thankfully arrives. The clocks are due to go back, and the practicality of there being no spouse to look after one baby while I take the other to the communal bathroom in the rain. Not sweet as (as I say over here).

We have been saved by friends of friends of friends in a suburban district called Onehunga. We went to a barbecue one saturday night. I barbecued some peppers, played drums with the band, and got a tip that someone rented out some section of their house nearby. A couple of days later I'm being shown round an apartment. I try to keep calm and say 'hmmm hmm, yes' while being told that they can take the snooker table out if we'd like. But almost keel over with 'oh gosh! It's a palace!' whenever I get a chance.

I'll let y'all know more about the place once we're in there in a week or so. But for the moment: it has a remote control for opening the gate from the car as we drive up, a record player (actual vinyl), and a picture of a woman with a big bottom on the wall.

Six metres high and rising

To all who love and care about Jay, I apologise if I have pushed him into a hobby that will result in him becoming the New Alain Robert. Having rejected a go on the gyroscope as too scary, which was fair enough; and bailed at the last minute on the 3metre vertical slide, which is just sensible; I was expecting him to dismiss the climbing wall out of hand.

But no. Thanks to a very good tutor, the qualified member of staff here at 'Science Alive!' in Christchurch, Jay scampered up the vertical incline. Unconcerned about falling off, he actually quite dug the 'slowly rope' as he called it, which would gently lower him back to earth. He would set off for another go immediately and usually fall off at a difficult section about 80% of the way up. He said he was too concentrating on holding on to think about how to do the tricky section. But on at least one occasion he made it to the top and planted his palm onto the hand print there to mark the dizzying height.

I've told him to remember that he doesn't have the harness when he's in the playground, but once again, I'm really sorry if this kind of thing catches on.

My Cup runeth over

After initial lack of hydroslide activity I can now say that I have been to the best water park that the world has to offer. And another one too. First up, and pictured, is the the Moana Pool in Dunedin. Features two slides: Fast and Slow. The slow one is pretty pedestrian and the fast one is a bit faster. And here endeth the review of that pool cos I need to get on and tell you about the QEII complex in Christchurch.

If the Stoke Newington Pool had been built like this then it would be the envy of every borough throughout the UK, instead of not even registering in the grand scheme of Olympic facilities that was knocking around at the time. I shall try to list its plus points in one breath just to try to get through them: full size competition pool, diving pool with 2x3m, 5m, 7m and 10m platforms, toddler pool, wave pool, fast flowing river section, 2x 3m wide whirlpool things (very vigorous swirling water, lot of fun), faux stone pillars, beachy sunset murals, bubble pools, fountains.

And I haven't even started on the hydroslides. Five of them, ranging from Collosus and Titan, large winding tubes that can be slid straight down, or ridden down on inflatable donuts. Then The Cruise, a faster ride, donuts not permitted and a couple of black segments of the slide make it a bit scary. For the true connoisseur there are The Body Bullet and The Terror Tube.

Both are a narrower gauge than the others, no sitting up and enjoying the ride, its lie down, keep your arms in and you'll be at the bottom pretty soon. The Body Bullet is a straight forward, tightening corkscrew. The G's increase, your gritted teeth get progressively more spray from your feet's wake before the relief of the final splashdown. The ride is timed and you can easily take 20% off your time by reducing friction by riding purely on shoulder blades and one ankle.

The Terror Tube could be renamed The Anarchy Artery. You are subjected to loud music and flashing lights the whole way down. Big on disorientation, low on terror. There's no suspense as you have no idea what is about to happen. The Terror of worrying that your about to smash your face on the next corner is countered by the thought that you probably won't.

If I could, I would take every brick of this place back to Stokey to show them what a great swimming pool looks like. Even on a quiet tuesday evening, the competition pool had serious looking racers in it. There were kids honing their very impressive diving skills from the 5m and 7m boards. The fake Roman bath paint job and sunset murals were a bit cheesy, but they made the place light-hearted. And most important of all: we just about had the slides to ourselves.

The Incredible Penguin Milking Machine

Annie once saw penguins before, hence her enthusiasm for persuading us that it was worthwhile. She had visited a town called Oamaru and hung around in a little shed that was built specially for the penguin fans. We found ourselves in Oamaru after too much hydrosliding delayed our departure from Dunedin and stopped us from getting all the way to Christchurch. Claims to have already seen a penguin were pushed aside and we set off for a return to Annie's magical shed.

