The Dentist

Never have I seen a waiting room so generously designed and quite elegantly decorated, and with a beautiful three metre high tropical fish tank in the corner. It is quite delightful, but what it hides are dental surgeries, places of untold fear and agony, where torture is daily inflicted upon poor helpless victims. Or that's the way it used to be when I was a boy in country NSW, but time has changed all this and now it is like a hotel foyer.

I arrive at the appointed 4.15, five minutes early to be exact, and the charming assistant says she'll tell Ravi I'm here. All sounds good and I take my seat to look at the very active fish in the their prison, looking very hungry actually. I wonder who feeds them in this gilded palace? Ravi comes out and ushers in to his office the lady sitting next to me. It is just four fifteen and I wonder when I will be seen, five fifteen? After all, they're proudly operating seven days a week and twelve hours a day, at least. We'll see.

This morning already I have been to a World AIDS Conference prep talk given by two likely lasses from Mebourne flown in specially for the morning briefing. We are in the not very exciting atmosphere of St John's Hall and we number only seven people, plus the two principals. Tea is served, no rush, and indeed there is no rush as there is very little to be said. It is on all on their intenet site which we have looked at already. However this couple isn't silly, the one from Geneva, born in Montenegro, in cahoots wih her pal, Milanovic, obviously also a Croatian or Serb, know of New Zealand's delights and will soon, they later tell me, be in their rented car motoring down to the sights and wonder of the fabled Queenstown in the South Island. This AIDS band wagon is something else! Expecting fourteen thousand at the five day biennial world conference at the huge Melbourne conference centre on the banks of the Yarra, it will be the biggest Melbourne has ever hosted. And they will be laughing, Melbourne CBD I mean. 

It is headed by two women, one Dr Barre-Sinoussi, who is the co-discoverer of the virus which causes AIDS, the other a leading scientist Dr Sharon Lewin, from Melbourne who is on the cutting edge of HIV research. The conference is entitled Setting the Pace, a rather droll title in my opinion. The two reps who came to Wellington were nearly superfluous, just giving out a few programs which were already on the net, and hoping that we all would register...$$$. The only way Lesley and I could afford to go is to act as volunteers, which I am sure will be more fun anyway.

I peruse the 'Commercial Invitation' booklet, of which they have many, and see the enormous costs involved, which means of course, there are enormous profits to be made. AIDS is, after all, one of the richest industries in the world after cancer and armaments. For example each media outlet is charged $20,000 US for the privilege of attending the conference, with computer hire generously thrown in. As they expect twelve hundred media reps, and the 'free' delegate bags cost a mere $65,000, go figure. But it will certainly be an interesting experience to mix with the world 'creme de la creme' of AIDS research, and their many hangers-on... I hope!

But back to the dental chair...

It is the next day and my mouth has recovered. It was as good a dental experience as I have had. Ravi was expert and not just that, he did not chat at all with his assistant, nor to me, during the whole procedure which lasted well over forty-five minutes. The overhead DVD however was not seen as there was no way I could appreciate a wealthy Kiwi's foray into huntin' and shootin’, and then cookin',

which was the subject of the movie.  So although I emerged quite a bit poorer from the surgery I was happy with the result. It was another example of high cost but also high quality, something I never mind, above all in the mouth department, which in the past has proven to be quite a battle ground. 

A nice post script. In the evening after the HU song in Kilbirnie I accepted a welcome invitation to stay for meal which was a beautiful smoked fish, but eaten only on one side of my mouth as the other side, full of novocaine or such, took quite a while to come back to normal. It was a good end to a very busy week.

City Library

The status of a library, however big or small, has never been in doubt. It is always a centre of information, learning and above all else a place of intellectual stimulation. Wellington City library is certainly the sum of its parts and even more I feel, given its easy accessibility, user-friendly design and added value assets like the Cafe where I am writing this blog, and its location next to the excellent and innovative City Art Gallery.

I have just visited the Gallery which is dedicated mainly to photography and installations and have witnessed a huge four screen installation which I will take some time to digest. But I know it was good.

Again an example of Kiwi creativity which never disappoints. 

Speaking of Art, I felt a tinge of unaccustomed nostalgia when I heard interviewed yesterday on the radio the Tasmanian Arts supremo Brian Ritchie, formerly hard-rock musician with the US group Violent Femmes. He now curates a great music festival in Hobart called MoFO, along with his 'best mate' David Walsh of MONA fame. He sounded great and indeed does a great service in bringing the arts to Tassie. However he is a big fish in a small pond and this festival was sorely needed in Hobart, and survives only by over fifty percent patronage from interstate and overseas. The average Tasmanian just doesn't go to things like this, in contrast I believe, to the Kiwis who embrace their art culture over all levels of society, (although Rugby does reign supreme I must admit).

