Miley trains to outpace the paparazzi, all set for the upcoming City to Surf

With the Christchurch City to Surf happening in just under 2 weeks I’m hoping that either your training programme is well underway or you’ve decided to drive the 12km instead. The latter is my preferred mode of transport but there’s not a lot of personal satisfaction or badges of honour in driving that kind of distance.

Of course, for the seasoned pros reading this running 12km is a sneeze before breakfast and they’d quite likely snort condescendingly at the idea of people actually having to train for an event like that but for us mere mortals the two options are: train or pay for it for the 3 weeks following the run.

I ran the Christchurch City to Surf last year with a minimum of training and nursed sore legs for a few days after. The free CCC BBQ made it all worthwhile (I’m a sucker for free food) so for me that was reason enough to run it. As for the points of honour? Take it or leave it, just give me a free steak and a beer and I’ll run it all over again.

So how’s my training going? My City to Surf training has been an interesting collection of alternative techniques I’ve been piloting, in the interests of scientific research of course. First up was a week of camping in Tukurua. That was probably the most rugged training I’ve done in my life. A solid 7 days of sleeping and lounging by the beach, cooked breakfasts rich in lipids and hop-based drinks as well as an intense open-aired drive for over 6 hours. Yep, I was pretty worn out at the end of that. But the hardest is yet to come. A special 2-day training camp is planned for Hokitika this coming weekend. It’s top secret so I really can’t say too much but it will definitely give me an advantage over the rest of the field.

If you’re reading this, and it’s left you with a dampened brow, then obviously exercise isn’t your thing. My advice, which by the way is not something I dole out often because no one listens to it, is stick to exercise disguised as fun. This can include jumping to conclusions, wrestling with your conscience and running to the freezer for more icecream.

So that’s a little sneak look into my secret, slightly unorthodox, training programme for the upcoming City to Surf. What’s your plan?

Still when you get one of those days the place you want to be is Hagley Park, soaking up the soulful sounds of the Departure Lounge. I was there along with a lot of other people (maybe you were one of them; check the photos I took just in case I caught you) and it was a great day to be showing off this fine city of Christchurch.

Crowds chilling to the smooth sounds of the Departure Lounge

The Central Lawn in Hagley Park made for a great venue

Another crowd-pleasing event run by the CCC and Summertimes

Held in the Central Lawn area (by the Rose Garden) in Hagley Park, Lazy Sundays is part of the Summertimes programme run by the Christchurch City Council, although reading between the lines based on what the MC was saying it might not be around next year. So we’ve been asked to let the CCC know how much we want it back.

Well, if last Sunday was anything to go by it has my vote to run for another year or ten. The weather and the musical talents of Departure Lounge made for a very pleasant afternoon of lazing and picnicking. While they don’t have any regular gigs in the city they have been known to make appearances at Als Bar on occasions and are planning on doing a few shows this winter (some of the band are going to Melbourne for a few months until then).

Their sound is soulful jazz, with a rock/roots edge to it, and if they had been around I would think they would be a serious contender to be a headline act for the upcoming Christchurch Jazz Festival (as it happens one of our favourite bands is making an appearance – Grand Central Band – we will see you there!).

Sadly the gig was over too soon but you walked away with a sense of civic pride – now if only my relatives had visited Christchurch on a day like this, they would have a completely different view of this place. I guess I’ll just have to keep the secret of this great city to myself.

The course of true love never did run smooth

Shakespeare at Mona Vale has become something of a summer tradition, like the guy who yells out ’saucy’ at the buskers or a trip out to Orana park. Top Dog theatre produced another impressive interpretation of the bard’s work this year in the form of Midsummer Night’s Dream, a play about the adventures of four young Athenian lovers and a group of amateur actors, not to mention a few fairies in a moonlit forest.

