Cooked like a Kebab

Our host family are amazing.  Their door is always open to everyone.  Every day our 'family' seems to grow.  Everyone is treated with kindness and respect.  The house seems full of love and laughter most of the day.

The tastiest food imaginable is brought from the kitchen at regular intervals.  I fear I may have to add another X to the label inside my clothes before I return home.  I am not always sure what I am trying but so far I have enjoyed every morsel.  My favourites have to be a vegetable rissole.  Crunchy on the outside and spicy in the middle.

Breakfast today was a leisurely affair with rice, omelette, a chilli dish, yoghurt, raw bean sprouts, sesame seeds, spinach parantha and some other little dishes.  A crane would have been useful to raise my rear from the seat.

Our chauffeur and bodyguard arrived to transport us to the Red Fort.  We had quite a carful.  Nine of us squeezed into the seven seater.  We appeared to have lots of room compared to some of the cars and buses we passed.  We drove along the road where all the embassies hid behind manicured lawns.

As we approached the centre, the roads became busier and busier until we reached standstill.  From that point on, it became a matter of whose horn beeped the loudest to create a space.  One young man on a scooter decided to perform a U-ey.  He hadn't taken into account the raised walkway in the middle and his scooter straddled the concrete with the wheels in mid-air.  However, a passing driver thrust his hand through his open window and pushed the scooter over the barrier.  Ah a little more space for us to cram into.

I was fascinated by the range of shops that spilled out onto the pavements.  How my daughter would have loved rummaging through the bizarre bazaar bookstall.  As for Mr S, we even spotted a popcorn machine shop.  He could extend his variety now!! 

My eyes were drawn to the Heavens.  I could hardly believe what I saw - some birds of prey that looked suspiciously like red kites.  I googled 'Delhi Birds' later and found that they were indeed Black Kites.  Another tick in my World of Birds Book!!  I would have posted a photo but every time they came close, I couldn't pull my pod from its pouch fast enough.

Eventually we arrived at the Red Fort.  The sun was beating down.  I was grateful that I had brought along my infamous flap hat, otherwise I would have shrivelled like a, like a...... Help someone.  I am having a senior moment.  Think my brain was frazzled by the sun.  What would you be frazzled like??

Our bodyguard went in search of tickets but on his return we had to join the snaking entrance queue.  It moved slowly, slowly.  One cheeky chappy tried to join us but he hadn't reckoned on N's reaction.  In a very assertive tone, she expressed her displeasure and he retreated in shame with his tail between his legs ( where else would it be?!)

At the fort entrance, we were segregated by sex and a brisk body search performed.  Hmm I rather liked the look of the frisking chap in the male queue but my lady was very pleasant and asked if I was having a nice day.  I wanted to say it would have been nicer if I had been in the other queue but thought better of it.

Inside the fort we employed the service of a guide to explain how it was created and what it was used for.  I will leave you to research that for yourselves but suffice to say I was most impressed by the mix of architectural styles.  I must admit to feeling a little uncomfortable when there was mention of the British and the word bloody. 

 N felt a little uncomfortable too when the sole of her shoe came adrift.  She decided to leave it on the path.  It was still there, looking very lonely, when we returned.  The bodyguard, not wanting it to suffer in the heat any longer, picked it up carefully and put it in a plastic bag.  Perhaps he will mend it later so Nandarella can go to the ball!

After our tour the younger element were hungry and I was ready for a drink.  The world seemed to be getting hotter and hotter.  As I special treat we popped to Kebab Express to sample the local fast food.  We obviously looked like VIPs as they brought out a guest book for us to sign.  Maybe they thought I was Judi Dench, just like on my last tour.

Both young and old were feeling the heat, so we asked the driver to take us home.  On our return, the youngsters introduced us to a traditional board game called Carron.  With the board in the middle of our bed ( I share with A) we squatted on the mattress and tried to knock counters into corner holes by finger flicking a white large counter.  It was a mixture of air hockey, snooker and shove halfpenny.  Never has a mattress seen such finger flicking.  Well mine hasn't for many a year.  I fear I must practice more often.  Perhaps Hubby will provide me with something round to practice on!!

I thought we were 'in' for the night but our generous host had other ideas.  The cars (note the plural) were summoned and we were taken to an exclusive residence used by the police when they were relocated.  Here I had a flashback to a Greek wedding.  Nibbles were passed around.  Ooohhh they were good and my host encouraged me to try more.  Had N not whispered in my ear that the main meal was yet to come, I would probably have had my sixth chicken piece.

