Summer has gone at last

The days are crisper, the outdoor swimming pool is not quite as crowded, and I am not waking up stuck to all of the sheets every morning.

Thank goodness for that.

The autumnal weather is as lovely as ever. And tomorrow it will be my birthday. In autumn! Even though the air feels just about right for a very lucky English March day, it still doesn't feel quite the same.

It does feel like we are now declining in our New Zealand time; people are making plans to move away. New people are arriving. It's coming to the end for new friends - time that seemed so far away at the beginning ('yes, we'll be staying just until the end of April') is strangely close.

It's all a bit melancholy and suitably autumnal.

***

Over the weekend we went out in Wellington, which was tremendously exciting. I took the opportunity to finish off my PADI, which was terribly traumatising and anti-climactic.

Fact: Diving is just not as much fun as I thought it would be.

I am glad I did it, because I always wanted to and I would otherwise always wonder if it truly was the glorious underwater paradise type of thing I imagined. Floating freely, not having to come up for air, noiselessly gliding through all that water. Heaven, etc.

In reality, you're stuck inside a huge mass of equipment which is always threatening to tip you over sideways or backwards, a mask which is always leaking water up your nose (salty water, which is truly disgusting), and your mouth is constantly filled with seawater, and you're totally unable to spit it out because you're 6m underwater and if you spit it out then your regulator fills with even more seawater and everything becomes even more mucousy and disgusting. I have never experienced quite that much mucous in one go. Word.

The sea was extra terrifying because there was a current always threatening to take me out to sea which I found, pathetically, terrifying. I now feel a great and terrible sympathy for all people who suffer from claustrophobia. Even the fish couldn't distract me.

So after that dive I surfaced and announced I wasn't going back in ever again and that was that. And then I happened to mention that I'd done all the other stuff in Rotorua (by way of comparing it to this horrendous experience), at which point the dive leader said, 'oh! well in that case, technically you've passed your PADI.' To which I said, 'thank God, and now I'm never going to dive again.'

The whole experience was topped off by me really, really needing to pee and having to swim back to shore and take everything off (because you really can't pee inside a wetsuit). You haven't experienced unhappiness until you've had to snorkel your way back to a beach, take off your fins in the water, take off your mask, take off your hood, take off the ENORMOUSLY HEAVY cylinder and flotation device, take off your weight belt (which is pressing on your bladder, helpfully), take off your bootees (without which you cannot take off your wetsuit), take off your OUTER wetsuit and THEN wrestle off your inner wetsuit, all the while desperate for a piddle. I now know what suffering is.

***

On reflection, I think a lot of it has to do with the equipment - hired equipment just doesn't fit properly and so much of diving is so dependent on the equipment. That is another unappealing area, though - to be so dependent on zips and seals and floaty things.

It is sad I will never get to do this (from 4 minutes onwards - though the first part is also very entertaining. I do note however that none of them are wearing flotation jackets, and in the first part neither Sean nor his squeeze are wearing any wetsuits, which must make the whole thing a lot more pleasant. And easier to pee in, which I have now realised is a crucial consideration.)

I think I'd just rather snorkel.

***

So after this highly invigorating morning experience, I met up with some friends who were in Welly that day for a birthday party to do lunch and some shopping, which was tremendously exciting. I remember quite clearly when we first came to Welly, how very quiet and not like a capital city it seemed. And this time it was all a bit TOO MUCH. It seemed extremely happening and full of shops and places to eat and people out and so on and so forth. And yet it really wasn't that different, objectively, from the first time I was there.

I am filled with excitement at the prospect of visiting London on my return and having a nervous breakdown at EVERYTHING.

The afternoon was whiled away very pleasantly and I purchased several things I don't need (including, at last, a top with a peplum - I caved.) In the evening, we went drinking at a very pleasant bar which was Alice-themed, and which served delicious cocktails in teapots and teacups (I had a gin based cocktail which was made with rosewater and jasmine tea - it was splendid). You would have loved it. All of you.

At this point I went home to bed, exhausted by my underwater adventures. It was midnight. I hit the pillow and was asleep in seconds.
At 2am Cat came in.
Cat: "The boys are still out. I don't know where they are."

At 4am Tim came in.
Tim: "Hello! I'm very drunk!"
Me: "I can see that! Where is Sen?"
Tim: (airy wave of the hand) "Oh. He's not here. He is dancing."

At 5am Sen came in, then got up at 7am to put more money in the car.
Then we all checked out at 10am.

Despite the delightful morning sunshine, everyone looked rather grim.