I went to the Friday session on February 19, which kicked off at 6pm, drawing a massive crowd. In fact, it was wall-to-wall people taking up every inch of grass along the bank in front of the ’stage’. Actually, the natural amphitheatre is well suited to Shakespeare plays and provides almost everyone with a good view of the action (except for whoever gets stuck behind the tree!). I just scraped in two minutes before the play started, partly because I wasn’t sure of the start time and partly because I had to park in Ashburton. Actually it was Kilmarnock street but I’ve never seen it so busy. One person so desperate for a close park had fully wedged their small car in between two others; I would have paid to see them get it out. A fantastically sunny day (yay it came back) and that the previous evening was decidedly soggy meant I shouldn’t have been surprised by the huge turnout of art-appreciating theatre-goers.

Fortunately, Crystal had arrived nice and early and saved a spot for me. They waved me through for free so they must have known I was a critic, and hoped to woo me or they just saw me and thought this guy needs more culture and we’ll happily sponsor him. Got in, lightly stepped on toes, blankets and other people’s sandwiches to get to our spot. The show started but I was probably more focused on making myself some dinner, but that was a mistake. For a non-Shakespeare person like me, I really needed to immerse myself in the play and get the hang of 16th century English, rhyming couplets and the street slang of the day. So for me the first 20 minutes were hard going, too many characters, too many actors speaking too many words I either couldn’t hear or couldn’t understand. So I took solace in the chicken sandwich Crystal had made and a Monteith’s beer.

As the play progressed the haze started to clear. Characters made more sense and seemed to have more direction and purpose in the play. In fact, I enjoyed the second half a whole lot more, and while I don’t want to credit that to 2 glasses of wine, I think that really helped me to get in the spirit of the occasion. The crowd also seemed to warm up as the evening got colder, with more polite clapping and spontaneous laughter (shocking behaviour indeed for conservative supporters of the Christchurch arts).

A few highlights for me (apart from the great company and fine dining) was Puck, the comedic fairy who loved to meddle and do one-arm cartwheels, Bottoms who turned into an ass (that’s was the characters name in case you were thinking I had muddled my words there), the shy lion, the wall and the flower-bashing that went on as Lysander and Demetrius fight girl-style over Helena.

There seemed to be a lot of new actors in the cast this year, including a cute little Chihuahua who did the best dog impression I’ve ever seen. It was actually really well behaved considering how much shouting and match-making was going on.

It ended on a high note as the amateurs got to do their play for the 3 newly-wedded couples, and you had to wonder if Will had Romeo and Juliet on the brain when he penned the droll they performed, but from an obvious comedic angle.

Puck wrapped everything up with his final words to the audience:

If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumbered here
While these visions did appear.

It seemed appropriate to me, with all the fairies and man-donkeys I’d seen that it really did make much more sense as a dream. A bizarre turn of events that really could only happen in a dream. However, I’ve never had a dream so well acted as it was that night. Top work Top Dog and thank you to my wife for ‘dragging’ me along to these sorts of events – it can’t be easy!

Villains or super-heroes? Or is it just John Key collecting more "GST"?

I know there’s a lot of talk at the moment about the sensible sentencing trust particularly with the case of Malcolm George Chaston before the courts but while they’ve been busy trying to get rapists and kidnappers locked up for longer there’s one thing they’ve overlooked and it’s a huge oversight. I’m talking about parking fines.

It started with an innocent trip into town, in fact a noble cause if you will. Those of you who know me realise that I am bereft of extended family in New Zealand – if I want an auntie or an uncle I have to import one from overseas, whether that is a good thing or a bad thing I’ll let you decide. But my journey into the centre of town this day was to see both an uncle, an auntie and 3 cousins imported from Australia by a visiting cruise ship. Now for me this was akin to staying up all night to watch Halley’s comet pass by, there was no telling if I’d be zimmer-frame material or daisy pushing by the time I got to see them again so, sure, this was by no means a casual visit.