The rear entrance to City Library

Outside the City Art Gallery

And finally the City Square with grey Michael Fowler Centre in background

At the very popular mezzanine Coffee Shop in the Library

 In the cafe there are always quite large groups of young and old who are there in a relaxed environment to have a forum of discussion for their passion whatever it may be. A lot I think are nascent writers as this country just loves to write, something which I have mentioned before. The seventeen year old song writer Lorde who last week won two Emmy Awards in Los Angeles is an example of this ability to take the Kiwis to the rest of the world. Which of course, is still the US of A.

Which brings me to the latest American travesty on the screen, a film up for all of ten Oscars I believe, but which for me failed miserably in its originality, which is really what Art is about I would say.

'American Hustle' is base on true events OK, but bringing them to screen in an original way is the challenge and where the film makers did not succeed. I am certainly in the face of all pundits who unanimously say it is the 'best movie' on several counts. It does boast of excellent acting performances, the hackneyed stereotypes of all the US crims who were hustling for big money in the seventies in New York and New Jersey. The problem is that the BBC did it all before, in a much more sophisticated satirical fashion in their long running series 'The Hustle' which was a formidable success and which surely crossed the Atlantic. Just give the characters different accents, Jewish Italian American ones, and you have a movie length version of the same theme but without the brevity and punch of a TV hour-long series. The movie was over two and a half hours long and there were many times when you could feel in the cinema blank moments of waiting for the next predictable event to occur. Even the predominantly young Kiwi audience which did give the occasional laugh in response to obvious gag lines would have agreed it is not 'the best movie of the year'. But then the Academy Awards often go to the wrong movies. It would not get my vote. Three stars only. 

Burger Fuel.

I have arrived at a new Kiwi success story - Burger Fuel. And I am at its centrepiece, although they are all much the same, now a worldwide franchise. This one on the corner of Taranaki and Courtenay Place couldn't be more central so it epitomises its success. Two Kiwi petrol-heads began it nearly twenty years ago in Auckland  seeing a need for the better taste burgers for discerning Kiwis, and for that matter everyone. Has anyone had a palatable burger from Macca's, or KFC or any other awful fast food outlets? I don't think so.

Well I wasn't expecting too much so it was with trepidation I asked for the Chicken Burnout (they all have motor themes) touted to be chargrilled chicken breast, bacon, stilton cheese sauce, dijon mustard, salad and relish, a daunting recipe I thought. But half an hour later my stomach tells me it's OK, and the burger itself tasted quite good. Not enough to come again, but not indigestible like all the others. What set it aside was the quality brown paper bag and the Doofer that came with it. Dumdum me didn't know what it was, but as you see from the pic it looks like a car, but it's upside down. It is actually a burger carrier!

Seduced by the innovation I succumb to a Burgerfuel special ice-cream, a Hokey pokey made by them, resplendent in its own pot and tucked inside the lid is the spoon. It tasted good too. All for sixteen dollars, and no indigestion. A cheap meal and a lesson in Kiwi creativity. The owners have sold franchises in Dubai and Southeast Asia and are soon to be in Australia and the US, that is, if they let them in. A big success story indeed.

But now to Fishhead magazine, here below... 

I mentioned once before this popular Kiwi glossy mag, and Burgerfuel had the latest copy, another point in its favour. On reading the editorial I see it is only six years old, a unique Wellington creation for its inhabitants, and that the present editor is just finishing his time in order to become the next CEO of Wellington Contemporary Dance company, another clear example of cross pollination and a success driven story in its own right. But what other city in the world could have its pre-eminent glossy with such a smelly name!  

This edition has articles on the great Kiwi 'bach', pronounced batch, the family holiday shack that Tasmanians have as well, passed down through generations, and rarely, if ever, sold. It is an iconic Kiwi story of building cheaply and transporting the materials in the easiest way possible to their remote locations. I took a snap of one of them in the magazine, it looks very inviting.

Courtenay Place from Burgerfuel

Half eaten Burnout burger.

The eagle has landed in NZ

What a doofer I was, this is the burger holder, not a toy car!

The Fish head magazine...

An example of a beautiful simple bach on the South Wellington shores.

Below a picture of Bilbo of the Hobbits, the top English actor Martin Freemanwho is now a big star in New Zealand, said how much he loved filming in stress-free Wellington where some 'very groovy' people live.

New paint job..