Though I had not drunk much, I was so tired from the long day on Friday and getting up early and the long drive and the diving and then the whole day in Welly I too appeared wearied and quite in keeping with everyone else's general demeanour of slight unhappiness. There was a profusion of dark glasses. We had brunch, and then silently dispersed. We drove back to Palmy kept awake only by the Beatles Greatest Hits (thank you Beatles. Theatles), got home, and then promptly fell asleep for 4 hours, waking only to have dinner and then go back to bed.

Tim: "I've discovered something."
Me: "Yes?"
Tim: "You know how beer then wine makes you feel fine?"
Me: "Yes?"
Tim: "And then wine then beer makes you feel queer?"
Me: "Yes?"
Tim: "Well beer then wine then gin then wine then beer then jaegerbomb and then champagne then rum then jaegerbomb then beer than jaegerbomb then whisky then jaegerbomb then wine makes you feel terrible."

Me: "It doesn't rhyme."
Tim: "But it's true."

***

And on that bombshell I shall leave you.
For the sun is shining.
I am on holiday.
And it's my birthday tomorrow!

Indian summer

Officially entering drought here in New Zealand's North Island - this glorious summer (glorious for plebs, not for farmers) feels like it might never end. 

I've been on nights on O&G which was very exciting, apart from the long swathes where nothing happened, which was very useful for my ophthalmology revision, which I'm now enjoying hugely. It's difficult to do ophthalmology revision while also doing another discipline though because it's so very very specialised, and of such a very very small area and in such very very great detail that you end up forgetting the rest of the body exists, which is always a bit surprising when you then end up having to pull a baby out of it. 

The exciting part of O&G nights came with all the C sections. It's exciting for me, of course, because I'm not responsible for it all and therefore it's a bit like being a participant in a very thrilling film or similar, one where I get to run down corridors and scrub up and hold things and produce babies out of women and so on. I just do what the reg tells me to do ("Run! Scrub as fast as you can! Push that baby out!") and for the first time in my life I was running somewhere where I was actually needed - not for my brain, naturally, but for my hands, to pull open tissue and to push down on muscle and help hold things open or closed - rather than running somewhere to find that 10 other doctors are already there and I was being quite in the way. 

Emergency C sections are amazing things. I'd never seen one before - never an emergency (because, naturally, I would have been in the way) - and the time is staggering: from decision made at bedside to knife going into skin it was 12 minutes. 12 minutes! From knife going into skin to baby out and crying it was less than 2 minutes. I've never had so much adrenaline in my life. And it is a brutal operation. There is no time to do anything - blood goes everywhere, on the floor, on your face (I'd always wondered why they wore wellies in theatre. Now I knew) - you're not dissecting nicely, you're taking one end of a cut and ripping as hard and fast as you can, to make a hole big enough for a baby to come out, a baby that might just be suffocating. And if you think of it in those terms - 12 minutes, and then another 2: 14 minutes of a baby holding its breath - nothing seems fast enough. There can't have been much difference between this and operations before anaesthetic, just in terms of sheer time. This must be, in fact, the only operation left where the time is comparable. A brief glimpse into a less civilised past. 

Anyway, the baby was fine. 

So that was quite exciting. 

It's tough being a woman. 

After nights, Tim and I went to Rotorua, where we'd formerly purchased, in a moment of madness, some white water rafting vouchers. Again, Grab One. Bane of my life! 

I hear Groupon aren't doing very well in the UK.

Maybe people have caught onto their smart tricks! Tricking us into buying white water rafting and other dangerous vouchers because it's just so damn cheap. Damn it. Damn it I'm so easily tricked.

I've got to admit, it was pretty fun, and when we went over the 7m waterfall I didn't scream a bit, mainly because my mouth was full of water. 

Tim loved it, of course. I felt mostly unpleasantly terrified before everything started - had a moment of lucidity which has been, frankly, rare during the past 6 months and thought what the hell am I doing but it quickly passed as we went down the first set of rapids and then never really recovered from there.   

I pondered again just how many times I'd worn a flotation device and a helmet during these 6 months in New Zealand.

Quite a few times.

What an unexpected turn my life has taken. 

Earlier, we'd gone zorbing. (Just like that, with Jackie Chan.) For any of you who have not been zorbing, oh my frick. It is amazing. To Robert, who declined to go zorbing with me whilst in New Zealand, saying, 'well you can do it anywhere', WELL. Rotorua is the BIRTHPLACE of Zorb. And let me tell you Robert. You are missing out. BIG TIME. Because only in somewhere as silly as New Zealand can you feel perfectly natural spinning down a hill in a giant ball. Because it is quite, quite silly. 