As we've ascertained, Marine Biology is not exactly a science. It is however a branch of show business or sports-entertainment. The shed has now been replaced by a Grandstand with a Penguin educational centre attached. Everyone is to be seated by 8:15pm. The penguins are on at 8:30 and the whole show should be over by 9:30. The sun is pleasantly setting and the waters of the harbour are calm. It is a world away from blinking into a force ten gale and being unconvinced that even a penguin would want to be here.

A guy with a microphone arrives. I'm expecting a drum roll, and him to say 'Welcome! To the world of the Penguin!', but instead he's a Marine Biologist that tells us about the Blue Penguins being the smallest penguins in the world, and they can't register the yellow floodlights cos they see blues and greens, and a bunch of Marine Biologist stuff. He makes sure to remind me and 150 Koreans that no photography is permitted. We tried banning just flash photos, but people made mistakes and anyway, the auto-focus lights still mess with the penguins' eyes, and they really need their eyes for, like, fishing and stuff.

After about ten minutes, Jay, me and most people near us are bored of me and Jay going 'Look! There's a penguin! Oh no, it's some seaweed!' Annie doesn't even take Jay seriously when he says 'Look! There's a penguin!' But later we admit to being proud that Jay was the first to spot an actual penguin. They are very small, and timidly make their way up the slope before all rushing across the road at the top. Just as soon as one of them is brave enough to go for it. Once in their nests they give up the timid stuff and squawk like crazy at each other for long after we have left. Some local humans told us that the penguins are going to pay for the redevelopment of the entire harbour area. Well done, Magic Penguins.

We then return to our natural habitat, the campsite. Driving carefully so as not to run over any of the late arriving penguins in the car park (needs David Attenborough voice). And before any Marine Biologists write in, yes, the photo is of a bunch of cormerants, or shags, as we like to call them down here. In my defence, it is a good photo, there were loads of them, it's taken right next to the penguin place, and I bet lots of you did think they were penguins.

Dropping Science down Antarctica Way

There are many signs along the way promising Crafts, Galleries and other ephemera. Most are complete rubbish, such as Happy Hens in Otago, which is a shop full of pottery hens. But the Lost Gypsy Gallery of The Catlins is an exception. Recommended to us by a couple of cyclists we met on the West Coast, it was described as: I can't describe it, just go in. A description that was pretty much spot on, but for the sake of the blog, I'll carry on.

The sign outside the gallery (pictured) will earn you a decent squirt of water in the left ear. I didn't work this out first time as it was tipping down with rain and a mere earful made no difference. The gallery itself is squeezed into an old bus. Everywhere you look, is another thing to press, squeeze, wind up, or let go of. All with the same vein of humour. From the Flying Walnut: a nut with a propeller, regulated by an old scalextric controller, which you can fly up a foot or so and will return to its bouncy landing pad. The 'Tribute to the Uncoordinated', a couple of mechanical hands that will inevitably fail to grab the ball between them, no matter how hard you try.

Out the back of the bus are the larger works. Under 13's are banned from these more delicate pieces, but I abandoned the family for a quick look. They included a huge organ, complete with foot pedals, with each key letting off a different sound. Doorbells, telephones, old cassette players, or more physical noises like arms that hit cymbals, or spinning shells with water gurgling in them.

Despite the low tech resources, and the emphasis on the arbitrary and the absurd, Jay refers to the place as the Science Bus. The accompanying video doesn't start to show the depth of the place, but may give you a feel of the kind of claustrophobic quirkiness of the Bus.

The Case of the Magic Penguin

Another of this part of the world's natural delights is the penguin. We took a stroll over to the spot where the little chaps are alleged to come in from the sea after hard day's fishing. The spot itself is terrific, an ancient petrified forest. I was expecting lots of big rock trees everywhere, so was a bit disappointed that its actually just a flat bit of rock at the bottom of a cliff. You can make out that the lines in the rock are surprisingly straight (ex-tree trunks), and if you go down and close, some of the rock does have a grain, which is weird. So its not actually like a forest, but it is spectacular. The biggest waves I've ever seen come crashing into this big flat section at the bottom of the cliff. So in amongst the rain, I'm now getting a taste of salt water also.