On a typical Saturday afternoon the crowds are humming around the art gallery and finding a park is easy only if you have all 3 of your eyes configured around your head like a human flounder. So it seemed like I’d hit the jackpot when I spotted an empty space right across from the art gallery.

I didn’t even pause to consider it might still be metered parking.

After spending just under 2 hours getting acquainted (or is that re-acquainted? does it count if the last time I saw them was 20 years ago?) with cousins and desperately trying to tell them that Christchurch is not always grey, cold and uninteresting in the summer, I get back to the car to find a parking ticket. And not just a little ’slap on the wrist’ $12 parking fine. A spanking good $40 fine. Ouch.

Now I have no issue with fronting up if I’ve done something wrong (well maybe I do just a little) but the punishment in my opinion was just a little on the heavy-handed side. Now before you write me off as a whiner – 2 things: (1) I know that parking wardens have a tough job, I don’t envy those fluro-coloured harbingers of doom one bit and (2) I know a lot of other people get parking tickets too. But still, $40? That’s more than a speeding fine. Speeding can kill. What’s so dangerous to society about a stationary car? Was it so ugly that it was giving passers-by bleeding eyes? Was it blocking a family of abandoned orphans from escaping a burning building? Was this perhaps a sign that I should stay away from extended family? I’m not sure but there were no doubts I had been a very naughty boy and would be made to pay. And pay I did. Fortunately the Christchurch City Council makes it easy for fools to part with their money – you can do it all online.

Or, if you happen to be feeling particularly titchy about the grand injustice of it all, you can contest your parking infringement online. No more Oscar-winning dramas at the Civic offices in Tuam street anymore. If you do choose to go into bat for yourself in the hope of getting off your parking fine, be confident, stick to the facts and be polite. Don’t be a blubbering sycophant – it won’t help. Of course slipping a fiver in the envelope might work. If nothing else you’ll get a friendlier rejection letter.

Just one last thing – double-check your next ticket to make sure it’s the real thing, otherwise you might find yourself spending up large at some Auckland bar.

Dougal knows what he likes

Often people talk about swings and roundabouts. Known as a cliche it’s often used to describe a situation, or series of events, that has had ups and downs. It’s used in an attempt to console people and make them feel better. For example, you tell someone your precious dog, your best friend since you were 12, has just died. And they say: “Just think how much you’ll save on dog food. Swings and roundabouts eh?”

As you can see it has great power to console and comfort. Still, what’s what? Are the swings bad? Or is it the roundabouts we want to avoid? And what if life is all swings and no roundabouts? Is that unfair? Who runs this great cosmic playground so we know who can file an official complaint with?

I haven’t actually decided which I prefer. I have memories of swings that took me to heights that brought tears to my 9 year old eyes and gave me nightmares of swings doing a full circle while I hung on in a futile attempt to stay on the right side of the troposphere. Then again ‘extreme roundabouting’ as a teenager also left me with ‘hard to heal’ emotional scars. What started out as harmless fun inevitably ended with a reckless diehard mate who decided that roundabouts are more fun at the speed of light. I suggested we take it a step further and aim for the speed of dark but no-one got it. Funny that.

So after many years of scientific debate I’m still no closer to choosing one over the other. And like so many idioms (why is that word so close to idiot?) in the English language, swings and roundabouts is right up there with so much of the white noise that goes on in everyday banter. I’m not proposing we get too OCD about this and take to people with what I like to call the ‘grammar hammer’ but maybe like the ad says we need better work stories, or better life stories. Then we’ll all have so much real, interesting bits of information to share around that the hackneyed cliches will never get to see the light of day.

While I’ve got the grammar hammer out, I do want to mention the whole twenty ten vs two thousand and ten debate because the last time I checked it still hadn’t been resolved. The grammar elite are arguing for twenty ten because of the historical precedence of nineteen eighty-four while some in the media, like our own C4 with their new season promo, are pushing two thousand and ten. My money is on the media winning this stoush since who really cares what some stuffy English professor thinks even if he is technically correct and what’s ‘correct’ usually just ends up being what is commonly used – hence the media have the upper hand in this one.