After the nibbly bits the waiters brought around a cinnamon flavoured vegetable soup in a cup.  I loved it and turned to N for her opinion.  'It's not my cup of tea,' she said.  In unison A and I chortled and said, 'No, it's a cup of soup not tea!!'  Groan.  Laugh.

Eventually we were taken through to another room to select items from the buffet.  I don't know what I chose, but I liked it all and I ate it all.  Well, my Mum said you had to clear your plate.  My stomach was beginning to groan but I could not resist the cold rice pudding dessert.  I was assured it was Mr S's favourite.  If it was good enough for Popcorn Man, it was good enough for me.  And it was.

To conclude this grand repast, the waiters brought a tray bearing two items:- small pieces of sugar and fennel.  A teaspoon of each, pop it in your mouth and aniseed Heaven. Apparently it aids digestion too. 

We said goodbye to our Host's friends.  They informed me that I would be going there for lunch tomorrow.  They obviously think I am undernourished!!!!!  What an amazing day I have had.  Not only have I seen some amazing sights, I have made new friends and tasted new delights.  Time for home and the air-con.  Night all x 

Size-mic Shopping

Over the last three days, I have been introduced to the unique way of shopping at the Delhi markets.  Even the journey there was an experience.  We had our own escort and driver who brought the vehicle close to the entrance so we didn't have far to walk.  They had obviously heard about my delicate constitution and didn't want to tax me too much!!

After we left the secure complex, the lane system didnot seem to exist.  Cars, cycles and tuck-tucks darted around,  peeping their horns as they narrowly missed each other.  Surprisingly, most of the vehicles appeared undamaged, which only proved how skilful the drivers were.  Even the local cows seemed unperturbed.  

Our driver stopped in a random place close to the market and we alighted ??(alit??). got out.  Accompanied by our elegant, turbaned bodyguard ( who was a dead ringer for Capt Nemo in The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen) kept a few paces behind as we surged forward into the melee of colour and sound.

Our first stop was a shoe stall/shop.  One had to be careful where one stood here.  One's head was likely to be crowned by boxes which hurtled from a hole in the ceiling.  A secret shoe stash was stored here.  The downstairs staff shouted up for different sizes and colours.  Within seconds a hand appeared from above, clutching a box or a bag.  Time to duck as the Hand took aim and flung the shoes to the waiting assistant.

Using said system, N had soon acquired a large pile of shoes and sandals.  They seemed very reasonably priced to me.  However, N demonstrated the art of haggling with aplomb.  We left the store with the owner wondering exactly what had hit him......and N with a smile on her face as she passed the bags (note the plural) for our bodyguard to carry happily.

Capt Nemo guided us through the next section and the crowds parted before his confident, elegant stride.  I scuttled behind keeping a firm eye on his colourful turban.

Onwards to the main quest of the days - saree shopping.  There were so many shops and stalls to choose from.  I think Capt Nemo took pity on my beet root-coloured face as he guided us into an air-conditioned shop with comfy benches.  The walls were stacked high with every colour imaginable.  As we requested certain colours, the young assistants would leap around selecting sarees.  With a flourish they would be unravelled along the counter, so that we could test them for quality.  I soon got into the swing of tossing them aside and waiting for the next one to take its place.  Occasionally we found a 'possible'.  If we really liked it, we asked the male assistant to drape it on his body.

Then there were the occasions when we really, really liked something. These times we would allow the assistant to drape it around us!!  He strapped me into a thick, elastic belt (ah, instant weight loss!). With deft fingers, he manhandled my material - stop laughing Mr S, that is not a euphemism!!  I was instantly transformed into - just me in a very elegant saree.  I added my solo contribution to the ever-increasing mountain of material before my eyes.  As with all shopping, these were our 'starter for ten'.  After careful thought we reduced the pile - by one.

N went into action once more.  We soon had a reduction of over thirty per cent.  She wasn't stopping there.  The owner was soon quaking in his boots and under her magic spell.  Not only had he discounted further, she had persuaded him to remove the blouse piece and add necessary stitching for free.  Wonder Woman or what??

Further adventures in the market led to the acquisition of beads, bangles and bows ( well, not bows but I wanted a little alliteration ).  Capt Nemo guided us back to our waiting vehicle and we headed for home, pleased with our day's shopping.