It is now over three months that I have been entertaining two elderly tradesmen, a painter, S, and his boss the carpenter, C.  My house has been shared with one grumpy old man, and the other who 'just loves a chat', so I have to be very wary when I begin a conversation, as it may go on for a lot longer than expected and the job will too!

This job, the complete painting and repairing of this 1900s weatherboard house, perched on a cliff on Evans Bay, it is not a particularly easy one, as there are no sheltered outdoor areas to store work stuff, paint etc, and nowhere to sit and relax at lunchtime, and morning tea, and afternoon tea. You get my drift, I have been sharing my days with these two tradies, my dining room, kitchen, toilet, veranda, and, boy, will I be glad when they have finished. I got to know them early, inviting them to have coffee and cake with me one morning. Well that was the beginning and it was not possible to withdraw. They love sharing my home with my two female housemates, who at least are at work every day and who rarely see them. However I am now counting the days until they leave, the job finished. I hope it was worth it, but I think it will be.

Here is S, gingerly on the job...

and the front veranda, no longer useable...

Yesterday was quite a day as well, just showing me how easy it is to have a full day in Wellie...

My day began with an appointment with a new dentist in an extremely smart condo just up the road from BP in Courtenay Place. It was recommended by someone who obviously liked the good things in life. The foyer was gigantic resembling an American hotel foyer and I was greeted by several pert receptionistes all looking to help me out. My appointment was with one of the principals named Ravi, a very impressive and youngish Indian professional with numerous framed certificates all set decorously on his wall, that is where there weren't full-length glass windows overlooking Courtenay Place. I sat, or lay down, in the comfy dental-chair, and glanced up to the ceiling and saw a giant flat screened tellie giving me all local news and other programs - a nice innovation and good distraction from the possible torture (just joking) I was about to endure.

 Ravi was very pleasant, took some obligatory X-rays assuring me they were harmless, and proceeded to agree I that needed a half-tooth replaced which had fallen out recently - my old fillings had seen better days. He also politely told me there was an insidious shadow lurking behind some more fillings on another molar which need attention. OK I said, let's do it, fearing the worst financially, as I am not dentally insured, and after all it is Wellington, the coolest, but very expensive, city in the world.

I am finally ushered out with the promise of an early appointment  tomorrow and a 'nice to have met you', each word reeking dollars. But before leaving I was kindly invited to an 'interview', more like a chat, with the clinic manager, another totally charming Kiwi professional who would never have sullied her tongue with the word 'dollars'. She discreetly slipped me a two page quote of the cost of my treatment and promised to 'be in touch'.  On exiting, after saying  goodbye to the lovely receptionists, I glanced at the paperwork, a three figure sum, as expected, but for one treatment, including today's diagnosis, it was close to six hundred dollars, quite a bit more than I had expected. Such is life in Wellington.

Next stop, a cheaper one, was at Wellington Hospital to see James and the blood people to have my blood tests done for Tuesday's  appointment. Arriving at the Outpatients I await on the designated red chair area, and my turn comes, having taken my number from the wall stash. On entering, 'Your papers?' I am politely asked, 'Sorry I wasn't given any.' I reply. Result, without them I have no chance of having tests. 

What to do? I quickly phone and text James, who isn't there, and then decide to go to the hospital cafeteria to wait and have some lunch and a much needed coffee which I have previously avoided in order to keep my 'bloods' cafeine-free. I wasn't going to wait any longer. Seated with a coffee my cell phone rings and it is James. 'Am on way' he calmly says, 'Am in cafe.' I reply, 'Wait for me', he says. So in twenty minutes I have the required papers and a new person does my 'bloods' to be ready for tomorrow's visit. I find out later from Lesley at BP always to ring James before you go to remind him you are coming...another lesson learned.

So back to BP after this lesson, and I am booked in for a massage with G, something which I always enjoy. An hour later, very refreshed, I am back home to prepare for my evening debut at Different-strokes Wellington Swim Club, at Kilbirnie Swim Centre. It is at 7.30pm and I arrive on time to see my friend Julian in the change room with a few other likely lads doffing their clothes. Julian greets me and warmly introduces me to the other very friendly swimmers. Somehow I have a warm fuzzy feeling already but still have an hour of lap-swimming ahead of me. 

At the poolside, the coach, a redoubtable American lassie called Paige, ex super-champ, smilingly invites me to do eight lengths of the 25 metre pool and kick only on the return lap. I try to indulge her but have many rests at each end as I am certainly not as fit as the others. But it is all a good experience and it makes me swim which I need to do.