It was probably one of the funnest things I've ever done in my life. I laughed hysterically all the way down the big slope, bouncing up and down in a giant ball partially filled with water (amazing), falling over Tim (you can ride tandem - it is great. The greatest number is 3 - apparently they tested it out once with 8 people in one zorb and that 'was a mistake. But we did get several paid days off work with all the injuries.') 

Please, please do it, UK p. 

The weather continues beautiful here, though apparently after 10 days there might possibly be some rain on the horizon. The nights are definitely getting crisper, but the days are still glorious. We have been doing some wild swimming in the bends around Palmy, and I don't think I've posted the pictures up yet for you to see, so here they are now. 

It seems a shame that summer will be over. And that marks the turning point of our lovely stay in New Zealand. I am starting to miss the UK a bit - mainly friends and family, of course. It's just not the same as being there. And I have so much news to catch up on!

But for now, it's great, just enjoying the last of the sun. 

Dear folks,

Another day, another night shift.

I am loving O&G: so nice to be away from ED, which was frankly terrifying. However, O&G does come with a brutal on-call rota: I was on call the weekend before, worked two long days (8 till 10pm) this week, and went straight onto nights on Friday for 7 days. There is, of course, no European Working Time directive here. We are so far from the European Working Time directive. About as far away as, fittingly, we are from Europe.

But O&G on calls are fun, so far, and because I am useless, I am basically another appendage of the Reg, who does everything.

Need a scan to tell if the baby is developing normally?
- I can't do that
Need a scan to tell if there is enough amniotic fluid?
- I can't do that
Need someone to help deliver a shoulder dystocia?
- are you ridiculous, of course I can't do that
Need an emergency C section?
- ha ha ha!

Unlike on ED, however, where everyone greeted my total inability to do anything useful (give propofol or ketamine to children, put in chest drains, aspirate elbows, reattach avulsed fingers) with gentle, restrained disappointment and unhappiness, here they know that no one at my level can do such things, and therefore don't even ask.

We also get rostered in clinic every day, which is so super fun. I LOVE CLNIIC. (which is good because if I end up in ophthalmology, as I hope, I will be basically doing clinic for the rest of my life.) We get gynae clinic, and antenatal clinic (which is even funner because I get to measure the bump and listen to baby's heartbeat, all of which I can do), and I get to do some scans (though all I can tell on a scan is if baby is moving (not if it's normal), if there is amniotic fluid (not measure how much), if baby's heart's beating (I can't tell if it's got bits in it shouldn't)) - so ED level USS basically. But that's fine. No one minds. Everyone's cheery. And there's always biscuits at clinic. And everyone enjoys discussing clothes (this is a stereotype, but it's true, so I'm just going to put it in here.) This did not happen on ED.

Also, I have a wonderful Consultant as my supervisor, who is this brilliant hippy-like character, with long flowing hair, well into her 60s, dresses in brightly coloured scrubs, answers everything with, "how delightful" and "that's just wonderful" in a soft American accent, and has the best stories, mostly produced apropos of nothing.

While discussing post op pain relief in theatre, she suddenly launched into a tale of how when she worked in Jamaica amongst the Rastafarians, they never needed pain relief:
Consultant: "They just roll themselves a fat joint, hop out of bed, and then buy a large bottle of rum and drink it and smoke it the 20km walk back to their village. They're just delightful."
Us: "!!!"
Consultant: "Everyone smokes there, of course. It's their religion."
Me: "What is the rate of schizophrenia like there?"
Consultant: (very seriously, looking at me) "None of them have schizophrenia. They're just all very mellow."

I could see the two registrars struggling not to laugh over her shoulder. The other day she interrupted a talk about vibro-acoustic stimulation by beginning, "when I was a doctor at an MC Hammer concert..."  Of course she was there. What a woman.

So O&G is progressing well and it's all very touchy feeling and slow going and all about feelings and babies and things which I'm finding UNBELIEVABLY PLEASANT after ED. And that is great.

In other life news, we are still trying to apply for South Africa, though it's turning out to be a bit of a struggle. I have launched Project Botheration - namely, to bother all the hospitals that might take us on a weekly basis until one of  them gives in. It more or less worked for New Zealand, and it more or less worked for getting Northern Deanery to let us come to New Zealand....in fact it's the tactic I've been employing most of my life since a toddler, so I am tentatively hopeful it will work now.

If not, we have got a Plan B (at last!) but really, I'd rather go with Plan A.
But I will let you know what happens.

