Having a breakfast at the Bordeaux in Newtown is always a tasty experience, and reading the Sunday newspapers always interesting to get a slant on Kiwi life. It's true they are sport obsessed, like the Aussies, but it seems to me they aspire to a greater level of achievement than any other nation simply because of their isolated position in the world. When they compete they want to be really the best, in a humble sort of way that is.
The Bordeaux
Local footy heroes
The Marathon Man
And really the fattest nation, I wonder?
They all talk about being far, but I have yet to see great evidence of this, certainly not like the fat people one sees in the US. Today I need to see Lesley and have a talk with R about BP as there are things to be said which have remained too long unsaid. A quick trip to Island Bay to collect L and then with some muffins we adjourn to Ron's in Mt Vic. It is not a very satisfying encounter as R is forever labouring under the woes of his Indian flatmate and takes on all his worries it seems. It was not time to say what I really wanted to about the parlous state of BP and what he needs to do. Perhaps tomorrow.
On to a forgotten RV at the Long Hall for Hundertwasser, another of J's projects. But I was too late so missed out. Later to the Thistle Hall for a good night of ballroom dancing and home to witness Novak Djokovic win the Australian Tennis Open against the hapless Andy Murray, who seems to have as much personality as a veritable wet blanket.
After composing a letter to Ron for several hours I decide to wait until the morrow to send it. Hopefully it will be received by receptive ears.
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