In the change-room later I chat with Julian and the team Captain M. who  says he hopes that I can come to Auckland for the annual swim meet to compete up there on February 8 virtually only a week away. It is something to think about but maybe is bit soon. I thank him and feel it would indeed be a nice way to meet everyone. All this swimming is quite a commitment, three times a week, an hour each visit, but then I will be giving up something else, my choir. We'll see what eventuates.

So this was a very busy and productive Monday and I have a few things to consider. Now my year is getting organised. My next big thing is my Maori class which hopefully starts next week, and is something I am really looking forward to.

Finally, a good movie...

At last has ended the drought of good movies as I caught the first showing of the oddly named 'Saving Mr Banks' at the famous Embassy Theatre, owned by Sir Peter Jackson. I say odd, because the main subject, Mary Poppins, is about as famous today as Nelson Mandela, in a different context of course. It is actually about the author of said fantasy novel, who liked to be known only as Mrs Travers, and who was much more a complex personality than many would have thought. Mr Banks, by the way, is the fictional father played in the original movie by Dick Van Dyke, with whom Walt Disney himself identified. How he was 'saved', I still don't know. The movie is about how 'Mary Poppins, the Movie' got made.

There is quite an Aussie element as Mrs L.P. Travers was born in Queensland in 1906 to an alcoholic banker father who delighted in telling his elder little daughter fantasy stories. The father in this film was played to the hilt by the gorgeous Colin Farrell, a perfect choice for this role. But it is Emma Thompson who plays Mrs Travers who carries the movie, with a superb performance of a curmudgeonly unlikeable woman who couldn't stand cartoons, and especially Walt Disney ones. Tom Hanks plays this role of Disney as his own, moustache and all, drawling his way with a pronounced Missouri accent, until, seemingly conquered by this impossible woman writer who won't agree to his demands, he flies to London to beg her for the film rights, rights which Travers had steadfastly refused to give to a mere 'animator'.This part is fiction, but carries the story nonetheless, as does Travers coming to Hollywood for the premiere and crying most of the way through the film she didn't want filmed, and certainly not as a musical. The movie is a tear-jerker in the best of ways, and the fabrications a la Hollywood don't spoil it at all. 

On reading the background of Travers, it appears that she, who was madly in love with her father who died as an alcoholic when she was only about twelve, became as an adult a really out-and-out lesbian, having quite a few 'lady affairs' throughout her life. She also had adopted a son who ironically became an alcoholic as well. So without Hollywood, this would have been a fascinating story, but Disney Productions, which produced it, had to have the last word. They needed, of course, some of the film footage of the 1964 Julie Andrews movie, which was only available if Disney came onboard. 

They were all happy with the result it seems, and Emma Thompson was up for a Golden Globe Award, which unfortunately went to 'our Cate' as the anti-heroine written for her in Woody Allen's latest film, 'Jasmine'. I had a cry during the movie, just a little one, but that is a sure sign the movie works for me.  It was a real lesson in compromise as Hollywood had to have an input, so the film was shot in California, although Travers never travelled there at all, and the deal was actually clinched by mail. I must say the 'Aussie' footage did not appear very realistic, even at its best.

So the mixing of fact and fiction can work in movies when the essential story isn't muddied, which was that of Walt Disney keeping his promise to his two daughters for twenty years, (the actual time it took to get the film rights), to make a movie of their favourite story, 'Mary Poppins'. Aussie actress, Rachel Griffiths, makes a small contribution as the fastidious Aunt, who was the actual model of the fantasy heroine. This is really a four star movie in my opinion.

Which brings me to where I am on this cool, now wet morning, when I decided to brave the changeable weather and take my scooter to the Sunday Market. Finally negotiating the streets in Te Aro, I make the market, buy my veggies, and decide to have a good coffee in Cuba to erase the memory of yesterday's monstrosity at the Astoria. I end up at Quilters Bookshop in Ghuznee Street, an old favourite where I should come more often. The coffee is perfect, the atmosphere bookish, and this is very Wellington. My faith is restored as I sit to blog, and see my neighbour is doing the same. I get a beautiful smelling coffee and a nice-looking lemon friand to help me to wait for the rain to pass when I will venture home. 

I have now learned not to take too much notice of the weather, but as tonight is forecast heavy rains, I may be better to forego the scooter and take the bus as I was used to, to go to my ballroom dancing at seven o'clock. We are getting serious with the dancing now, as the ads have been published for the competition, and I am a part of it. Better start serious practice I suppose, can't let the side down, as the Aussies are coming over in force to compete. 

Quilters Coffee/Book Shop

...in Ghuznee Street

with a tasty lemon friand.