Its about now that I realise that watching the penguins arrive, isn't actually a science. Marine Biology isn't really a science, is it? This could take some time. I look around at my few fellow penguin watchers and realise that they knew they were in for the long haul. Big anoraks with hoods. Jay starts to realise that this is a bit boring, and I think I should have insisted he do zip his jacket up when we got out of the car instead of saying 'well, you'll get cold then' and leaving it at that. Much moaning ensues and we leave, Penguin count zero.

Annie really wanted to see some penguins, so we guilt Jay out on some other matter and get him to promise to wrap up properly and give it another go the next night. Wearing just about all the clothes we have, we go back to the same spot. Within a few minutes, an amazing thing happens. From this watery hades, in which I would be repeatedly smashed onto bits of fossilised timber if I ever tried to swim in it, comes the evil chicken dude from Wallace and Grommit's The Wrong Trousers. Sure he's wet, and he looks absolutely freezing, but he's made it. He's now just hanging around, getting himself back together for a bit before he actually goes home. Same as us. Jay's promise extended to one penguin so is now permitted to whine about being cold, penguins being boring, and wanting to go home. Magic penguin count one. Haven't seen a drop of rain since.

Why oh Why did we come to this part of the planet?

Glaciers I can handle, the ice looks amazing and takes 100 years to go from the top until it defrosts at the bottom and becomes cold water. Not in Invercargill. The cold water just arrives, and arrives fast. The cold rain hits the windscreen so hard, and in such large amounts that I really can't see out the windscreen. Yet will quickly stop, and my wipers begin to give a dry squeak. It then comes again with the same ferocity. I would say that it comes in waves, but if I was driving around in the sea, it would probably be drier.

We moved on from Invercargill, into the Catlins which form the most southerly south bits of the South Island. That's pretty South. And continued to be battered by wind and rain whose previous location had been Antarctica. One of the local attractions is the Sea Lion population. They can cope with the cold and enjoy the isolation, so flourish down here. We were lucky to find a couple of them just down the beach from where we stayed one morning. Now, I don't know if you've ever seen me run, but you haven't seen me run like I did when one these big fat guys decided to flollop in my direction. I was legging it back down the beach, unstrapping Theos from the baby sling to leave as a diversion. Annie laughed at me and pointed out that they were still a very long way away and had stop flolloping after about two flops. Very scary though.

Glacier II: This time it's icy

Just to let you know there's some pics of the glacier trip up on youtube. So put on your sunglasses and click here.

Golden Bay Days

Golden Bay is a part of New Zealand that even New Zealanders seem to have forgotten about. South Island top left. It's not on a main highway and the only way in is over a big hill with winding roads so it's well off everyone's beaten track. It has its own micro climate thanks to the protection of Farewell Spit, a long thin piece of land that sticks out and calms the waters of the Golden Bay beaches.

We stayed in Pohara, a small settlement with a couple of good cafes (essential – sleep deprivation has driven me to a fearsome caffeine habit!) and a sprawling campsite right on the beach. We camped with Chris and Rachel, friends of mine from Wellington (and London a few years ago). It was great to see them and have a change of dynamic to the holiday. Lovely to chat with Rachel. It doesn't matter how long it's been since we saw each other, it always seems like yesterday.

We lazed about and had a few adventures too – see Fran's bit on the Abel Tasman National Park daytrip. One of my fave spots was Pupu Springs (OK Jay, stop laughing!), a lovely natural spring with beautiful clear blue water (see pic).

Jay loved the beach and got a new bucket and spade to play with. It's brilliant to see him jumping in and out of the waves and run this way and that. Fran takes him in for a swim (too cold for me I'm afraid) and he loves it. Theo is allowed to grub about a bit in the sand. He gets very excited, legs and arms flapping wildly as he decides what to eat first – hmm sand, sticks, seaweed or rotting prawn?

Nelson revisited

The first place I ever lived in New Zealand was Nelson. It's a small city at the top of the South Island. I am writing this from a motel near the centre of town. Great seventies décor and a little balcony overlooking the cathedral and the park. Next door some oldies are playing bowls and the bells are ringing out from the cathedral belltower.