PJ flies again!!

Have you ever seen those airport programmes and wondered how stupid the passengers are who arrive with seconds to spare for their flight?  From now on, I will not refer to them in derogatory tones, for I have experienced the thrill and excitement of just such an occasion. Let me rewind to the early morning of our departure.  Everyone was awake; bags were packed; and a luxurious Mercedes waited to whisk us away to the airport.  All started well with clear roads and high spirits.  Then we hit the traffic.  No matter which way we tried - and we did try several - the traffic Gods conspired to place so many obstacles in our path and move the hands on our watches faster, that it soon became apparent our chances of flying were very slim.  Our eagle-eyed driver spotted a Park and Ride train station. Swiftly he changed direction and headed for a possible solution.  As soon as we stopped, nimble A jumped out to check train times pursued by her Mum.  I loaded myself up like the proverbial bag lady, hobbling along as fast as my little legs would take me.  In my haste, I failed to notice the 'lift' sign and began a climb as arduous for me as climbing Everest.  At each step my breath became shallow and faster.  My face looked like a beet root on a bad day ( or should that be a good day?). I had almost reached the summit when a shout from A revealed that the train would not arrive on time!  Going down was almost as difficult as I feared the mass of the bags might bring me down sooner than intended.  Thank goodness Hubby was there for a soft landing.  

So it was back to the car and yet another decision as to which route to follow.  I fear it was my choice which may have led to yet another problem - more traffic!! N phoned the airport and pleaded with them to hold the arrivals gate open.  Our driver performed some amazing and astonishing manoeuvres on (and off) the road in his attempt to get rid of us for three weeks.  Did I see desperation in his eyes.??  Well I saw something - and I will keep his deep, dark secret forever in my mind, unless, of course, someone crosses my palm with silver.  My lips are sealed Mr S !!  

With three minutes to spare, we screeched into the car park.  Once again, A sprinted ahead, doing a fine impersonation of Usain Bolt.  This time, I managed to break the world record for the 800 metre dash for the ladies of a certain age with damaged Achilles.  We reached the gate with 30 seconds to spare.  The attendant looked at her watch, smiled and said 'Oh, you made it then!'  

Yes, we made it and congratulations had to go to Mr S for his steering technique and Mr C for his navigation prowess in the final moments of the journey.  Without further ado, we bid the male contingent a swift, but fond, farewell.  They both looked relieved to see us ascending the moving staircase.  Our gate was open and we didn't have to wait long before boarding.

I hoped my New Zealand PJ's would have a pleasant trip in their over-large suitcase and that we would be reunited in Delhi.  What a way to start our holiday!!

Rumble in the Jungle or Rush in the Bush

Awake, dressed and ready for the off.  I'd made a small, packed lunch and we had two lidded (and slightly leaky) mugs of water. All we didn't have we're clear directions but Hubby was the lead man.  What could go wrong?

Well, I've always said he was slightly colourblind .  Today just proved it. Very were supposed to follow the orange markers.  The lady warden had said it was a pleasant walk.  The first thousand or so yards were very good, on a well-mown, easily identifiable path.

We passed through a gate with a tricky lock and the path became quite stony, shaded by trees. 'There it is!' announced Hubby, following a pink marker.  Not wishing to disagree, as he was in his Bear Grylls mood, I plodded on.

Underfoot became quite tricky with roots and creepers to avoid.  Occasionally we came across possum and rat traps, marked with the same pink triangle. Are you getting the idea yet?  The paths became steeper.  Sometimes I had to stretch my foot up to hip height to cross an obstacle.

The path at times was narrow with a sheer drop.  Not exactly my image of a 'pleasant walk'.  This pleasant walk was becoming more of a treacherous adventure. 

Now the path took a turn downhill.  At the bottom was a stream where just one small stone poked through.  Fine for a nimble antelope.  Not so good for a plump lady approaching bus-pass age.  Oh - jump, wobble, wobble, grab Hubby's hand - LANDED!!  

Now, where did the path go?  One came to a dead end.  The second took us deeper into the bush.  By this time there were loads of pink triangles and traps but no definitive path.  Hubby noted my panic as I feared that a black creeper was a snake. I squealed out loud.

I voiced my opinion about the walk in a calm manner, considering.  I really did not think that DOC would have prepared such difficult paths for people. There had been no mention of hacking through undergrowth and jungle in their leaflet!  Hubby was inclined to agree.  