Saturday in Summer

At the Astoria...waiting to be served, I appear to be at the upper end of Wellington cafe society, although  they would never claim to be so, I am quite sure. As there seems to be no table service (!!!) I ask for a menu and then walk to bar to order. For a cafe of this size and stature, (all the pollies come here as it is at their end of town), I am amazed there is no service. But so be it, I live in egalitarian Wellington, the coolest little capital in the world, so they say.

The waiter, (they do take service away), is a typical red haired Kiwi, bearded, and seemingly efficient. The ginger, or carrot top, male in particular, is a special species in New Zealand, warranting a recent two page article in the prestige national magazine, Fish-head. What does this say about this small, but brilliant country? I leave it to you to surmise. But creativity is to the fore in every exercise I see in this strange country. As I am back on my trusty scooter I now have the means to survey greater Wellington, especially the beachside, which I am assured is worth the trip. I wait to be astonished.

This morning, Saturday, I was awakened by C. the carpenter of our working duo, who decides to finish his work today, as he's travelling somewhere next week and won't have the time. There is no warning as he invades my housemate's room to repair the window sash which she had requested. The rain had been pouring into her room during some of our wetter days. Happily my Jewish friend is at her Synagogue, and is not in evidence when C starts sawing his wood next to her bed and making a hell of a mess. I plan to to get the vacuum out before she returns, that is if I get home in time tonight. Again, the 'Wellington Way'.

While waiting for my lukewarm coffee to arrive, which is actually the worst I have had in this benign city, I read the Saturday headlines of the Dominion Post. A conman, regularly in and out of gaol, has just been apprehended after stealing thousands of dollars and credit cards just by walking into Victoria University and pretending to be one of them. This is of course, the downside of a trusting and mostly honest people, they get easily conned. I should know, I've been conned on more than a few occasions. But the poor Kiwis - another man, a multi-millionaire yachtsman with an enormous boating empire, is now penniless in Vancouver Island as his business went bust without him realising it. Again we see a case of  Kiwi naïveté. OK, the world's finances change, but it is a good idea to be abreast of the times, something which this Kiwi obviously was not.

But on the brighter side, the best of Kiwi movies has just been voted and it is not 'Lord of the Rings' by Peter Jackson. It is that amazingly violent, yet accurate portrayal of a Maori Auckland family in the eighties. It is called 'Once Were Warriors' after a book by Alan Duff of the same name. It has obvious hit a chord with both Maori and Pakeha as it is a saga of family violence superseding racial barriers, but essentially talking to the Maori problem of self identification and pride as a race in a country which was virtually stolen from them. When I saw it I was totally gutted by its violence, but it was not gratuitous. It was real and unfortunately spot-on. Such is the inherent violence of the Maori male apparently, but it was fuelled by alcohol and drugs which is a very large problem in the north of the north island. Happily, I wish to identify with that part of the Maori nature which is loving, supportive and poetic...I hope.

I am now leaving the famous Astoria Cafe, never to return. I am really am a Cuba Street boy, and am happy to stay that way.

At the 'in'famous Astoria Cafe

My best place in Wellie, home.

A real summer's day.

Have been reading other people's blogs, and their reasons for writing them. It seems so many use them as part of their therapy, or instead of a therapist. Many are suffering from ego-denial which they can alleviate somewhat by writing of their deficiencies in a blog, and have many similar bloggers understand and sympathise with them. Others are there to sell their wares, just by being seen on the Internet. Some, of course, are pure exercises in style show-off, albeit rule-breaking  and quite enjoyable. 

So my reasons for writing lie down the middle. I have no-one I wish to convince to change, I am not a great stylist, but I suppose I am passionate about living in this great city way Down Under, and living it in the best way I can. However it's good to read other blogs just to learn what is good and bad about them. Plus it's fun to write, and that's about it, I suppose.

Today in town I went to pick up my poor abused scooter, having spent more than two months in the repair shop waiting for spare parts from Korea. I entered Ellmer's Mower shop on Cuba Street to look for it, expecting to see it gleaming and totally renewed and polished. I couldn't find it anywhere, nor could I find Jamie, my salesman. However Maria, the assistant,  knew what I came for and eventually  I saw my number plate right by the door, on a strange tired black looking scooter. I went closer and recognised my old pal, with a new front, this time in black. What a new look it is, but it's OK, probably even better, as before its shiny purple colour was indeed an attraction to any passing bike kleptomaniac. Now more plain, and more safe, I happily decide I am keeping my beloved scooter and will ride it in all the fine weather I can find, and that is today, and even possibly this whole weekend.

I pay half the bill and promise the other half tomorrow when I will remember to bring my credit card.