Sounds that don't make any noise

In the JAFA handbook ('Just another....Aucklander' - one of those comedy books explaining the habits of Aucklanders to the rest of NZ that lay around the doctors' lounge for about 4 months, and which therefore I read from cover to cover), under the heading 'What Aucklanders know about the rest of New Zealand', under the section 'South Island', it had 'full of Sounds that don't make any noise, for some reason.'

This tickled me a lot when I was on nights or on call or otherwise in the hospital and wishing I was not, and I thought we should probably visit some of the sounds that don't make any noise.

For those of you who aren't familiar with NZ's South Island, down in the South West there is an area called Fiordland national park. It is an area of outstanding beauty, and it is full of little inlets - fiords (with an i, for NZ likes to be different), if you like - all called Sounds, for reasons unknown to me. Milford is the most famous, named by a Welshman who blew into the harbour and was so delighted with its spectacular beauty he was immediately reminded of Wales.  Of course. That's what I thought when I saw that too. Wales! Could have saved myself a right palaver if only I'd known Wales was like that.

Of course Milford Sound rains for 2/3 of the time and is the wettest inhabited place in New Zealand and one of the wettest in the world and usually doesn't look like that but looks likes this

and I guess on a superficial level that would make it very similar to Wales indeed, no doubt a very homely experience for a lonely Welshman far from his native (damp) soil.

The other Sounds in the area include Doubtful Sound (because they were Doubtful whether it was a Sound*), George Sound, Charles Sound, Nancy Sound, Dusky Sound, and a whole load of other Little Sounds who make up a mostly silent family. But Milford is the most accessible and therefore most trafficked.  And it is very spectacular.

*it was.

If you are ever there, I would strongly recommend the morning kayaking session, which sets off at 6:30am, and even though this requires you to be up and ready and inclined to get quite cold and wet by 5:30am, I would still strongly recommend it, because it is quiet and beautiful and being so close to the water seals come and play around you and dolphins jump out of the water close by and we even saw a penguin (a lonesome ownsome) and it all makes up for just quite how tired you are.

We were especially tired because, as you know, as I left you on TENTERHOOKS with my tale of midnight baking, we were about to drive from Palmy to Wellington, having not really worked out that our flight from Welly was leaving at a very socially inconvenient time in the morning. And so it was that on the morning of 13 Feb, at about 1am, Tim and I started our long, long Drive of Extreme Tiredness.

I wouldn't recommend it.

We arrived in Welly around 3:30am. I was still feeling quite perky at this point. We lay down in the car and napped until 6am, at which point we got up to check in for our flight, which left at 7am. We arrived in Queenstown, after a short stop in Christchurch and an attempt to nap on the departures lounge sofas (unsuccessful), at about 11am. And then we sat down and we did the 4.5hour drive to Milford.

And the next day we got up and did the 6.30am kayak for 6 hours.
And then we drove the 4.5 hour drive back.
And then
we were
really
really
tired.

Man.

The drive to Milford was a very, very beautiful and special drive indeed. We stopped on the way in Te Anau (for a nap, and a pie), and there we visited the apparent Best Pie Shop in the world, unexpectedly run by a couple of Chinese folk. I don't really associate China with pies (the concept of pastry, large chunks of meat, gravy, and especially cheese, tends to confuse the average Chinese person) but I was WRONG and these pies were, folks, the very best pies we had ever tasted. I would go so far as to say if you are ever in that area, say, you know, Queenstown, Milford, hovering around Fiji, on your way down from Samoa, perhaps aiming for Australia but having missed slightly, it would be worth paying a visit to that shop because everything in that shop was in Perfect Harmony. All the important things about a pie that you don't notice came together in a blend of wondrousness. The pastry was just right - flaky and tasty but not greasy; substantial but not heavy; yielding and soft inside but not damp or gummy. The pie was filled to the top with lots of very tasty large chunks of steak, all perfectly cooked, and no gristle; and there was just a hint of cheese, just enough to know you were eating a steak and cheese pie, but not an obtrusive cheese. A polite, well mannered cheese. A gentleman's gentleman cheese. And of course, plenty of delicious gravy, but not enough to make things soggy. It was, in short, an effortlessly delicious pie.

I go into such detail here because later in our holiday, we had the Most Perfect burger (from Fergburger, of course), and I want you to understand that the little details are important.

***

Fiordland is an area of unbelievable beauty and I have put most of the photos up on facebook so I'm sure you don't need to have them all over again, but it really is so insanely beautiful, and so filled with giant, inquisitive parrots, and so wonderful, and all the rest, we had to have another nap on the way just to calm ourselves down.

We were pretty sleep deprived.

