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For 2 days I hadn’t left the house. I had no meetings and being winter the weather had been bad. As a result, I became a recluse. By the afternoon of the second day I was going stir-crazy. I had to … Continue reading
Yesterday the first cold southerly blast of winter arrived. The temperature dropped from around 15 degrees to 7 degrees. Snow fell in the Southern Alps and on the volcanic plateau in the North Island closing roads and causing general chaos.
And snow fell on the hills around Wellington. When we woke this morning and looked out the window, the view across the harbour included an early season dusting of snow.
Today is a beautiful sunny day but the temperature is hovering under 10 degrees in the shade. Thankfully the wind has gone and things will continue to improve towards the weekend – when winter officially starts.
Snow across the harbour
After a week we are starting to get a routine going. The routine is Bella chewing everything while we spend huge amounts of time outside trying to get her to “go toilet”.
Already the mats are looking a little ragged around the edges and feet – any feet – are fair game for chewing and chasing.
Our slightly chewed Poppie – ears and tail mainly – has worked out that height is the answer. Bella can’t jump up on to couches or beds yet so Poppie spends a lot of time on the bed or the couch – much to Bella’s disgust.
April 25th is ANZAC Day. The day that New Zealand remembers soldiers who have died in past wars.
A few years ago it looked like the significance of ANZAC Day was waining as the number of veterans of WW1, WW2, the Korean War and the war in Vietnam slowly declined. But as the younger generations have grown up so has the respect for the sacrifices made by the men and women who fought in these wars.
Dawn parades take place all over the country and each year the numbers grow as the sons and daughters, grandsons and granddaughters and even great grandsons and daughters of veterans march and remember the places and times that kiwis fought and died.
In 2011 our trip south through Italy to Positano involved, as it usually does, a stop at Cassino, the site of the battle for Monte Cassino. Located about an hours drive north of Naples we visit the Commonwealth War Graves Cemetery located in the town which has one quiet corner where kiwi soldiers lie.
If you haven’t already read the blog post, please do.
A week ago I picked the 356 up from the Powerhaus with refurbished brakes, a tuned engine, new battery and new “stop it leaking oil onto the road” thingies.
The last time I drove it was onto a transporter heading to the Powerhaus before Christmas. All four brake drums had seized so it was more dragged than driven. It was a sad sight.
But now it’s back and better than ever. All it needs now is a wash and wax and it’s back to showroom condition.
On Christmas Day we flew from Wellington to Nelson to spend time with Jean’s family as part of our Christmas break. Mike, our brother-in-law, kindly lent us his spare car to get around.
But this wasn’t your usual “spare car”, it was a 2005 Ford Falcon FPV 320 Boss ute. Now I’m not an expert on Australian muscle cars and all I know is that it goes like stink and the best way to drive is with the window down listening to the V8 in action.
I’m sure at least one of my lovely readers can provide more information about the car – you know who you are.
Ford Falcon Boss 320 Ute
For the next week or so we are on the road – heading south for a traditional kiwi Christmas break. A few days with relatives in Nelson and then on to Pohara, a small seaside village nestled at the base of Golden Bay, at the top of the South Island.
There is a whole mix of friends and relatives descending on Pohara – by my rough count 5 rellies, 12 friends, Jean, me and Poppie. That’s 14 adults, 5 children and one dog. Nothing more to do than relax, eat and drink. It should be a great few days.
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One afternoon last week I took a walk along Wellington’s waterfront. It was a glorious day and it seemed like most of Wellington was out to enjoy it. When I say I walked along the waterfront, in actual fact, I … Continue reading
It began as a day like all others as the sun climbed over the Crete hills to the east – except that we were up early enough to enjoy the sunrise and completely confuse our girls when we gave them each a pat on the head and departed for Siena. We were cutting it fine and the mood in the car was sombre. There was none of the usual banter as we headed along the SR2 into Siena.
Thankfully we didn’t get stuck behind any of the local autobuses on the way and as we drove through the Porta Tufi and into the old city to park we had 10 minutes left for the walk to the Campo.
It was Rugby World Cup final day. Half a world away two teams were about to go head to head to determine who were world champions – our might All Blacks or the unpredictable and dynamic French.
We arrived at the bar in time to find a seat amongst the small but growing number of New Zealand fans and the far more numerous French fans. We ordered our usual RWC colazione (breakfast) – cappuccino and tea, followed by white wine and birra. The discipline required to start drinking at 8am was something we had mastered over the preceding 6 weeks as we had watched the pool games, the quarter finals and the semi finals. In fact we were well known in the bar and our order arrived at the table the same time we did.
The game was engrossing. What everyone expected to be an easy All Black victory became an arm wrestle with the French doing what they do best – being unpredictable and playing ten times better than they did in the early rounds of the tournament – and with 15 minutes to go the score was 8-7 to the All Blacks. The remained of the match was agonising with neither team able to get in the killing blow.
The tension in that little bar in Siena was palpable. The Kiwis had gone quiet while the French supporters were vocal as the underdogs refused to roll over.
Victory for the All Blacks, when it came, was more relief than triumph.
After congratulations all round we left the bar and stepped out into the sunlight of the Campo. We headed to our usual bar – Al Mangia – to celebrate with a glass or two of Prosecco.