So next time someone uses the ’swings and roundabouts’ phrase on, around, or next to you, do me a favour and ask them what it’s all about and how it applies to the real world. Let me know how it turns out. Sporting chance they’ll stop talking to you because they think you’re weird but it’s a small price to pay to uncover the truth behind a meaningless phrase.

Visiting art galleries is not our standard Tuesday night schedule but we are not the sort to have our lives dictated to by routine. In fact when Mrs Routine comes to put me to bed at 11pm like I probably should I say ‘talk to the hand’ and will continue checking everyone’s Facebook status until at least 11.45pm when I’m satisfied that all my friends are safely tucked in and out of harm’s way. So there we where at an art gallery feeling a little out of place until the nice lady welcomed us ad and forced drinks into our hands, oh how I hate having to be made to drink free beer.

Wine at the L'Estrange Art Gallery	Toaster of Truth - So Deep!	I love Tinman - Reminds me of Ed Monkton
I see a sock-eating beast	Fanta pants is my hero	A corporate mission statement I can believe in

Aside from the rich colours, the moody reflections and the bowl of jet plane lollies, I think what impressed me most was the down-to-earth lets-not-take-life-so-seriously vibe I got from Tony’s work. I feel slightly out of place at art exhibitions because I imagine it’s a watering hole for glamorous socialites to air-kiss one another and compare facelifts but Tony’s art just made me feel at home. It was fun, full of cheek and beautifully presented. Tony actually came over and chatted with me, Crystal, Aaron and Kym (actually more Aaron since he’s the crazy artist of the group) and happily discussed his artistic endeavours. Casually dressed and wearing invisible shoes he seemed like a nice guy who really put his heart into his work, and it showed. If you want to see more of his work visit his website at www.tonycribb.co.nz.

As an aside we did happen to get snapped by the Bay Harbour News photographer, so while I’m going on about not wanting to be pretentious, our picture may well be in print alongside high society Cantabrians. Ironic.

Not being a huge collection we got through it in about 30 minutes allowing time for chocolate brownie sampling and then wandered over to the Rupture Duck for an overdue dinner. AJ, who runs the place, was having a busy night so we sat outside, with a pleasing view of the sea, the main road and everything in between. We talked, we reminisced and we ate great pizza. Now that’s a better way to spend a Tuesday night.

The pure joy of lying on the grass, staring up at the blue sky, feeling the heat of the sun and been caressed by the beats of Electric Wire Hustle was worth every cent. I soaked it up like I was never going to see the sun again and it seemed everyone around me was doing the same. As much as we all hibernate when the weather goes grey we all have our summer skin ready and waiting to go when we get the call, and on Saturday that call was being answered by hundreds of happy Cantabrians from all walks (and waddles) of life. And more than a few got their freak on. Ah, the uniting power of music.

Afroman - friend to all especially on Facebook	Bursting out of the Picnic adventure course	Air cadets cleaned up like Jetson-style robots
Sounday embraced anyone ... even guys wearing cowboy hats	Don McGlashen of Muttonbird fame	Me moving basecamp in search of shade
Girls and brightly-coloured jelly paddling pools	Dreads make you feel a part of the scene	Smoking grass of non-Hagley park origin
P Money mixes it up with old and new	Cute umbrella and dancing to match

We arrived about 1.30pm after circling blocks looking for a park like a starving vulture. I should have used the paid parking in Hagley Park but because I’d already spent time looking I couldn’t quit now (sorry, emotion beats logic every time!) and I eventually found a grate park in Doreen St (grate as in I parked over this massive drain that threatened to suck the keys out of my hand – fortunately I refused to believe in it’s voodoo and my keys stayed safely in my pocket). I got most of Electric Wire Hustle, who kept the crowd rocking the whole time. A freaking awesome drum solo and meaningful lyrics had us impressed by a band that is relatively unknown – my guess is they won’t stay that way.