Tim: (on driving through the Homer tunnel - a 1km long tunnel through the mountain; pretty amazing) "holy shit! It's so dark!"
Me: "yeah it is pretty dark'
Tim: "no, I mean I can't see anything. I can't see anything at all! It's so dark! Even the lights aren't working!"
Me: "Er..."
Tim: *panic* *panic* "what's wrong with the lights? I literally can't see - oh. Oh wait. Oh I still have my sunglasses on."

See?

***
We stayed in Milford Sound lodge that night and ate pasta for dinner (filled pasta! Haven't eaten that since my student days - and a load of vegetables on top. Pasta'n'crap! That holy student concoction. With cheese on top! There was so much we had to have the leftovers for breakfast the next day - very odd.) And kayaked the next day, and it was brilliant, and there's not much to say about that except it was one of my favourite things I've done in New Zealand, apart from also the caving, and the surfing, and the snowboarding, and the swimming, and the diving, and the snorkelling, and all the other stuff. I mean to say, it's up there. I mean, what I mean is, New Zealand is pretty awesome.

That night we drove back to Queenstown (two more naps on the way), cleaned ourselves up, parked up in Hippo Lodge, which again I highly recommend should you be in the area - it's perched right up at the top of a hill and has a million steps and the best view in all creation -

and eventually staggered down to conclude pretty much the best Valentine's day ever by feasting on tapas in Queenstown. 

It was pretty good. 

Tim's present to me was champagne and oysters on the waterfront. We had them every which way - battered, natural and some bizarre way with bacon and balsamic foam. It was a very strange restaurant: I think it had pretensions of grandeur, and served us an amuse-bouche of tomato and olive tea, which was frankly disgusting. 

But the oysters were good. And the champagne was good. And the waterfront was very, very good. 

And then we had tapas.

And I had the best glass of Pinot Noir I have ever tasted. It was a Brannockburn Pinot Noir, but I was too sleepy to remember where exactly it was from, and therefore the rest of my life will have to be devoted to tasting Pinot Noirs until I become reunited with it in a field of wildflowers, with some romantic music in the background. Word. 

And then we went to sleep, for 14 hours
And that was
Amazing

***

The next day, we ate a Fergburger.

We ate it on the waterfront, to the great interest of a large number of waterfowl, who I was at last forced to share my burger with, because it was just too big. And they enjoyed it a lot, from the seagulls to the wrens, even though sometimes the seagulls bullied the wrens slightly, or, as Tim put it, "look! that bigger duck is chasing the smaller duck!"

Ever since Tim made that egregious duck/swan/goose error (you must all know about this. I've told everyone this story. But I love telling it. I'm going to tell it again. Tim: "I saw a weird animal today! It was like a duck, but bigger. And it wasn't a swan." Me: "You mean a goose." Tim: "No - not a goose. It was definitely not a goose. But it was bigger than a duck, and it wasn't a swan. It was goose shaped. But it definitely wasn't a goose." Me: "I  have no idea what kind of animal you're talking about. You seem to be describing a goose." Tim: "IT WAS NOT A GOOSE. There is no way it was a goose. If you saw it, you would know it isn't a goose." Impasse. Days pass. We walk by a flock of Canadian geese by the river in Oxford. Tim: "THOSE. THOSE ANIMALS THERE." Me: "Tim, those are geese." Tim: "NO.")  

Anyway, ever since Tim has made that error, he now thinks, to be safe, he should classify all birds as ducks/geese/swans. Which is fine sometimes. And makes me very happy at other times, so it's basically a win win situation.

As well as the Fergburger, we also saw a man bungy jump

Which frankly looks hideous and is an activity that has never appealed to me less.
Tim is keen to do it as soon as Nick gets over and visits us in NZ though.

Nick, if you read this, just BE WARNED.

We also played amazing mini golf, involving several incredible constructions - a castle, an oil rig, a rollercoaster ride, a lake, white water rafting, a ski lift, an airport, a space station, a church, a sweet factory (which dispensed little sweeties at the end).....

And we went up the gondola and down the luge and enjoyed the view along the way:

But the main thing is

we ate a Fergburger

A Fergburger is truly a thing of wonder, and, much like the Perfect Pie described earlier, it is the Perfect Burger. First, the bread is sturdy, but very soft and tasty, though full of texture. It can hold the burger together. The filling is the same size as the bread - very important. There are an interesting number of variations, but not too many, and a good number of condiments inside - but not so many as to make the bun slippery to hold over the burger. There is a good amount of salad, and it's all very good salad: fresh, thinly sliced, and evenly distributed. Finally, it's a good size - large enough so that you feel each bite is deeply satisfying, but not so large that you can't get a bite of every single component with each nibble. 