We made a joint decision. Reverse mode was put into action.  There was the stream.  Ah, there was the bush where my best 'Prada' sunglasses (bought for two dollars lady in Vietnam) had fallen from my pocket.  I noticed they had gone when we emerged into a rare patch of sunlight.  It had been too dark under the bush canopy to need them before.  

Oh look - the mown grass!!  Oh and look - the ORANGE sign!!!  No worries.  It had been fun in a perverse sort of way and I would have lost a few calories.  We would have to come back another year to try the correct trail.  

After a long, cool drink and a chat to some German tourists, we set off along the dusty road in our mobile home.  We deposited some rubbish in the skip.  Had my arms been longer, I could possibly have climbed in the skip to recycle some of the items deposited there.  Tents.  Chairs.  All manner of useful things and all just out of reach!

On we drove.  Realisation set in.  The dustbins were out.  That could only mean one thing - the dustbin lorry was on its. way.  Fingers crossed that we would meet it on a wide section of the road.  We saw the dust from an approaching vehicle way down the track.  That gave us plenty of warning to tuck into a little left-hand shelter.  So the dustbin lorry passed us by.  Phew!  

What we failed to spot was the Coromandel Postie in his large van.  That was a bit of a shock when he turned up around the next bend.  Speaking of bends, can anyone explain the significance of all the shoes, boots and trainers we see perched on fences by bends with a view??  Never a pair.  There must be an awful lot of people hopping around this island.

At the junction, we took the road towards Kennedy Bay.  We hoped the gravel would stop soon.  It did ......,and then it started again.  And so it continued until we had almost reached Coramandel.  Quiet, clean Tarmac followed by noisy, dusty gravel.

As we approached Coramandel, we noticed a large funeral procession.  We parked up and walked across to the DOC office.  I'd had a bit of a brainwave. Perhaps my DOC pass could be emailed through to here from NZMCA (New Zealand Motorhome and Caravan Association to the uninitiated). 

Slight problem.  A notice on the door  proclaimed that the office would be closed until 1pm as everyone was attending a funeral.  Ah, we must have passed them earlier.  Undeterred, we thought we should buy some much-needed water, a bucket and a bowl before lunch.

As we opened the Motorhome door, things looked different.  The shiny glass hob no longer shone.  It was covered in a layer of gravel dust.  On a not so close inspection, so was everything else!  Methodically we started to clear and clean our sad little home.  Carpets were taken up and out.  So were seat cushions.  They were beaten and brushed vigorously.  Next, everything that could not be moved, was carefully wiped, several times.  My supply of Jiffy cloths was halved in an instant.  Ah that looked better......until we opened the cupboards!

The gravel dust had entered every possible vent.  Over two hours later, the Motorhome was almost restored to its former glory.  Some of the outside would have to wait - but the DOC pass wouldn't .  Hubby left that to me while he rested after the exhaustions of housework.

This time, the office was open but this was not the DOC office.  I was directed around the back of the building and told to look for a door with a keypad.  Just knock and they will come out of hiding.  I did and she did.  The smiling, rhyming Trudie Moody.  

She was so helpful.  She loaned their phone so I could call NZMCA.  When I finally got through, I expected my request to be rejected.  'Hmmm,' said the official,'I've just completed your self-certification too.  Where do you want it sending?'  My mind went blank.  I didn't have my little, black book with all the important things like addresses.  I plucked up the name of the company who had converted our Motorhome.  We would be returning there.  Ah, she knew them and their address.  

And the DOC pass?  Well, once paid for, it was soon emailed across, printed, signed and laminated, all thanks to Trudie Moody.  I left her in peace, while I strolled along the Main Street.  I called in at an Op Shop (charity shop to us).  Hubby found me there.  Evening was approaching and there were a few free places near the Police Station.   The French family beside us appeared to have noisy, young children. I am not sure what they had for tea but they were soon sound asleep.  Très bien mes petits.  Night fell and so did my eyelids.  Bon soir x

DOCking

Being a wet, miserable day in Dunedin, I have the chance to bring a little sunshine into all those admirers out there who are waiting anxiously for my next blog (ha ha!)

Way back on 21st October, it was Hubby's decision to drive along the narrow, dusty, gravel track on the north-eastern side of the Coramandel Peninsula.  I make a point of saying His decision because, in the past, I have been accused of navigating him onto some terrible roads.  