Next up was iconic front-man for the Muttonbirds, Don McGlashan. He started off in style with one of my favourite tunes ‘Dominion Road’, then played some new stuff that sounded like easy-listening radio tunes, almost blanked on one of his songs then brought everyone back with a great rendition of ‘Anchor Me’ and even a little sesame street on the trumpet. Feel the Kiwiana!

The Handsome Family from Albuquerque, New Mexico then did a 45-minute set which was 45 minutes too long. They did do a song about apple picking which I found amusing. Not pleasing to the ear but amusing. Hopefully they’ll be heading back to deserts of New Mexico and staying there. I’m sure their music is well-received somewhere but it just didn’t seem to fit at this gig.

The famous (mostly underground but finding their way to the surface) Phoenix Foundation hit the stage next and kept current fans happy and scored a few new ones, showing they’re good for more than just the music they did for NZ movie ‘Eagle vs Shark’. They have a strong following around the country and have a great future ahead of them.

Dizz1 from Sydney, Australia got a thumbs down from me, and when P Money hit the stage at 7pm the reasons were obvious. He might be a DJ but up against P Money he may as well have been a monkey with vinyl – he simply got smoked. Fortunately for him it didn’t come down to DJ duels and P Money played a wicked set, mixing old and new samples to keep the varied audience on their feet and in the air. One thing I like about P Money is he really looks like he enjoys what he does and he treats his audience graciously, proving you can have confidence and be successful without being an ego-maniac (are you listening Akon?).

Sounday has been running for three years now and is (hopefully) going to become a regular appearance on the local Christchurch music scene. I say hopefully because numbers seemed to be down on last year, which reportedly had 10,000 in attendance. I’m not sure exactly why but I’m guessing the lack of Fat Freddys, Yarah Bravo and Nathan Haines from the year before possibly hurt ticket sales.

I was reminded once again of the great depth of musical talent we have in this country when I heard news of Pauly Fuemana’s death this morning. While many would not probably classify him as a ‘great artist’ he was talented enough to put out the single ‘How Bizarre’ with his group OMC, which hit number one in several countries around the world. I’d be happy if I achieved something like that, of course the rest of the world would be less than happy with my vocal less-talent.

But it’s not just the music that makes Sounday. It’s the people. And the people did not disappoint. I’m not even sure where to begin on all the colourful characters that contributed to the rich tapestry that was Sounday 2010 – the drunk girl who got stuck in the Picnic adventure course, the old chap spinning out with his spirit stick (don’t ask), the tank top dude with a camera phone from 1997 who danced like he was a radioactive electron or the guy I will call Afroman. Now while I don’t know his name I’m willing to bet real money that several hundred New Zealanders do, because I am sure he is a Facebook A-lister. I just get this feeling about some people that they are like the centre of their own FB universe, reaching out to unknowns everywhere, amassing more friends than one person could possibly need in a single lifetime. He was dancing like he did know everyone, and if he didn’t, well it didn’t matter because you got the same infectious friend vibes anyway. People like that are normally really nice, gregarious people … or they’re players.

Speaking of playing, I did some playing of my own on the Picnic adventure course, an inflatable obstacle course setup as a time challenge for anyone willing to give it a go. ‘Willing to give stuff a go’ is my middle name so I skim-read the T&Cs and signed my soul away to that evil company that uses palm oil and reduces the size of our chocolate when we aren’t looking. But with $5000 on the line and a free Picnic I was happy to turn a blind eye to their corporate sins. I gleaned tips from previous competitors and when my turn came I burned up the track, through the holes over the ramp and down the other side. 31.7 seconds. 1.7 seconds too slow to enter. If Murray Mexted had interviewed me there and then I might’ve cried but I got a Picnic and was allowed to give it another try. This time I didn’t disappoint, bursting through the course in a ferocious 21 seconds. Definitely a PB for me in terms of Picnic adventure courses. If I win the 5G I might take all two of my blog readers out for a drink.

