The signs they are a changin'

I was awoken the other day by my mobile phone, not literally, It didn’t leap onto the bed and vibrate ridiculously on my chest…that would be just weird. Nor did I wake up to its alarm, but the annoying sound of a mobile with a dying battery. It’s the worst sound bite ever, it sounds like a miserable owl. Mewing and blahing away,

Mmmwamwamwaaaa….. “charge me please” in phone speak. Checking up on the ashes score had taken its toll, and been on the road a few days it had hardly had any juice. Wide awake and assaulted by the mesmerizing dawn chorus I leapt up out of my five star bed ( the passenger seat) and headed to the kitchen (the boot.) to put on the kettle. It’s a perennial theme but you always forget something when you stay in the outdoors and although I had the tools to skin a kiwi, plane a door and assemble a light aircraft I had forgotten cups. Cups the most basic of objects, but your ultimately lost without them. I toyed with the idea of using a shoe for the morning coffee instead, I sat, half asleep watching the sun come up, sipping coffee from a plastic wine glass. I pondered over the days itinerary, packed up and hit the road. I had broken the trip from Northland down to Hastings into chunks staying on various campgrounds, in the car ,and visiting a few touristy hotspots. To keep my self entertained while driving, I’ve been making a mental note of funny or  weird road signs. I’ll share my top 3…..

3. For sale 3bdrmd two bathrmd kiwifruit.

2.REAL free range eggs.

1. Work to begin 2011…Pavement rehabilitation.

PAVEMENT REHAB.. what the fuck is this all about. There was never anything wrong with the term…..roadwork’s. Pavement rehab!!

So is alcoholism and depression so rife in western society that even walkways need counseling. It’s not that pavement rehab isn’t a good term for it but I’m very much of the if it ain’t broke don’t fix it crowd. Mankind obviously peaked 50 years ago. We had people building computers from scratch in great rooms, inventors, genii, musical and sporting heroes. Now the world decides to employ people to make sure pavements don’t feel discriminated against. Or to test for minute sea level rises in Holland while North and South Korea play nuclear backgammon. We’ve all lost the plot.

       Talking of plots, returning to the point. I arrived In Hastings safe and sound and made my way to the Hanna family Boysenberry farm. This was to be my fourth wwoof host and a group of people I would be spending the majoritory of the harvest with. Now for those not familiar with a Boysenberry, I certainly wasn’t before. They are like a Bramble on steroids, a huge hunk of a Blackberry. Sweet and slightly sharp. The farm is a fabulous place and although an early dawn start is required most mornings the day’s are breezing past. The evenings, more interestingly, have been used to sample some fantastic Hawkes bay wine or crack walnuts to sell at the roadside stall. The cracking area, a walnut Nirvana. Imagine the softest wooden, weather worn table. Out on a porch with magnolia door frames and wind chimes. The nutcrackers polished  handle dulled from years of soft hands and firm grips. As perfect a set up for the task if ever there was one. Lately the evenings excitement has been peppered by the ashes, and mainly describing to my fellow wwoofers, Canadians and an American, what a cricket bat is, why Shane Warne is fat and why the Aussie cricketers are the only sports men in the world not to rub their sun tan cream in. Why is that!?! They come out after lunch looking like an horrendous version of the black and white minstrels. (Not that the Black and white minstrels were good, but at least they were professional!)

I think my cricket enthusiasm is rubbing off though, they boo when Ricky Ponting comes on screen, much like you would when a pantomime villain enters from stage left. Moreover they have started to draw sharp intakes of breath at the right time and shout an undistinguishable phrase like ‘howazeeeeethtrrtrt’ when someone is caught out. The way this is going I might even win them over to getting rid of the appalling phrase that is ‘soccer’ and start adding u’s back into word’s, in the English language, that were perfectly good to start with! I sign off tonight, on Christmas eve in a sunny and blustery Hawkes bay. Hope you all have a very merry Christmas and a fantastic New year wherever you are on Planet Earth.

I’ll leave you all with the words of Mr. R. Starkey

“Well I'm getting happier all the time, which is very nice..”

Have a good one.

Mapvember.

