The Beautiful People

I have joined the ranks of the beautiful people. We don't shop for our food in a supermarket chain store. Heavens no! We head for Moore Wilson's. We circle and queue to find a park.

We trudge between the grocery and fresh departments.

We buy our organic chickens from the caravan in the car park.

We fit in a Cafe L'Affaire brekkie on the way.

And we head home secure in the knowledge we have shopped from the largest possible selection of the finest foods and rubbed shoulders with every budding MasterChef in the Wellington region. Happily, the bargain prices for their range of fresh nuts offsets the outrageous prices for everything else. It's a veritable paleo paradise.

Stupidity

I'm afraid it's pervasive in the modern world. One of its most irritating forms is found in stupid little 'feel good' new age sayings. People who think trite little sentences will inspire change for the positive litter the world and congregate in particularly large numbers on Facebook. I can put up with such people and their nonsense most of the time, but one of their pearls of wisdom particularly grates.

This one is often used to urge children on to greatness. Clearly, if every child in New Zealand set their hearts on a given goal, say being an All Black, then most are going to fail. Children are told all they have to do is dream and they can make 'it' happen, no matter how ludicrous 'it' is. But this is not the only problem with this particular quote. It's just not good science. If one shoots for the moon and misses, then one is probably going to hurtle back to earth at an alarming speed and ultimately burn up on re-entry. The chance of getting to the stars is minimal if one had insufficient thrust to get so far as the moon. Surely, the quote should actually read: Shoot for the stars and if you miss you will land on the moon, if you're lucky. The lucky bit is important, because life is a lot about luck, no matter how you plan and strive. 

All that being so, the really big question is why aim for either the moon or the stars? What is wrong with planet earth? It's really quite a nice place. Just like a simple, anonymous life is a deeply satisfying and worthy one. The modern child seems obsessed with fame, money or power as the measure of success. It's time we had a trite little quote about living a loving, gentle, giving life and finding contentment in simple pleasures. I'll keep my eye out.

Self-Sufficiency

For a short time, we are entirely self-sufficient in tomatoes. One plant, popped in at Labour weekend, is now producing beyond our needs.

So bountiful is the cropping we are actually giving away our fine, practically organic, picking. The secret to our success is the 'no fuss' approach. This involves tying the tomato up once when it is new, then totally losing interest in any further intervention. Remove no laterals and allow the plant to sprawl wherever it wants to. The plant itself is possibly a Guiness Book contender for its size, but modesty prevents us from submitting it.

When I'm Sixty-Four

In my retirement years, when I'm a little older and a whole lot more doddery, I wouldn't mind living here.

Those of you familiar with the sorry state of my retirement savings are probably wondering how this eyesore would be within budget, and I must admit the Lotto Commission do feature largely in my plans. This is the site, however, for the next Ryman Retirement Village which will be built in Petone. It's a relief to know this run down, graffiti ridden assortment of buildings will be replaced by the smart-looking complex Ryman specialise in. It will be good for Petone and be much less intimidating to pass when out walking. The shame is that the site was ever allowed to get to this state.

A long, proud history.

Once upon a time, through a few different names, it was a busy secondary school. No doubt many parents and staff toiled on fundraising tasks to raise the money to make improvements, planted the site, participated in working bees and generally took pride in building and supporting their community school. My parents did the same for our community in Wanganui, helping to establish both a new primary and secondary school. I hope that in some future time their efforts aren't similarly trashed by some number crunching, short-sighted politician.

A Night Out

A night out mid-week would normally be a no-no for the weary teacher, but thanks to Waitangi Day, Tuesday evening was practically a Friday. So, after the staff meeting, it was into Wellington for a visit to Circa Theatre. The show was called 'Kings of the Gym', a comedy and an enjoyable one at that. I suspect a sizeable portion of the audience were teachers enjoying the 'PC vs PE' theme set in a New Zealand high school and peppered with topical references to the new curriculum and Novopay.

Ginette McDonald as the PC principal.

Being an early show at six thirty, we were hitting Courtenay Place well before nine. I've always wanted to try The Bangalore Polo Club, and certainly wasn't disappointed. The food was great and the fitout of the old Coyote restaurant is very good - even the loos are cool.

They were playing some great music from the 70s and 80s, making me think I really must hunt out my Supertramp Greatest Hits.

Strategy

It's an annual event that requires forward planning and strategy - The Martinborough Fair. And so it was that I was up at six and on the highway by quater to seven. We were fine tuning the logistics over a coffee near the square by quarter to eight as the crowds milled. Straight to the main purpose of the trip, and a long line had already formed.

As always, well worth the wait - that buttery goodness, the golden potato - mmmm. By then the day was already heating up so on with the plan. We worked our way around the feeder streets and outer row of stalls first, saving the shady square itself as a retreat from the sun at mid-morning.

Then it was a matter of weaving through each quarter ensuring full cover and as little doubling up as possible. We were hot and weary by the time we left for Greytown, and a late lunch - I've been trying to avoid that glorious houlimi, but it hunts me down!

Buy of the day definitely my pencil necklace. The stall holder seemed to be doing a steady trade to teachers!

Playing Airports

I have a friend who is a very successful owner of an international airline. He's very hands on, selecting all new craft, designing routes and choosing airports. He has designed the branding, colours and logo, and makes the tricky decisions that balance customer experience with pricing to ensure full planes. Of course, he does all this through the use of a computer simulation game, but I doubt Richard Branson puts in as much thought. I have a strong feeling those who work within the Interislander Ferry organisation all have a similar fascination with air travel, and are really frustrated pilots and cabin crew, immigration and customs officials. They play the role, in the same way children set up shops or doctors clinics and open for business.

"Tickets, please."

Checking in for the ferry looks much like an airport check in, but with none of the security. No ID or proof of ticket purchasing is required, just say a surname that is on the list and the boarding pass is yours. Someone named Martin Harper came very close to losing his tickets to my travelling companion before we remembered we had actually booked in my name. It was possibly pure luck that no other Collins or Collins impersonator hadn't already collected our tickets before us.

Then on to baggage check in. Anyone can heave a suitcase on the counter, where it is given a tag and the owner a small proof of ownership ticket. No one will ever ask to see this baggage check again, nor indeed will they even check that the owner of the bag is actually travelling. It seems to me that the most cost effective way to send items across the Cook Strait would be to pop it into the baggage at one end and arrange for a friend to meet it at the other side, approximate cost - zero. It's here at baggage check- in that we see the another interesting aspect of airport role play.

Does a ferry leaving Picton ever unload passenger luggage anywhere other than Wellington? Has a bag ever mysteriously arrived in Auckland at sailing's end, necessitating much clearer labelling? The barcode does match my wee ticket, but we know no-one will check this at the other end, and the other end is always Wellington if one sails from Picton, and vice versa. But it all makes the staff look very busy, efficient and important - just like at an airport.