When I came back from Queenstown, the first thing that Robin (one of the other UK docs) asked me was - did I go to Fergburger? How was it? Which burger did I have? He approved. Did I enjoy it? Of course I did. How many burgers did I have? Just one? He had 4 in 4 days. I was too full to finish it? Robin gave a sad shake of his head. He was sorry for me. But he couldn't really emphathise. 

We're going skiing there in winter - hopefully that will make enough room for me to make another valiant attempt.

In the meantime though, the seabirds were all enjoying the leftovers very much indeed. We even managed to persuade a very timid duck to eat chips from off my knee (word of advice to travellers: you do not need chips with a Fergburger. Just...don't do it. No matter how hungry you think you are. I mean, they're great chips. But you really, really don't need them.) And that was an achievement. 

***

The next day, we went Canyoning, which was all clean healthy fun and involved wearing a wetsuit again.

I have never worn a wetsuit before this 6 months, and now I have worn a wetsuit more times than I can count.

I just wanted to ponder that strange change in my life.

I put a wetsuit on this morning as well, to finish my PADI.

So many wetsuits.

Anyway.

While there, we met some Swedes
They were debating whether or not to go to Milford Sound. As they were in NZ for 6 weeks and they were, essentially, basically next door, Tim and I strongly urged them to go. They seemed diffident, however.

Swede2: "Yah, but some of our friends went last year and they weren't that impressed, you know. They said it's just ok, nothing really amazing."
Us: "But...it's so beautiful! It's...it's just incredible! All that fjordland! It's all ....fjordy!"
Swede1: "Yah, but you know, we have lots of fjords back at home."
Us: "Oh..oh..yeah.....you do."
Tim: "I guess if you've seen lots of fjords before then this is just another fjord."
Swede1: "Yah."
Swede2: "We've seen a lot of fjords."

***

Canyoning involved a lot of jumping off waterfalls, hanging off ropes, abseiling, falling, looking silly in a wetsuit, and seeing some very beautiful scenery at the end of it all.

It's a great way to see the country

I particularly enjoyed this sign, at the beginning of our trip. 

***

And then we came back home

Exhausted

Since then, I've been doing my last few shifts in ED, tidying up around the house and generally reading and doing some medicine. I feel very proud of my friends back in the UK who are now receiving job offers - I'm so far away from this it feels like another world. So hard to believe that if I hadn't taken this year here I would too, maybe, be embarking on the next stage of my career. IT all happens so fast, with hardly a blink to think about it. And so I'm grateful for this breathing space, at least. Though I think by the end of Africa, fingers crossed that it will happen, I will be ready to settle down into doing eyes, eyes, eyes for the rest of my life. 

For now though, there's still the rest of New Zealand to explore and the rest of my F2 to do and my year out afterwards to plan.

Only a quarter of my foundation training left! How did time fly by so fast?

Midnight baking...

This is definitely the first time I've been baking at 2am.

Baking at 2am is a surreal experience.

To compound my general feeling of not being with it, I have decided to bake three different kinds of biscuits.

It seemed

a good idea at the time. 

I am baking three kinds of biscuits because it's valentine's day soon, 

and I wanted to bake Tim some biscuits

and I know he loves jammy dodgers, bourbons and custard creams

So I thought I would make him home made versions of those. 

Well.

The other reason I'm baking at 2 in the morning is because I get off the 2pm till midnight shift, and I'm not sure I'll have time to bake in the morning and let the biscuits cool before I have to go to work. And that would be a disaster.

More disastrous than lack of sleep.

The other other reason I'm baking at 2am is because we are going to Queenstown soon, and instead of booking a flight from Palmerston North to leave at 7am, by accident we booked a flight from Wellington to leave at 7am. Which is 2 hours drive away from Palmy. Which means we have to leave - latest - 3:30am.

A very inconvenient time to do a 2 hour drive.

So we have decided between us that Tim will go to sleep as soon as he gets home from work on Tuesday, and I will do the opposite - stay up as long as possible on Tuesday morning.

Hence the baking.

I made a mess.

:-(

But I cleared it up again!

Hurrah!

Then I made another mess 

:-(

Jammy dodgers are messy as.

And after all that mess I really only have one very good jammy dodger to show for it, and even that is, if you are being very kind, kind of authentic and rustic. Which is to say, it's sort of misshapen. And sad. 

I only made 3 huge ones (as the recipe suggested), so 33% is not too bad

(FACT - that's better than the stats for the first open heart surgery series. Which I believe was 0% so ha! And they used 8 dogs. And I only baked 3 biscuits. So I think I win.)