I arrived here in November 1993 and stayed for 6 months, working in a cafe called Valenos. I worked in the kitchen and learned to cook all sorts of stuff with filo pastry. I also had to cook the steaks which, as a veggie, was pretty daunting. I was rubbish at it and Bernie had to take over! Ivan ran the bar bit of the cafe along with my then partner, Martin. Martin was born and raised in Nelson and his mum, dad and a couple of sisters were living here. A lot of artists and potters live around the area and in the summer the city swells with holidaymakers and fruit pickers. I remember coming here from London. It seemed so small. There was 1 good cafe (sadly not Valenos) and all the bars were pretty basic and small town NZish (white wellies and a meatpack raffle on the bar) but the town was still pretty busy and had a good vibe . Then came the winter and it all changed. A singularly monocultural, conservative feeling pervaded and it seemed that all the people I had made friends with actually lived elsewhere. Wellington beckoned.

Looking at it now, Nelson seems very bohemian and laid-back. More funky cafes have opened and the Saturday market is arty and interesting (Fran's quest for the perfect fudge goes on). The beach area about 5 km out of town is busy and beautiful. As if that weren't enough, it has a hydroslide that is actually open - see Fran's entry 'slide your hide at the hydroslide'.

Fran's Theos Glacier

Formerly the Franz Josef Glacier, it was renamed after it was rediscovered by Theos Dios and myself. If you have ever seen a picture of a glacier in geography book then it is probably this glacier. It is reasonably unique in that it descends into rainforest, there are only three glaciers that do this. One other is in Argentina, and the third one is 20 km down the road from here.

We drove from the small township of Franz Josef, 4kms, to the car park, and then walked another couple of kms to the edge of the forest. From there you look over the river bed that runs from the bottom of the glacier. A largely boulder strewn landscape through which runs the defrosted bits of glacier, identified by the milky colour as it contains Glacial Flour. This moon-like area also hosts a multitude of other smaller streams of crystal clear water that come from the various streams and stunning waterfalls that feed into this vast flat bottomed canyon.

But dominating the view is the glacier itself. The bottom sits wedged between two sheets of rainforest, and the top becomes part of the snow capped mountain range. It appears as though it would be no problem to walk over to it and just keep going until you were up among the craggy mountain tops. But this is the first of the day's illusions of scale; a decent walk towards it and you do not appear to be any where nearer the bottom of it.

Not that you are permitted right up to the bottom of it. Too many instances of people getting squashed by huge chunks of ice breaking off it mean that you are not allowed. I don't know how the glacier police stop you from doing so. The glacier is advancing at a rate of three metres a day, so how do you build a fence around it? That's right. Advancing. Three hundred years ago, the glacier took up the entire rock strewn landscape I was now wandering in. Even in 1950 it was much larger than today. But before you hippies start waving your fists and decrying the humanity of it all, the glacier's extension is related to El Nino and La Nina more than global warming, so it's currently getting bigger.

We didn't try to go any further, I didn't really believe that we could could just zip over to the glacier and zoom straight up to the top. O r could we? We returned to the town, had a coffee, got in a helicopter and found that we could. We were back over the car park in a matter of seconds, the milky river just a strip below us and the waterfalls still looking just as amazing falling away from us as they did falling towards us. Just as soon we were over the ice. It has a bluey colour, because it is compacted so hard that most of the oxygen is squeezed out. The cracks in it are definitely huge, but it is so hard to judge just how big as the surreality of the glacier surface is countered by the weirdness of floating above it. I am unable to estimate how high above the ice we are, so can't start to quantify the scale of the chasms below.

Soon we are up at the top of things. In the distance are the peaks of snow covered mountains. I am getting used to these, they are the literal icing on many of the views I have had around NZ. But now the snow and rock breaches the distant horizon and also forms the foreground.

A few stomach churning swoops over some terrifying cliffs and we approach a large flat white expanse. Several helicopters have already parked there and many dazed, awestruck punters are roaming around. We land and exit the chopper. The horizon is either craggy rocks poking out of the snow or snow slowly sloping away from us that reveals that we are higher than the clouds. The snow is unlike any I have seen, millimetre glass beads similar to the coarse sand on the wet beaches of the Abel Tasman. Not much time to take in the beauty of it all as Jay immediately starts plying me with snowballs.


ps. I'll get a slideshow of pics up soon, but its not finished yet.

The Hard Antler Bar

Rolling into Haast Village looks and feels like rolling into a wild west town. The low rise, sparse wooden buildings in the twilight made me feel like I was entering the official middle of nowhere. You may criticise my bravery for selecting the Fan-Tail cafe over the Hard Antler Bar, but I was looking for a vegetarian option and the guide book's description of the Hard Antler Bar unsurprisingly focussed on its large collection of stag heads.