I motor out slowly getting used to her idiosyncrasies again, she is such a nice machine, and I am now going to buy a new pair of sunnies I saw yesterday at Kathmandu, to celebrate. A lovely Friday and finished with singing the HU at Kilbirnie. A very happy week's end.

Summer again, for a moment at least, this is Beautiful Wellington at its best. ..

Basking on Oriental parade beach...

Whanganui Barbeque

Today is an out-of- town adventure, a day trip to my favourite country town, Whanganui, second city of the NZ province called Manuatu. BP has a number of members we support who live in this region, including my friend S. from Vinegar Hill fame. It is such a sunny warm day, today is a good opportunity for a road trip, which is about seven hours there and back. R. who is head honcho of BP is a good chauffeur so the long trip will not be as tiresome as it seems. We climb aboard his impeccable Dodge car and hit the road at midday...

On the road...

Passing through Levin, a middle-sized and not very impressive town.

Stopping at lazy Levin for lunch...

Destination barbecue at Whanganui...

 It was a perfect day  for a barbecue, and our two friends arrived with their respective dogs, a Jack Russell, Divine, whom I  knew already, and a slightly more aggressive Boxer, called Baillee, who was kept happily contained in his  owner's car.

The portable barbecue was excellent, and the sausages and salad were followed by my freshly baked and very moist chocolate cake. It is always interesting to see how two men in country NZ, somewhat isolated by their sexual preferences, both looking after ageing parents, manage to survive in a climate which is still unaccustomed to accepting them in their full sense as gay men. They are both super creative and enjoyed our three hour visit. We did too, it was a good venture and certainly worth the effort. R tells me it will now be a bi-monthly affair which is obviously a good idea.

Back to 'normal'?

Where am ? At The Library of course, with a long awaited hot lemon and honey drink.

The morning was spent at the Wellington City Library which is somewhere I need to make a weekly, at least, visit. It is such a great venue to catch up on all international newspapers, as although they are online, there is nothing that replaces the paper I believe. A sign of my advanced age no doubt!

The Farrah Fawcett lookalike just served me and I am partaking of some nuts and my health drink. Drama last night as half a tooth chipped off and I realised that my planned dental appointment is now of the utmost urgency. I'll be searching for a reliable and reasonable dentist in Wellie to satisfy my ongoing needs in that department.

Popped in to BP who may help in the dental direction, and discovered good news there, a new arrival from London is keen to volunteer, has an assortment of skills and is very keen to be of service at BP. Also an escapee from the Big Smoke, he will welcome the calming, less than frenetic, atmosphere of Wellington, a city which he has known before apparently. He is a photography major, and has already scored a job at the City Gallery, the best photographic gallery in town.

Oops, my mobile rang and it is amazing news..my scooter has finally been repaired after three months in limbo. At a good cost no doubt, which I will discover tomorrow. Jamie, the scooter seller, I am hoping will resell it for me on commission, as I have decided to forego its debatable pleasures. More water under the bridge as it will be my last foray into the 'motor bike brigade', ever! Still it was nice to experience the joy of riding for the very short while I had it. Wellington is just TOO windy for a scooter in my opinion, especially for a venerable gent like myself!

Now, as it's Wednesday, I am scheduled for my regular night at Flash Dog Studios, to sing my lifesaving HU. On my way I discovered a new route, through the historic and quite beautiful Basin Reserve Oval so I too a couple of snaps. Wellington must be the only city in the world that allows free thoroughfare through such an important area, and it is used all the time! 

Having a cocktail at The Library

The original cricket stand at The Basin

Always pristine, always green...

Earthquake!

Well the earth moved again for me yesterday at four pm. Wellington was shaken at 6.3 on the Richter Scale and survived, yet again. It was five seconds of movement and no appreciable damage I believe. My second severe quake in six months and there was not a problem.

I went into Wellington this afternoon to shop for black pants for my dance comp in March. Found some overpriced ones on sale at Kathmandu which fitted well so took them. Kathmandu is such a sham pretending to be Green and ecologically sound, yet gets all its stuff made in China, and charges huge prices. I shouldn't shop there ideally.

Last night I impetuously caught a new release movie without studying its reviews first. Again a mistake, as for the second time (the first one was 'The Titanic') I walked out of a Leonardo DiCaprio movie. This time halfway through this over-the-top three hour monster I could stomach Martin Scorcese's excesses no longer. It wasn't even funny, so I heeded my better self and ducked out. I am sure there were many in the audience who would have liked also to have skipped from this thirty seat cinema, but it would have been very obvious. The film was 'Wolf of Wall Street', a spoof on the eighties Futures Exchange rorts perpetrated by some brokers in the biggest US banking corporations. Billions were lost in the run on the Stock Exchange and thousands of small people lost their homes and all their money. It was a totally disgusting time in the US and I really don't think it was worthy of a comedy. 