Sounday was overall, a really pleasant way to spend a sunny Christchurch afternoon, a relaxed crowd, an eclectic range of bands and all the picnic bars you could ever want. Let’s just hope next year the promoters can round up a few big names like Katchafire, Kora and Fat Freddys and then we’ll have a real party on our hands. And you can be sure that Afroman will be inviting all 752 of his Facebook friends.

So who would you like to see at the next Sounday? And, if you did the Picnic Challenge, post your time!

Do you know who I am?

I’m going to level with you from the get-go: I don’t celebrity spot (read: harass) well. That is mostly due to a lack of practice and a few bad experiences (you know how those things can scar for life). But for some reason I refuse to give up. Probably for the same reason I fail to quit guessing at people’s names – sheer male stupidity. But that’s a topic for another day.

I’ve had run-ins with celebrities. They’ve mostly been D-listers but beggars can’t be choosers and frankly they are waaaaaaay more famous than I’ll ever be so they get instant kudos just for that. Actually one celebrity encounter that went really well was with a famous NZ swimmer. I just happened to be up at the Mount enjoying the hot pools, ran into some friends, struck up some friendly chit-chat with a guy who just happened to be sitting next to them and after a few minutes he left, which puzzled me because I had thought he was tagging along with my mates. My mates by this stage were having a right laugh at me and I had no idea why – turns out the guy I had been casually chewing the fat with was Moss Burmester. Yep I had no idea. Ten points for not coming on to him or asking for a signature but I was awarded no points for celebrity blindness.

My next run-in (and this was quite literally a run-in) was with Elvis outside Grauman’s Chinese Theater in Hollywood. Now you would expect to see celebrities here in L.A. but here’s the thing. Celebrities in L.A. are seasoned pros, they’ve been coached by the best to be invisible. You don’t even see their nannies or gardeners until awards night, and then you’re fighting with a hundred desperate Americans, photographers and bodyguards to see a brief flash of those expensively white Hollywood teeth.

But you will see plenty of fake celebrities. And to be fair they are famous in their own special way. After being the friendly Kiwi and discussing the giant white rabbits of NZ (sheep) with Darth we stumbled across the overfed greaseball that was Elvis who only seemed to know two phrases in English: “Hooooooooollywood” and “wheres my tip”. Our good friend and tour guide Erik Sowman harangued him with the video camera and then got me to ask him some serious questions about his next tour to NZ. He didn’t really understand so we were moving on when he pressed us for money. I’m not cheap (ok just a little) but he hadn’t done anything worthy of a tip, in fact just moments before I had helped him out by taking his photo with someone. Nope, were making a documentary and it would be wrong to bias the interviews with bribes. I think the last thing recorded on camera was him sulking off into the crowd using language I don’t think the real Elvis would have approved of.

Is Moata training to be a swinger?

So I get to my latest celebrity encounter and it happens to be at some swing dancing class in Armagh St. Now I have to say categorically right here that I could be totally wrong about this but I saw this woman and I thought straight away that that is blogger of the year, Moata Tamaira. I’m not sure why I started getting nervous with excitement because before winning Fairfax’s Blog Idol competition she was like the rest of us, except she worked in a library, which is beyond the scope of most of us because the art of shushing people cannot be learned – you must be born with it. But when I shared my hot celebrity tip with the girl standing next to me I got a puzzled look that told me either (a) I had the wrong person or (b) Moata is not as famous as I think she is. I refused to believe either and am sticking with my suspicions.