Today's road was on a bus route.  It looked a little like a 'Roy Road' (named after my brother who is brave enough to go where others fear to tread in his quest for motorhome adventures.). Our track wound in and out, up and down along the coastline.  Mrs Satnav almost had a nervous breakdown.  At one point we appeared to be floating in space, with a large question mark above our vehicle.

Houses were few and far between.  Most had the steepest drives imaginable but their views must have been stunning.  

There was the occasional heart-stopping moment when the van decided to skid on a bad bend.  Nothing that Hubby couldn't handle.  Thankfully nothing was coming the other way.  Indeed nothing came the other way until we had almost reached a place called Port Charles.

In for a penny, in for a pound, we brave Trekkers drove ever onwards.  At last we dropped down to sea level, into an exquisite, little sandy bay called - what else?- Sandy Bay!!  The DOC (Department of Conservation) had a free site here.  We pulled in and had a good walk around. 

 A car drew alongside.  Three Spaniards and one Basque national (What? - More dreamboats!) pulled alongside.  They obviously thought we were locals now Hubby has such a good tan.  They wanted to know where to find the nearest petrol station.  I half-ran, so as not to further damage the dodgy Achilles, back to the van.  Mrs Satnav confirmed that they would have to return to Colville.  They decided they had enough to reach their destination, Stony Bay, with sufficient for the return journey. Ola.  Hasta la Vista and all that.

We checked out a little rackety bridge with a weight restriction of 75% of Class 1.  Not knowing the weight of Class 1, we walked onto the bridge together and thought that if it could hold our weights, it could hold anything.  

On our way back to the van, we met Allan Turner.  Not the character from Emmerdale Farm.  I believe he is deceased.  Well, the actor who played him died.  I am not sure what they did with his character.  He's probably in Spain with Annie Sugden, playing on her maraccas.  No, this Allan Turner was the local Environmental Health Officer.  His work had brought him out here.  We invited him in for a drink.  Oh, look at the time.  He might as well have lunch too.  While we ate, he gave us some tips on places to stay

He suggested we drove over to Stony Bay for the night.  As well as being beautiful, we would hear the Morepork there.  This bird is named after the noise it makes - More pork.  He gave us his card and offered us to 'look him up' if we were ever in town.  I put his card in a safe place, so safe that I cannot find it, so will never be able to 'look him up'.

So, on the recommendation of our new acquaintance, we stowed everything away and left the free, freedom site for the unknown Stony Bay.  As it turned out, that was an excellent decision.  Belonging to DOC, we had to pick up an envelope from the Honesty Box, fill out the details and pay our dues. Where else on Earth could you get a view like this for ten dollars?

We had a choice of sites.  Several years ago I visited a clairvoyant.  She was very good and many of her predictions have come true.  One hasn't.  She had been quite insisted we would live at number 42.  We looked at the spot we had chosen.  Halfway between 42 and 43.  We shuffled the van forward a few yards. Number 42, just for Laura-Sue.  

We checked out the facilities.  It had a 'long drop' toilet which looked like the shed Grandad used in 'Chitty Chitty Bang Bang'.  This was slightly upmarket as it had an antiseptic foam hand wash and a twirly air vent.  Hubby was most disrespectful, saying that whilst passing wind, I had almost twirled the top off!!

He went for a walk on the beach, while ii went to 'Meet the Warden' (sounds like the name of a games show).  He was a jolly fellow, all the way from Croyden UK. His wife was from Oregon US of A.  She suggested I contacted DOC and ask them to forward my pass to an address where I could collect it.  

They loved their jobs but knew that Labour Day would be a test.  It was hard to imagine the hundreds of people who travell all that way on that gravel track.  

I returned to Hubby.  We considered a three hour trek to the next cove but thought it better to tackle that tomorrow. Instead, we sat back, watching little ducklings waddle by with their mother and father.  

We listened to the strange sounds of birds we had never heard before.  No sound of 'More Pork' though.  Hubby took out his treasured NZ bird book, a gift from his even more treasured daughter. In just one day, he had spotted a Paradise Shellduck, Fantails, Tui, Oyster Catchers, Pukeko, numerous Kingfisher, White-fronted Tern, NZ Pigeon, Whir and Black-Backed Msgpie, Little Egret, Heron, White Faced Heron and a Pied Shag (apologies for the last word.  It IS the name of a bird).