The Fan-Tail was closed. So the Hard Antler beckoned. Their collection of stag heads is particularly impressive, but the taxidermy is not the most notable feature of the place. In fact the warm welcome, friendly atmosphere and excellent food is far more notable. I sent Annie and Theos ahead as I pretended to search the car for a jar of baby food. I thought they would be less likely to cause the entire place to drop into silence simply by entering. On the contrary, they were immediately offered a high chair and alerted to the extensive menu.

Once again, an NZ dining establishment manages to impress me by not feeling that they need to here to the standard restaurant format. The Hard Antler policy on menu is simple: you choose your main bit, and then hit a buffet for the spuds and veges. We had fish, you could choose it to be battered or grilled, although I did see some spare ribs that almost tempted me. You then hit the buffet of spuds, spud salad, chips, roasted pumpkin, couple of different salads. A polite message informs you that one generous serving per person is permitted, but no seconds. I was almost disappointed that I was not expected to scrape of my plate into a bucket a return it to the kitchen.

More gastro than any pub in london, this place gets a rating of 'top notch!' I presume that the guy from the Lonely Bigot guide book just looked through the window when it was closed and wrote the review based on the name.

Abel Tasman pt 2

Astute readers may have noticed that there has not actually been a part 1 in this series. Part 1 occurred on our first journey to New Zealand some years ago. We visited the Abel Tasman National Park on what was one of the rainiest days I have ever witnessed. It did not stop it from being a fantastic day's adventure with a boat ride, a hike through the bush, over a swing bridge, on to the next bay, and picked up by a boat again. The entire time spent actually inside a cloud.

I was looking forward to seeing the place in sunshine this time as I quite fancied taking in more of the beauty of the place simultaneously, rather than the constant visibility of about 20 metres that was afforded us on the previous occasion.

We arrived in Marahau, on the edge of the Abel Tasman. I heard the rain start shortly after we had retired to the tent for the night. I heard it again several times during the night as I rumbled and mumbled my way through a warm, muggy, but it has to be said, dry night in the tent. I could still hear it once the sun had come up and I was starting to think that the 9am boat up the coast wouldn't have us on it. I could still hear it once I realised that I would have to go to the toilet at some point and I felt it once I decided that I couldn't outlast mother nature when it came to the call of nature. It still rained for ages after that. At one point whilst we were having dinner, there was a tiny glimpse of a piece of blue sky. Enough to convince us that if it wasn't raining tomorrow, we would pack up the tent and head for somewhere with a proper roof.

The plan was to visit Golden Bay on the far side of the Abel Tasman the following week. We could try another expedition from there. We met up with friends of Annie from Wellington, Rachel and Chris and spent a couple of lazy sunny days gearing up for the mission into the bush. The day came and once again the forecast let us down and we set off for the Aqua Taxi stop to take us into the forest with the wipers working overtime and the tops of the hills engulfed in low cloud.

There was no bailing out this time as Chris had done us the favour of forecasting sun and booking the boat. But our previous experience of the place had taught us that the hardest part is getting out of the car and you could do a lot worse than simply getting soaked immediately. For a start, there's the Aqua Taxi. The captain takes pleasure in making Jay squeal with delight as he slams the 12-seater boat into wave after wave after wave. So if you weren't wet when you got on, you will be now.

He also takes great pride in showing you some of the parks features. Including a gang of Seals, animals he describes as so lazy they wait for the high tide and the water to come to them before they bother to flop in for a dip. We were bang on high tide so got to see some of the fattest wild animals I've ever seen sploshing around and waving to us. High tide also allowed our big boat a brief visit into a beautiful secluded little bay to annoy some kayakers.

And last of all, high tide, the Captain informed us, meant that the first obstacle of our trek, a river crossing at the end of the beach, would be far too deep to wade through comfortably. So as I said before, if we weren't wet already... We took it well though. We met groups of pro-trampers with their raincoats, appropriate footwear and hiking sticks, who were huddled up waiting for the tide to recede. We rocked up, changed into our swimwear, and started ferrying sports bags and babies across. Admittedly, some of these dudes were in the bush for a week or so. They not driven by being an hour's stroll from the only cafe in the whole nature reserve and 2 hours from their return Aqua Taxi.