I could just ask her but that would take all the fun out of it. I’ll just stalk her from afar and wait for clues that will give her away. I suspect Fairfax have put her up to learning the Lindy Hop for blog inspiration. I get nervous just imagining the sardonic comments that will pepper her retelling of sweaty palms and social awkwardness, as we shuffled around the floor. But I’m getting way ahead of myself here. I need to plan this, carefully rehearse my approach and keep it real. The last thing a famous blogger wants is a wannabe blogger assuming familiarity just because I read her blog, that doesn’t count as an invitation to her inner circle. And, according to my trusted sources, I shouldn’t assume familiarity, or I could come off looking a little nutty. So if you’re listening Moata and we do cross paths, I’ll do my best to pretend I don’t know you. Unless you like nutty? I can do nutty.

So what celebrity crossings have you experienced lately? A-list, B-list or Z-list I’m not fussy. Or maybe you are a celebrity and you’d like to sign my guest book – you may – I won’t be offended if you use a fake email address.

So off to Kaikoura with a mate for an impromptu surf trip, banking on a little lingering easterly swell after the epic weekend the week before. Threw some gears in an overnight bag and headed into the wet greyness that was the open road. It made me realize how little you actually need for a weekend away (disclaimer: I’m a guy who’s happy to go feral for a couple of days).

Stayed the first night in a house so that didn’t count but it was a chance to watch (for at least the second time) the Bill Murray classic ‘The man who knew too little’ – if you haven’t already I highly recommend it, it’s a little like the comedy of Mr Bean but with the class of Bill Murray. The next day we were away at the crack of 11.30 to check this really secret surf spot called Mangamanu (just keep it to yourself ok) then Meat Works. The swell was MIA so instead we decided it was a good time to put the tent up. Found a spot that looked like it wasn’t taken and looked clean enough (sadly free campers are not the cleanest creatures on the planet – hence the sign you can see in one of the photos below).

The reason I go camping	NZ's clean green image takes a nose dive by the world famous Manga surf spot	A non-performing seal
A pod of dusky dolphins playing in the bay	Kev hoping for a cold beer, finds mud instead	Tourists entranced by a lump of seal
A Kaikoura surf trip isn't one if you don't surf	Me trying to make the most of no swell at Meat Works	Meat Works - small swell and a moody sunrise

Tent up we passed the time waiting for the swell to hit by playing skip-bo (a game that I took to with a certain amount of natural affinity solely because it’s all about numbers – I like figures) and working on the campfire – takes my vote for the best thing to do when camping. Still no swell so we went seal hunting instead (armed with cameras of course).

Got back to the camp and there was still time for a surf – desperation had set in and there were a couple of guys out there so it was on. Suited up booties and all and grabbed a few waves before it got dark. Perfect timing for a cook up and ramp up the fire, and maybe a few beers and bourbons – just missing the marshmallows. It was at that point I realised that the sole reason I was roughing it 3 hours from home was so I could sit there and do the campfire thing. I’m thinking of actually starting a Facebook fan club all about how great campfires are.

Sunday morning got off to a rough start with the airbed giving up before 6am and forcing an earlier-than-planned start. I was so desperate for sleep I defied the rock hard ground and snoozed a little bit longer. Sadly still no swell so we packed up, checked Manga one last time then headed into town. On our way through we came across a huge pod of dusky dolphins (and calves) in the bay straight out from the Esplanade. We stared out at them along with a growing crowd of spectators both on and off the water, wondering if, by the time we suited up and paddled out, the dolphins would still be there. After 5 minutes of that I was like ‘let’s do it, nothing to lose right?’

Within 10 minutes I was out there along with a bunch of kayakers and small boats getting amongst the biggest pod of dusky dolphins I have ever seen, swimming around, under the surfboard and flipping out like circus animals. When you get up close and personal with these beautiful creatures you realise how powerful they really are. A quick flick of the tail and they were right out of the water, spinning around and back flipping, it was an incredible sight. While the vista of a bunch of black fins circling towards, and around me, triggered some initial flight response within, it wasn’t long before I was just sitting there in the water soaking up a special experience that doesn’t come along very often.