I wrote up more blogs, read aloud more adventures of Pirate Pete on Radio Hauraki and started to make the bed.  Hubby shouted for me to 'Come outside.  Come outside.  There's a lovely moon out there!'  (Remember that one ??). Not only was there a bright moon, but a brilliant Venus and a myriad of twinkling stars, galaxies and the Universe. One of those heart-stopping moments, made even better when you know you are loved by the person who shared it with you.  Later, we snuggled in bed, listening to the waves lapping against the shore and an owl hooting in the night.  Peace, perfect peace!!

(Typed up especially for Gordon to read on his UK birthday x)

Back to the Future

Oh this seems so weird.  Here I am in December, typing up something that happened way back in October.  I have been very remiss.  My only hope is that you haven't all abandoned me!!  Here goes then:-

Goodbye Thames.  We headed off along the West Coramandel coast.  The views were stunning.  Poor Hubby missed most of it as he was driving, as usual.  We did stop occasionally so we could take the odd photo or two.  Just hoped they weren't too odd. 

At one stop, a mother and daughter appeared to be searching for something. Curiosity got the better of me.  I had to ask.  They were geo-caching (is that how  it is spelled?  And is that how spelled is spelled??). Using co-ordinates, they were trying to find the hidden treasures. I joined in their quest, having a liking for Enid Blyton type adventures.  Alas, alack - nothing there.  The mother wasn't even sure she had the correct co-ordinates.  So, off they went.  We saw them in another lay-by, still searching.  I just waved and wondered how many lay-byes would be investigated before nightfall.

We stopped for lunch in Coramandel, a pretty little coast town.  The Information Officer gave us plenty of ideas.  He invited us to his Stargazing site, offering overnight parking.  I couldn't resist name-dropping.  I had once received a letter from the late Sir Patrick Moore, the eccentric but loveable 'Sky at Night' presenter and xylophonist.  In his autobiography, he stated that he ways replied to letters, so I put him to the test - and he passed!! A few weeks after penning my letter, I received a wonderful reply which he had typed on his old typewriter.  Some letters were black, others red.  Some were a mix of red and black, others just an imprint where the ribbon had failed completely.  A unique memento of a unique person.  I still have it.  

I could name drop further, but I must fly on.  We made our first visit to the aptly named 'Dump Station'.  I left this department of motor homing firmly in Hubby's hands.  I merely waited until the cassette was removed, emptied, washed and reinserted.  Then I gingerly approached Hubby with the disinfectant gel to squirt on his hands before he was allowed back on board.  

With fresh milk and water purchased from the local store, we drove along, stopping to admire various bays.  The sealed road turned to gravel but it was flat and trouble-free, so we ventured as far as Otuatu Bay Farm Camp.  For a small fee we were allowed to park here with power. 

Our van's rear window faced a sandy beach with a turquoise-blue sea.  There wasn't a cloud in the sky.  The camp owner (as in the man who owned the camp, not the politically incorrect meaning) had thought it too cold to swim.  I couldn't resist the challenge.  Donning my costume, I ventured forth.  I had to walk out quite a while before the water passed my thighs (memories of Skegness there).  Eventually it was deep enough to swim.  Hot-cold-hot-cold.  It was the equivalent of swimming across a zebra crossing.  I stayed in long enough to prove that I was a brave British lass (with blue legs!). 

The onshore shower seemed so warm - for the first ten seconds.  Then the icy jet,that hadn't been heated by the sun beating down on the pipe, hit me with its full force.  I danced and whooped like a scalded cat.  

Of course, I wasn't allowed to enter the van dripping wet.  I shook myself like a mad dog.  I tried to remove as much water as possible with my 24 x 12 inch super fast drying towel ( ha ha!!). Eventually Hubby took pity on me and let me in.  I then performed a ballet routine, hopping from mat to towel to mat to towel before twirling and disappearing into the shower room to complete the dressing process.

Warm and dry, I was ready to cook our evening meal.  Hubby must have liked it. He plugged in his iPod (naughty thoughts there methinks), turned on his music and we danced - or rather shuffled in circles - to the sound of Katie Melua, with the sand, sea and stars as our backdrop.  Ahhh - that's love for you!!!  OUCH - that was my toe you trod on!   X x 

Oh Happy Day

Waking up without my IPod felt so strange.  I usually used it to check the time.  So, today I had to use my watch which I had attached to the curtain tie-back.  What I had failed to notice was the fact that I had fixed it in upside-down.  There I was going full pelt with the morning routine of filling the kettle and warming the washing water when Hubby woke.  He asked me (in a most unhappy tone) why I was making such a racket at that unearthly hour.  Half  past seven had not seemed so early I thought.  I looked at my watch and blinked - I was wearing it upside-down.  I will leave you to work out the actual time.  I crawled back to bed in disgrace!