An interesting observation to be made about Leo's sexuality, about which there are many rumours floating in Hollywood, with his constant super-model dates and no relationships happening. As the 'Wolf', he indulged in many sex fantasies, being dominated was one them, and in one scene he is handcuffed by a call-girl, face-down on the bed, with a very large, red, lit, candle protruding from his buttocks, firmly inserted into his anus. The next trick of course is to have the molten wax drip on to his naked body. Leonardo seemed to enjoy this quite a bit, but then he is a good actor!

Black to a bleak, but honest Wellington...

The ominous weather on Oriental Parade...

Dark clouds overhead, our three days of summer gone...

Not too many cars to be seen...

Meeting Kinto

Today is Sunday - recovery day and maket day on the quayside of Wellington. I get there about twelve forty-five still time to shop and the fruit and vegies are a reasonable price, for Wellington is very expensive. I feel a bit peckish, so buy a chicken and mushroom pasty, or something like it, sold perhaps by a French woman, for five dollars fifty, the cheapest you can buy any snack on the market day. A small coffee at this market is sold at four dollars fifty! I eat the pasty, along with many others doing the same, especially young couples, I notice, who seem to be there with their one off-spring. I see a French couple with a little fat four year old munching a German sausage, and then a mixed Japanese Indian couple with a little curly headed muffin playing with an enormous brass propellor embedded in the sand, a local memento sculpture. 

This enormous propellor has more than a sense of irony today, as I have just read that the abandoned Interislander Ferry which lost its propellor a few months ago, just off-shore where it wasn't able to retrieve it, was immediately replaced by a European Dutch Ferry which is also now 'out of action' due to several faults, and they now are docked side by side, useless, on Wellington quay. It is a quite embarrassing result for the supposed premier ferry company owned and operated by Kiwi Rail. Now hundreds of passengers are stranded in the peak holiday season. Ferry travel is a very popular way to get to the South island and of course takes cars as well. The newspapers quoted that the company will now go down in history as the worst decision-making public organisation in NZ.

I decide to further my day on the quayside with a visit to a favourite coffee shop under the mega-wealthy appartment block, formerly the General Post Office building I believe, where a penthouse there sold recently for over one and a half million dollars. A pleasant young  man serves me a flat white and I take a seat to browse the Sunday paper. I think that the Wellington Sunday papers are better than the Saturday ones, in my humble opinion. Btw, my excellent coffee here costs only three dollars, as against four dollars fifty take-away, where's the fair trade?

 Kinto, whom I proceed to have a lengthy conversation with as I am his only client, is the Japanese name of my barista, born of a Japanese father and is now a Political Science student at Victoria University. Fluent in Japanese, he is a lovely blended Kiwi who will hopefully make a difference to these islands one day. I will doubtless see him again. We shake hands and I leave. Home for a nap, not a swimming class, before my dance tonight.

The Copthorne, an expensive hotel on Oriental Pde.

The classy apartment house next door..

The birth of the new 'Finger Wharf' style apts on the quay 

My Sunday Market next to Te Papa

Out of the Square - Wellington

Well what a day in a summery Wellington!

It was the Big Day Out on the Square, or as I prefer, out OF the square. A few dozens of gay oriented or just gay friendly, stalls offering food, information, memberships, drinks, gelato, were occupying the city square outside Town Hall and the City Library. This is now the major celebration of being different in Wellington and it is a well-attended tradition. It is an excellent space for such a festa and today is nearly wind-free, and quite sunny. A stage with some imported drag performers from Christchurch and Auckland dominates the venue and my choir, the Glamaphones were sing some of their repertoire. Having missed the rehearsal I was not to sing on this big day unfortunately and this may be an omen of me leaving the choir this year. I even saw many at the festa who had made the same pilgrimage to Vinegar Hill.  After all, Wellington is not a big city. It was enjoyable and as part of the Body Positive contingent, we made its presence felt. The feeling at the stall  was such that I was then persuaded to join the team, continuing the celebrations into the night, it being the long weekend, a fact which I had forgotten.

So it was another new experience. With my compatriots I ventured forth to the famous Rush Bar, where there was to be held a Foam Party. A veritable dance party in suds.  Well it certainly was an experience, and now I've done it, I won't be doing it again, although on my casual walk home, at midnight, I felt extremely clean and relaxed. So it had a good effect! There was a good mix of all sexes there, and many were obviously 'foam addicts'! So be it, I have now been to a foam party.