On the way home, the weather rewarded my stubborn defiance with a show of sun through the clouds. Too little too late. But I thought this turn in the weather was good news for the buskers who are in town for the annual World Buskers Festival in Christchurch. My vote is for Mario Queen of the Circus, definitely one of the better buskers, oh and Mulletman has a sweet mullet, as the name suggests. I’ll see you at the Comedy Club on either Tuesday or Wednesday, and I’ll be expecting Michelle to document it thoroughly!

In other news Gary Coleman’s in jail – just another case in point of why children (or people who look like children) should not be actors – ever. Sorry that was a random segue to end on. It must be kooky hour.

All we need to fix a soggy summer?

… hang on to it and wait for a sunny day is my advice if you’re living in Christchurch and hanging out for the heat of summer to return. Even some blue sky would be nice.

Now while I have mentioned before that I resent talking about the weather it’s getting serious around here. In fact, you know things aren’t good when your friends starting posting comments asking where summer has gone (“I haven’t got it, have you”, “Who had it last?”, “I saw it last week – does that count?”) and particularly when you start consulting the forecast to plan your washing days (What happened to summers where you could put your washing out after work and it would be dry before tea time? Sorry is this making me sound like an old woman? No offence to old woman by the way, who are currently being made famous/insulted by Grabaseat).

So the summer in Christchurch is currently rubbish but as the old saying goes when life hands you a lemon, you make lemonade. Preferably before someone squeezes it and you get lemon juice to the eye.

Seriously there is nothing we can do about it. In fact, I’m often overcome by the pointlessness of talking about the weather because we have absolutely no control over it. Of course, it doesn’t stop us talking about it as if we could. We are mad aren’t we?

So to make lemonade, metaphorically speaking, and avoid this summer-less summer stealing your inner sunshine there are a few things you need to do:

• Stop reading those incredibly negative press releases from NIWA – What is it about those guys? Do they enjoy depressing an entire country with their theories of how La Nina will fight with El Nino for supremacy and all we get out of it is a soggy summer? Come on people at least invest in a marketing team who can let us down gently!
• Proceed with your plans regardless of the weather - Got a wedding but thinking of cancelling it because of the weather? While that could be a convenient excuse I say press on. If it’s pouring down with rain and a fierce southerly is adding a minus 5 wind chill factor, and people show up then you will be ecstatic that you actually have friends who care that much about you (deja vu?). Or planning a family day at the beach and dark clouds are looming? Defy the weather, shake your fist at those naughty gangs of condensed moisture and go anyway. You will be a champion in my books (just like my dad who would make us go wandering in the bush on the wettest days – of course we lived in Westport so you learn to ignore the weather pretty quickly).
• Relish those patches of sun – Is the sun peeking out from behind a bank of angry storm clouds? Rush out into the street and dance like a midget on P, but without all the negative social repercussions. Expose yourself to that Vitamin D dispenser and enjoy those 30 seconds like they were your last. Strange I should mention this actually because on Sunday I headed out for a surf down here at New Brighton where we had surf of epic proportions, and I am pleased to advise that I even got myself a little bit of sunburn, I kid you not! If I was a midget on P I would’ve danced in the street for shizzle.

So no more of this ‘we’re having such a lousy summer’ grizzling. Everybody snap out of it! Join me as I put out a second load of washing in iffy-looking weather … and then we can go visit your parents.

A 'once in 20 years' photo op with long lost cousins

Christchurch Arts Centre - A great place to stop pedestrian traffic!

Asher looks touristy outside the Christchurch Cathedral

Here to appreciate our grand display of summer last weekend was some of Aussie relatives. Kevin, Popsy, Courtney, Lauren, Tenielle, Nathan and Asher (hope I got the names right) have never visited Christchurch before (and possibly never will again after the spectacularly overcast Saturday we had). They were back on the cruise that night heading south where I will be feeling a certain amount of angst if they get sunny weather down there, after what I said about the fair city of Dunedin. Great to see you guys – come back soon; global warming should have kicked in by then.