At a more acceptable hour, we emerged from the covers and had breakfast.  I wandered over to the toilets and congratulated the cleaner on his sterling work.  He was a very amenable chap who gave me some useful tips on freedom camping.  It seemed that having a fishing rod is useful.  One would not then be camping but fishing.  He informed me that one of their councillors was very strict on people sticking to the exact rules and spaces.  Any infringement resulted in her own special warning - a 200 dollar fine.  Ouch!  I made sure we were in the white lines and moved before the moving time.  

I have decided to go with the flow and call our Motorhome a camper over here.  I was once offended when my sister-in-law called it that (apologies June).  So at 9am we moved our camper ten metres to the opposite side of the car park.  We would be allowed to move back later in the day.  What a farce.  

Once the camper was compliant, we set off to collect the iPod.  The shop's safety door was just rising.  I was in like a shot - and out not long after, minus the iPod.  Only one file had been downloaded, so the assistant attempted another ploy on one of the super- duper new computers. Now I had another three hours to kill.  

We were in no hurry, so we went to see what the local street market had on offer.  Small stalls were erected on the pavement outside the shops.  I could not resist the enormous cauliflower and carrots.  Had there been room in my suitcase, I would have purchased the heart-shaped stone decorated with decoupage ( paper napkins had been glued on then varnished ).  All manner of crafts and foodstuffs were for sale.

In the Op Shop, Hubby fell in love with a coat.  He has never been interested in buying clothes and cannot bear to part with his old green jumper.  This, it seemed, was progress.  Having only packed one fleece, I doubled my winter wear and bought a large, kingfisher-blue top with plenty of room for growth.  

At the electric shop we found a neat little device to plug into the cigarette lighter section of the Motorhome.  This would be useful for our iPods.  In the 2 dollar shop, we splashed out and bought a serving spoon and some Blu-tak.  It was the Bakery Stall which had us mesmerised with all the different toes and flavours of bread.  We decided that the Pizza Focaccia was well worth our attention and money.  Our mouths were soon devouring chunks filled with ham and cheese.  (Would you like some?) I did bow to healthy eating by setting up a side salad of tomatoes, cucumber and avocado.

My third and final visit to the Stationery shop was successful.  Success at last and the assistant only wanted the cost of the memory stick, despite all her hard work.  

As I walked back to the camper (it's also faster to type than Motorhome) I chatted to a group of mums with their schoolchildren.  They were here for a competition.  The school children had to sing, dance, recite and perform a Haka.  For the princely sum of two dollars each, our hands were stamped and we joined the queue.

It was only possible to enter during the intervals, so as not to disrupt the performances.  The doors opened and everyone moved forward.  I spotted a couple of seats towards the back of the theatre.  We had a good view of the stage.  

It was a brilliant afternoon's entertainment.  The youngsters were both confident and talented.  Their singing of traditional Maori songs sent shivers down my spine.  Sometimes the audience would erupt with loud cheers.  

The loudest was for a young fellow who stepped forward.  He was a skinny, little thing.  From behind his back, he produced the poi balls and started twirling them.  The audience went wild with enthusiasm as this was normally done by the girls.  He was singled out and congratulated by the female presenter.  She was an actress who had appeared in the 'Whale Rider' film.  I spotted the Maori leader from the film in the audience too.

The hall only seated 500 people.  Later in the afternoon, the presenter appealed for people to leave.  This would allow parents who were waiting outside to watch their children perform.  Heart strings pulled we reluctantly left.  It had been an afternoon well-spent.

Later in the afternoon, one of the school buses pulled in next to our camper.  I was able to get a shot of them in costume.  I was invited to join their photoshoot and had my nose rubbed several times ( a traditional greeting).  They had not won but were in great spirits.  They had a long journey home and waved as they left.

By now, night was falling so we thought another night in Thames was our best option.  I cooked a meal, using some of our new and tasty vegetables.  The van is feeling like home now.  Nighty night x