However tomorrow I will begin my swimming for the year with the Gay swimming Club which successfully recruited me today. I will enjoy that, and after then to the first ballroom dance of the year, a healthy start to 2014.

Three Divas showing their stuff

Go Girl!

Doin' it on the stage at Out on the Square

With Lesley, in red.

A bird's eye view...

Last day in Gosford

My trip is nearly over...a lovely breakfast at M's where he insisted he serve me his usual, smoked salmon on Bulgarian fetta on a toasted bruschettina slice. Very fortifying indeed. As well a large cup of coffee in a large custom made French mug. We then took Maisie and Wag for their morning walk to Woy Woy Bay which was deliriously peaceful and calm, saying Hullo! to many of the locals and even meeting a neighbour walking his own Corgi. It was quite blissful and I don't see them leaving this paradise in a hurry, although he insists NZ is beckoning.

Next encounter was with dear friend C. who had much news and with whom we all had another drink at the local Gnostic Cafe. This time I had a beetroot, carrot and celery drink as I felt my body was calling for it.  C  assured me it was time to do a liver detox as the little discomfort I have felt for the last week is surely from that part of my body. Back to Wellie and raw juices and fewer coffees. I will soon fix this one. As we were all Op. Shop freaks we looked in at  a couple at WW and I bought a check shirt and a present for L. back in Wellie.

A good morning done I was able to take the train to Gosford to meet up with my final RV lunch with A  and H and Susie. whom I hadn't seen for a year or more. There was great news from her as she in a new relationship which is working, finally. A good augury for this year and the new bf loves NZ. ...But then, who doesn't? The universe is constantly telling me I have made the right choice in moving to this end of the earth, the Middle Earth.

After a delicious lunch to which A invited us all, I had an hour free to browse and perhaps shop. So here I am having a LAST coffee at an old haunt. It is air-conditioned which I remember is essential in this Central Coast heat. To-day I hear it is over Forty Degrees Celsius in Melbourne. Ugh!!

Going over this old territory is good therapy as it is a part of my past, but one that is well and truly over and to which I don't see myself ever returning. Now on to the Sydney train and early arrival at the airport....

At an old haunt in Imperial Arcade Gosford.

Arriving at Woy Woy at the Spike Milligan Cycle Bridge!

Woy Woy....

The Sydney train in the quiet, mobile-free carriage

At Sydney International with a Kiwi waiting...nearly home!

And believe it or not, he sat next to me on board and looked at his smart i-Pad the whole trip!

Hyde Park Sydney

Well lots can happen in twenty-four hours...my RV with H yesterday did not eventuate and as I had no phone coverage he could not leave a message.  Strangely the text came though much later. An email also from him sent that morning when I was off-line, told me his  mother had had a fall,  haemorrhaged her brain and was in a life threatening conditon. He sounded in control and I now will only see him on my return visit in April en route to USA. Things like this happen with a reason and we will discover why in the future, I will be fascinated to hear what happens. Our correspondence so far has been in the highest order so I am quietly hopeful.

I emerged last night from the horror story of Japanese atrocities at the Dendy wondering why I hadn't checked it out beforehand. However Nicole Kidman performed well and it was for her I went.

 Home to a quiet bro and this morning we exchanged slideshows of our recent lives. His was a very interesting series of shots of the life of his recently deceased mother-in-law and her wonderful productive life, having nine children, with only Margaret, Mike's wife, having predeceased her. In contrast, my slideshow of Vinegar Hill was good but at a tangent from his. He liked it however. 

Today is my day in Gosford to see my former Dr and get an update on pills and treatment. Then to  see friends M and D for the night at Woy Woy Bay, and tomorrow flying home to Wellie, and the cooler weather. But today is exquisite and I am enjoying every minute of it. H. My RV here at Cafe Hyde Park, will doubtless be late, mais peu importe. Life is always at the right place at the right time.

The lunch yesterday at London Tavern in Paddington went well, although old friend P is not in the best of health, her American and German friends however, were a force of nature, and E showed me her new E-book recently published and written and illustrated by herself. As I mentioned in an earlier blog, it is the story of a Samoyed dog's journey around the world and written from the dog's point of view. It is an eco-story, and explains the disasters happening everywhere in the word today because of ignorance and carelessness, and just downright bloody mindedness. These two are dedicated Eco-warriors.

Service from a lovely Italian waitress from Sargdegna

Sydney on a gorgeous summer day

My healthy carrot, apple juice.