Which brings me to the rarest sighting I viewed in this park, probably one of the rarest things in all NZ. A rubbish cafe. After a hike through this prehistoric looking landscape and stumbling down hill to The Lodge, I was expecting warm coffee and a share on a big vat of vegetable soup. I wasn't expecting to be asked to leave my wet pack outside and then be offered pan-seared salmon with caramelised onion for $30. Never have I seen a more bemused group of wet people in kagouls and unfashionable shorts. I am used to cafes that choose to ignore popular appeal in favour of maximising profit from the wealthy, the desperate and those who are yet to get the hang of the currency, there are examples in every park in London. But they are an exception over here. I think. Or maybe I haven't got the hang of the currency yet.

Not for the Faint Hearted or the Foot Fetishists

Keeping a diary is supposed to be a cathartic thing so I'm not going to avoid uncomfortable or difficult issues. But it's going to come with a warning as Annie can no longer listen to me even start to talk of my feet. She puts her fingers in her ears and goes 'la la la' as soon as any mention of flaky bits, weeping, or 'in chunks' occurs. So BE WARNED! You don't have to read this.

This article is not for those that hate talk of feet, and will also not be enjoyed by those who abhor cruelty to feet.

So here is the next instalment of the increasingly off-topic blog about my trip to New Zealand.

One of the things you'll first notice about New Zealand is that shoes are optional. Even in the cities it is perfectly normal to see people wandering around barefoot. They are not homeless, nor mad. They can get away with this behaviour largely in part due to the comparatively low amount of broken glass littering the streets. Now I'm not this hardcore, my soft feet wouldn't last two minutes of mild pedestrian activity but I like to immerse myself in local cultures so I invested in the next best thing, a pair of Jandals. That's flip-flops to us Brits. Now when I say invested, I mean I spent £2 on a pair from a large cardboard box of assorted jandals in a dairy.

Now its important to note what happens when you spend such a small amount on footwear. You trip over. A lot. The flimsy pieces of polystyrene held between your first two toes twists and slips like a broken yet painless ankle and meanwhile the skin on my feet dries out in the sunshine. Then follows the rain. I am faced with a walk up a muddy track to see a volcano. My jandals are clearly the wrong end of appropriate gear for the expedition, and it has now been days since I was aware of where any of my socks were. My crunchy dermed feet are exposed to a sweaty sockless trainer hike that leaves the shoes smelling so bad that even wrapped in a plastic bag at the bottom of all our luggage they still leave the car reeking.

In steps 'Grandma's Remedy'. A magical powder that will cure the stink of feet. Twenty dollars for a pack of baking soda actually, but I can see the principle that drying my feet out a lot could allow us to get back in the car, so I give it a go. Just in time to get to the South Island and its population of sand flies. I don't hate sand flies like a lot of people do. Sure they've bitten my feet a lot but I'm trying to see the positive side, the incalculable joy I get from scratching the many, many bites on my now ghostly white powdered feet. But my feet have been so successfully dried that the heels are now cracking.

Half inch long canyons are now present on the back of both my feet and all I do is add further sand to them on a daily basis. So further medication is required and another twenty dollars leaves. This time for some of Australia's leading Heel Balm. Containing, you've guessed it cos you're so far ahead of me, yes that's right, 25% Urea. Not just any urea, but chemically synthesised. Although it didn't actually specify that it wasn't chemically synthesised inside a goat.

That said, its an absolute miracle and a few days of wiping this stuff on my heels has brought them back from the brink of completely crumbling. I no longer care who or what chemically synthesised the stuff, I would gratefully buy them a drink. Or few sugar cubes or bale of hay or whatever they happen to enjoy.

Next week I'll tell all about the fantastic Mussel Chowder I enjoyed. And then didn't enjoy three hours later.

Just a few updates

I've been looking back thru the articles, and I thought I'd better keep you up to date on a couple of matters.

After a resounding shortage of suggestions of car names, a deccision has been made. The first postcard out of the bag came from a L. Mulford of Bentworth, Hampshire. She correctly pointed out that naming your car after Obama just cos it is black, is indeed a bit rascist. Well done Mum. So the car is referred to as 'the car'. And if we're feeling affectionate, 'the van'. No offense is intended to any real vans. Or Van Morrison.

Theo is continuing to do his thing. Getting a bit bigger and eating a range of stuff, including pasta. He is also now exploding with teeth.

And for those of you who prefer pictures to words, we now have a barrel of images here. They are named after the place in which they were uploaded so picture names are not always accurate.

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.