At Al Mangia the talk was not of rugby but of motorcycling. Motorcycle ace and local hero Marco Simoncelli had died after falling off his bike in the Malaysian MotoGP earlier that morning and the bar patrons were noticeably affected. Simoncelli was just 24 years old.
It was, it turned out, a day of triumph overshadowed by tragedy.
I am a rugby fan. I just want to say that up front. I religiously follow the All Blacks, I tune in to as many Super 15 games as I can and I’ve even managed to watch some ITM Cup games despite them being sprayed, seemingly randomly, across the week. Readers of the blog may also remember the lengths we went to last year when we were living in Siena to find a place to watch the All Black games in the Rugby World Cup – live at eight in the morning. I am a rugby fan.
So last week I was fascinated by the announcement of a new All Black sponsor – AIG Insurance – and more importantly the placing of their logo on the sacred black jersey. On the front of the jersey, in the middle, where no logo has ever gone before.
As a marketing guy by trade I had one of those heart versus head moments. The marketer in me understands the value of this sponsorship, the rationale behind it both financially and strategically and admires the ability of the NZRFU to negotiate what seems to be a great deal (rumoured to be worth up to $20m a year for the period of the sponsorship). But the rugby fan in me sees the black jersey with the new sponsors logo on the front, standing out like a target, and decries the end of a tradition of independence, and the notion that the jersey was worth more in it’s own right than emblazoned with a sponsors logo.
Yes, I know that the jersey already has another All Black sponsor’s logo on the front – Adidas – but it’s discrete and, let’s face it, they have a real stake in the jersey because they make it.
It was interesting listening to the current All Blacks talk about the sponsorship and logo. My impression was that they were also torn between the value of the sponsorship and the price in terms of the jersey changes.
But I’ll leave the last word to Dan Carter who summed things up nicely when he said in an interview – no matter what’s on the front of the jersey, it’s not going to make any difference to the way the team plays. And for this rugby fan, that’s what it’s all about.
In the last few days Wellington has been plagued by an outbreak of humming. Not your run-of-the-mill, can’t remember the words humming but rather humming on a city-wide scale. As our local newspaper put it on Tuesday:
A mysterious low-pitched humming sound has been troubling some Wellington residents for the last few days and it seems no-one has any idea what it might be. The Wellington City Council has had several calls over the past few days with the most recent being about 5am today. Spokesman Richard MacLean said the complaints had been coming in from Mt Victoria, Newtown and Mt Cook residents. “We are interested to hear if this starts to become a constant thing. We are keeping our ear to the ground.”
One Mt Victoria resident said he and his fiancee had noticed the noise on Saturday and it hadn’t stopped since. He likened it to a low to medium pitched humming sound and said it went all day and all night and was “doing his head in”.
Of course the source is a mystery but there have been many suggestions made in the local paper. Some rational and some not so:
“Maybe it is the 50Hz hum that comes from a transformer feeding electricity to the area. If the transformer is overloaded it will hum louder, or maybe something on or near its enclosure is vibrating at 50Hz.”
“The Mothership is preparing [to] leave. Because Mt Victoria is actually an ancient alien spaceship. It would be a bit annoying for the suburb’s residents, though it would make the commute between Te Aro and Hataitai substantially quicker once it left.”
But this comment is my favourite: “Why is Mt Victoria humming? Simply because she doesn’t know the words.”
Last week a sign was erected on the hills above Evans Bay. It has been the result of 2 years of local debate and controversy and has involved everything from a petition from the public through to the involvement of some of Wellington’s finest business and political minds. All to develop a sign to welcome those arriving by plane at Wellington airport.
The sign says – wait for it – Wellington.
This story began when Wellington Airport – which owned the site – decided to pay homage to Wellington’s fabulous film industry – you know, Peter Jackson, The Lord of the Rings, Weta Digital, Stone Street Studios and now the two, sorry, three Hobbit movies – by erecting a copy of the famous “Hollywood” sign on the hill overlooking the harbour which would say “Wellywood”. I’m not sure where this piece of creative genius came from but it’s fair to say everyone, except the airport company, thought it was naff, silly and, lets be honest, a bit “try hard”.
The airport company stuck to their guns, the sign was going up, end of story. But after protests, hours of angry talk-back calls, comment from many distinguished Wellingtonians, and the aforementioned petition, they backed down. A committee of prominent locals was set up to oversee a contest. Anyone who wanted to, could submit a design and the best one would be selected to go up.
It turned out that the best was a “Wellington” sign being blown away. An idea that came from an Auckland advertising agency. Yikes.
That sign with the airport to the right
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Looking back at the photos I took while down south (A South Island road trip) they really didn’t convey the scope of the place. The two panorama shots below seem to do a better job.
This gallery contains 27 photos.
Last week I had the chance to head south. To leave Wellington for a couple of days, fly to Christchurch and take a road trip from Christchurch driving west over Porters and Arthur’s Pass to the West Coast. A work … Continue reading
This gallery contains 4 photos.
July 12 2011 – we were staying in the lovely Villa Greta in Positano on the Amalfi Coast. It was a scorching hot day with the temperature hovering in the low 30’s (celsius) with hardly a breath of wind. The … Continue reading
La dolce far niente 