One of them smashed into little pieces so it looks like an angry cake has smashed my biscuit in the face and gave it a nosebleed 

One of them I flipped by accident, so it looks quite tanned

- this is another thing about baking in this house, or why it is madness to attempt to bake in this house, especially at 2 in the mrning after an ED shift, where I have just spent the last hour suturing someone's little finger back together and i feel quite addled - the oven is RUBBISH

It burns everything on the bottom and refuses to cook it on the top

so we have to cook cakes on the very very top shelf so it's not raw on top and burnt on the bottom

:-(

my jammy dodgers! my poor jammy dodgers :-( :-( :-(

The bourbons and custard creams are turning out ok so far but they were really very messy to make.

So there you have all of my reaosns for baking at 2 in the morning
And really
I think they are quite good ones

But I wouldn' t recommend it.
You wouldn't thin kbaking is a very intellectual activity. But 2 in the morning is
just not the right time for baking.

Wise words for you all. And free.

Anyway

I'll let you know how I get on on Valentine's Day!

love

Connie

Surfing the 'Naki

Hi folks! Have you missed me?

Well, I've missed you. 

After an incredibly antisocial week of 2pm-midnight shifts, and a very distressing roster for next rotation, Tim and I thought we'd comfort ourselves by going to the beach.

It was awesome. 

We went to Taranaki, on the West coast of NZ, off a little stretch of road called Surf Highway 45. You can probably guess what the main activity of the region is. Surf beaches are everywhere - every few km another sign pops up to direct you to where some good waves are to be had, duuuuuuuuuuuude. 

I'm sorry. I just imagine surfers all talking like this. 

We managed to book a tiny little cabin right on the beach front. It had a little kitchen and cooking facilities and all the rest. Not that we did much cooking, because it was so hot that our bread went mouldy. And all the butter melted everywhere. 

Delicious. But messy. 

We booked a surfing lesson with the surf shop there - the only surf shop, though Lonely Planet describes Opunake as 'the surf epicentre of Taranaki' - and they don't do lessons. 

Surf shop: "There is a chap who'll take you for a surf though if you like. I can give you his number so you can arrange it direct with him, then you can hire your gear from us."

Me: "Ok. Is it better for me to ring him or you to sort it out?"

Surf shop: "Oh definitely you. He's a farmer you see, so you'll have to work out a time that's good for you, good for the tides, and good for milking the cows."

Me: "!!!!"

Sure enough, our awesome farmer surfer, who is this fantastic ageing hippy type (of course), turns up on Saturday and takes us out for an awesome lesson, during which he expounds his life philosophy: 

1) Surfing is awesome, because it inspires you to do other stuff, like earn money, so you can surf on the weekend. 

2) Marijuana is medicinal, which makes it awesome, because how many things are both fun and medicinal?

3) Did I mention how awesome surfing is? If everyone did surfing, then there would be fewer problems in the world.

 He was great fun to be around. I did make the mistake of calling him 'a surfing farmer' though, to which he quickly countered, "aww, nah, I'm a farming surfer."

Fair enough, I guess. 

It's nice, coming from a culture where your occupation often defines you, to a place where your hobbies define you. 

That's our farming surfer down there, riding that wave in:

We were both more than a little rusty after not surfing since Gisborne, months ago, but we both managed to stand up and be a lot less shaky than we were previously. Tim beat me hands down this time - You can watch a video of Tim surfing that wave here. But we both managed to ride some long waves in to shore- a good 10m or so, as our farming surfer predicted - and once we both got on the same wave and high-5'd on the way in -  and it felt like we would never stop. 

It was ridiculous. We were like 5 year olds.

5 year olds with a superlative sense of balance, of course.

Pretty soon, we were exhausted.

Look at our geeky longboards!

Tim was still in his wetsuit and I'd peeled mine off way earlier - it was way too hot to be in a wetsuit. 

We had a good old shower and a lie down and a cold drink, and then we were off to dinner. 

Tim: "I am going to sleep incredibly well tonight."

Dinner was a HUGE affair, with a lot of very, very generously poured wine, at the SugarJuice cafe, 'the best food on the surf highway'. Its sign said it opened from 8am til 'late' on Saturdays.

This is the cafe closing at 8:45pm on a Saturday evening - the only restaurant in the 'surfing epicentre of Taranaki' during the surf season in the height of summer. 

"Late" for Nz, I guess.

I'm going to miss NZ 'lates' when I leave this lovely country. 

It's like talking in code. 

The scenery was almost too beautiful

Being on the west coast, there are some spectacular sunsets, and we enjoyed them from our beach vantage point - our cabins were only 2 minutes walk from here, and had almost an equally lovely view. 