Takapuna Inferno

Time to rub your noses in it; yes, I am about to start complaining that it is too hot. The middle part of the day is an excuse to move around town with the AC pumping. We get in the car, explain once again to Jay that we can wind down the windows, or we can turn on the Air Conditioning, but that doing both would simply throw freshly cooled air straight out of the vehicle. The boys are both bloated with pink by this time of day that even Jay can not resist a little nap time. We park up somewhere in the shade and move on to a cafe and take in the view. Today was the view from Titirangi, suburb of Auckland, down over the forest, to the beach, with a vanilla milkshake and a huge slab of caramel chocolate cake.

It had cooled off enough by half three to head down to the beach via the appropriately named Zig Zag path. Covered by the trees, the path immediately leaves any sight of civilisation, yet drainage holes and small wooden bridges clearly mark the path as man-made and regularly used. A half hour walk opened onto the well kept lawns before the beach. But the tide was out, so far out that I couldn't even see where the sea even started. So we made do with playing on the playground before hiking back up the hill and returning to our new home, the district of Takapuna. Just North of Auckland Central, which means across the Harbour Bridge. The 'well-heeled' area comes across as a permanent holiday resort. The Beach, the row of bars and restaurants along the front, as many yachts as there are cars, and the fact that we are staying in a caravan park on the top end of the beach make me easily forget that while this area fills up with visitors at the weekend, it is 15 mins bus ride from the busiest Biz centre in the country.

The experienced NZ traveller in me is easily forgetting the london throngs, and is very quick to describe 100 people on a mile long beach as a bit hectic. I'm longing to get away from a bustling metropolis, which is annoying as I already have done so once in the last week, and now I'm doing it again. Although in this one, when I drove round a car park to find all spaces occupied, a pedestrian that was returning to her car waved at me as I left and shouted, 'hey mate! I'm just about to leave'.

Will hit the proper country side soon, and more news on the big vehicle decision. I'm sure you're all on tenterhooks about which Mitsubishi had what it takes. Well, be prepared for a shocking twist ending to that plot line.

A Tale of Two Delicas

So the journey over here was mixed, on the first flight we had the finest seats on the whole plane. Front left, facing a wall onto which was attached a 'Basinette', which is a fancy word for a bucket for keeping a baby in. But the legroom! The front left, for some reason has more legroom than front right or centre. I was able to properly stretch out, with my right foot cheekily poking under the curtain and actually being accomodated in the first class section. The only possible way to have a better seat than this would be to in first class and to slyly poke your foot into the Pilot's cabin.

So I stretched my legs out, Jay put Cocomong on the personal video screen (Korean kid's cartoon), I hooked into the latest Ricky Gervais in Hollywood opus, and Annie tried to stop Mama Mia from playing in french on her video screen while Theos rolled around in the chasm that was our leg space. I barely noticed our descent, and looked forward to catching a few more movies on the next leg.

Not to be though, I'm afraid. The Seoul to Auckland leg was on a plane from the 80's. We once again had the Basinette seat at the front, but were now in the middle. Personal video screens were just a glimmer in the future of aviation and the baby-bucket had the one video screen for the whole plane just above it. Thus making the space set aside for babies the most illuminated, flashing, 18 certificated place to sit on the entire plane. Instead of occasionally starting another episode for Jay, I spent a good section of the flight averting Jay's eyes as Vin Deisel punched another Ruskie.

Just about over the experience now. We all a bit sun-burnt (Sorry Theophilus) and trying to choose between the 4wd Deisel Mitsubishi Delica and the 2wd petrol Mitsubishi Delica with a sun roof. Should have some kind of vehicle by the time I write again, but hopefully will have been presented with a bit more choice by then.

Haven't actually left yet

Less than 2 weeks to go. Plenty is in place for when we arrive, place to stay, hire car for the short term before we require our own vehicle. But I'm still surrounded by stuff here in the flat in London, and it all has to be moved South or thrown away. It seems that someone wants to move into our flat, so hopefully I can palm a bunch of rubbish of on them and not need to carry it all down to the bins. Not that I'm not looking forward to taking lots of stuff down to the bins, that is.

Have got round to buying a lovely new lap top for the trip tho, so I should be able to add lots of fascinating stories to the blog from the comfort of my own tent. Which should increase productivity as I won't have to suddenly think of something beautiful and poignant whilst sitting in an internet cafe with the clock ticking. No, I can scribe pearls of elegant prose in my own time and space - like this first chapter. Beautiful, wasn't it?