November has been a sombre month, its has had a lot of downs, The loss of life of a close friends family member and also a lifelong neighbour ,has made me feel slightly homesick, actually that’s the wrong way of looking at it. To be honest its galvanized my opinion of what I’m doing, and I’m pretty sure that both men, at healthier times in their lives, would have given me the goodwill….

(most likely a couple of quid to by a decent ale before I left the country! )

….and best wishes to follow my dreams and ambitions. 

Not only that but the loss of life here in NZ of the 29 miners in the pike river disaster has united a country in mourning. We take for granted in a society where you can pretty much do anything with a mobile phone, that dangerous jobs don’t exist. That risking your life at work is a thing of the Victorian era. Evidently, it’s not, and as clever as we think we are Mother Nature still rules her roost. Moreover, it’s made my quip about being in solitude a few weeks, back seem like a dark and eerie prediction.

Fortunately as far as my travels go, I’ve had little incident following the theft of my friends camera to worry about. Due to the shape of the car I’ve dotted about the country, flirting with work, wwoofing and housesitting. A stint in Hawkes bay, a monumental coach ride then a week of brilliant house-sitting, back in the fabulous Hokianga. Moreover I’m steadily becoming a farmers market veteran selling berries the one week, chilli oyster shots the next. November may have been melancholic but it certainly hasn’t been quiet! As I headed down from Northland, I firstly had a personal pilgrimage to attend to….a day trip to Batley, a peachy description of which you can all look forward to later.

I decided to avoid the brightish lights of Auckland and head towards Coramandel, a night in Thames on a campground, asleep in the car. Wasn’t much to write home about. The next day I went in search of a map book, content with my purchase I stocked up on food bits and had a tour around town. I soon found that the map was frankly bloody useless. The minute scale didn’t show anything and was worse than the old free one I had picked up at the airport. I decided to return it.

Now if you’ve read my blog thus far, my record with shop assistants isn’t very good, its not about to get much better…

The signs were being brought in, surfaces and windows rubbed down. It was five minute to closing time when I grabbed the attention of the dark haired girl at the till.

“Excuse me I’ve just bought this map and to be honest it’s not too good, can I trade it in against a better one.”

“No problem” she replied, “Could I just check your receipt.”

“Sorry I’ve left the bag in the car…I only bought it today though.” I urged

“I’ll just check with my supervisor.”

I was holding up the three remaining shoppers as other workers shirked their serving duties.

When she returned the girl and her strange weed like manager didn’t look impressed.

“I’m sorry we haven’t sold any of these maps in six months you wont be able to redeem it against another product.”

“I bought it just this afternoon.”

“You didn’t” she snapped, “I was working and I’ve never seen you.”

“I'm pretty sure I did, why else would I have rushed into a book shop five minutes before closing! Any way its no problem I need some other things, serve these people and I’ll get what I need.’

Now at this point I had felt a twinge of unfamiliarity with the staff, it wasn’t until I started towards the xmas card display that It dawned on me…..

…This was completely the wrong shop.

I glanced out of the now partly closed blind and could see a lady tidying up outside the bookshop two doors down, the very woman who had served me earlier that day! As I turned around though, all the staff were staring my way, not only that, the three old dears were muttering away,

“disgraceful”…..

“They’ll try anything these youths”

Christ, I thought, Its only a mistake its not as if I walked in with a twelve gauge and started demanding a Cliff Richard calendar, a pack of hubba bubba and a signed copy of Bill Oddies book of British Birds.

“I’m sorry about that, I’ve just realised I bought it at the other book shop further down could I buy these things.”

The tall skinny straight faced manageress served me this time. She was like a replica of Delia smith, just more monotone and up her own arse, with the profile of Popeye’s Mrs, Olive oil.

“Just one more thing” she said with the knowing air of Columbo….

“She’ll know, you know.”…”Ann”

“I’m sorry” I replied, bemused

“If you’ve stolen it……down the street…she’ll know.”

I felt guilty as hell, it was like when you get told off at school for something you haven’t done but your face tells a different story. I got away from the Crime watch brigade as smartish as I could.

All that for a bloody road atlas I thought…good job I hadn’t gone in for a copy of

‘Growing marijuana hydroponically’

Ol’ miss Marple behind the till would have had a coronary there and then.