True to promise, we slept very, very well and almost missed checkout due to overwhelming exhaustion.

The next day, we did it all over again, but with added skimboards in the morning too.

Look at the little holes in the sand from low tide!

Those pools were crystal clear, and boiling hot.

I blistered my feet on the sand, even while wearing shoes. 

Tim: "You need to get some new feet."

This is Tim, looking cool as with our skimboard

Skimboarding is a bit of a black art, really

The beach at low tide was perfect for it though - much better than our previous attempts in the North. Huge swatches of standing water on a flat surface.

I'll leave you with a last view of Mount Egmont, with its last vestiges of snow even in the height of summer, the view from just above the beach. It really is minutes from the mountains, minutes from the sea.

As we left Taranaki, there was the standard sign which announced, 'you are now leaving Taranaki'.

Then in 200m another sign popped up - 

"Why?"

Why indeed. I fear if they made such a sign over New Zealand airspace, I would just lose all my resolve and turn back immediately. Though, I suppose, we do have China and the (hopeful! tentative!) possibility of South Africa to spur us on. Still - almost halfway through our NZ odyssey, and what a journey it's been. 

I hope you're looking forward to the next half as much as I am :-)

There and back again

Hobbiton!

(the saga continues)

On our last day in Rotorua, Robert and I went to Hobbiton.

Oh, come on. We were in New Zealand. We had to go to Hobbiton.

I haven't seen the  Hobbit, by the way. I can't quite bear to go through with it all. 3 hours! 3 hours of my life!

Times 3!

Sorry. Probably too much exclamation marks.
It's a subject on which I feel strongly.

As a long term LOTR fan, it was a very disconcerting and familiar feeling, stepping into that scenery...

And Hobbiton was a strange place, all different sizes and scales.

Look at the tiny pears!

It was all unbearably cute and right in every detail. A model village, in fact.
I found myself quite wanting to live there.
Some of the holes were even just my height......more or less.

The guide took us around and showed us all the familiar things. The party field and the big tree, Bag End and the oak growing above it...

Speaking of which -
The tree growing above Bag End?
It's fake.

Or rather, it used to be real. Peter Jackson saw a real live tree he liked
The leaves are from Taiwan, and they're wired on.
Now they're falling off.

These artistic types eh? Imagine that. Imagine seeing a tree somewhere and thinking, "MY GOD. That is the ONE. I must have that tree OR I DIE. No other tree will do." And believing so strongly in the integrity of this that you have it taken to pieces, labelled, reconstructed, wired, and glue millions of tiny fake leaves onto it, to achieve your perfect tree forever.

The guide told us this happened with a plum tree as well - the book said the hobbits were eating plums, but they couldn't find a miniature plum tree, so they took a miniature pear tree, and took all the pears off, and glued tiny plums onto it. Because that was authentic.

I wonder how his personal life is.

Anyway, here is the leaf from the tree for your viewing delectation.

And here is Bag End, and the Fake!Tree
I feel that Frodo is just about to come out
Oh, Elijah Wood

The whole place was so carefully gardened and set out to look like the English countryside I found myself getting quite nostalgic for England. Even though all this would, if it were in England, be under 6 inches of snow.

I know. I've seen pictures.

A tiny stool!

*snigger*

After all that strenuous enjoyment, we went to the cafe where, of course, they served 2nd breakfast.

I didn't have it. Though I quite wanted to. 

I have some regrets.

After Hobbiton, we went to the Waitomo gloworm caves, and marvelled at the glowworms. This was a slightly more gentle version of the terrifying underwater dark climbing up waterfalls trek I'd done previously, involving a gentle downhill stroll, and then a little cruise on a boat.

Clearly I've grown old during my stay in New Zealand.

All those strenuous activities. They've aged me. 

Unsurprisingly, Robert and I were both destroyed after this relentless schedule of events.

But there was more to come. 

The next day, we went to Taupo and mooched about by the lake. We swam - turns out Lake Taupo had warmed up rather a lot in the 3 months since I'd been there, embarrassingly for me since I'd gone on and on about how bloody cold it was to Robert and really built it up and then it turned out to be quite balmy. Which was pleasant for swimming but not so pleasant for my ego. And we bathed in the hot pools. And we saw a bungee jumper (definitely putting paid to any ideas of ever doing this in the future). And we ate prawns at the prawn farm. And and and

And then - we went home!

And that was a relief

And I slept for a VERY LONG TIME

And then I went back to work
- which was very interesting
- and I got my South African work-seeking permit - the first on a long series of steps to the South African part of our adventures - which was very exciting
- and I finally bought a new pair of shorts

THE END