Well, I'm in vineyard country...  Make the most of it. While the weather was still holding, we had a drive around Hawkes Bay and picked off a few I hadn't visited for a while.

Craggy Range, near Havelock North, has the breathtaking backdrop of Te Mata peak and a lovely restaurant and terrace to while away some time over coffee and a drink, overlooking the vines. A great atmosphere and quite buzzy with visitors filling in their time between Xmas and New Year....



Elephant Hill is a new one for me - out on the coast near Te Awanga.  Set up by a German couple with a thing for Thai elephants.  Most noble I'm sure, although the Thai (and elephant) themes that are reflected around the place sit a little self consciously in the NZ landscape.

And of course, Sileni.  Mum and Dad aren't too keen on this winery and reckon it's been set up for all those flash Aucklanders flying down on weekends.  Sure, it is a pricey place, but still interesting and a good place to visit.



Ngatarawa (built around some stables so with a horsey theme to their label ) and Alpha Domus (ditto airfield and the Navigator/Pilot ranges) are next on my list post New Year.  I'm on the lookout for some good stickies to take back to London with me and feel they might be a good place to start....

Post Xmas shopping

The thing I like about post Xmas shopping is that it's all for me! Before Christmas, I am spending all my mental, physical and financial energy on others. But come the Boxing Day sales, I'm revved up and ready to go...

This year, In Napier, we have had utterly beautiful, hot sunny days since pre-Xmas. Wandering through the pedestrian mall in town in sunshine delivers such a cheerful shopping experience, especially when it's punctuated by iced coffees in the sunshine and a quick drive around the waterfront on the way home.

My focus in these sales seems to have been shoes, or rather, sandals -  five pairs at the last count. I have also done a thriving trade in coasters (especially vaguely Frenchified tile ones) and a couple of voluminous snuggly wraps for bed or sofa. I topped up on summer tops too. And books.  Of course, on the clothes side, I shall have to wait another 6 months or so in the UK to get any real wear out of them, but I am parading around in them here for the next couple of weeks anyway.

And of course, my time in NZ is simply flying away - only another fortnight to go.  Mum is getting emotional already and I can't figure out where the last 4-5 weeks have gone. I'm now trying to fit in a few few excursions which I haven't mustered the energy for until now - the long walk up the hill behind Taradale, a spin around a few vineyards and afternoon tea at the Mission. Went and visited the grandparents graves this afternoon and put new flowers up there - I try to do that every time I'm home. The Wharerangi cemetary is a lovely peaceful, park-like place on the hill. Not a morbid trip at all on a sunny day.

So the count down is on, the shopping is done and I'm removing all cards from my handbag until I leave. Time to start checking the daily temperatures in London and preparing for the chill.

Christmas Plans...

I like to be relatively organised at Christmas.  And this year I am more than usually so. Being at the parents, Mum being pretty shaky, family and friends of family here for Xmas day.  We have decided to do things slightly differently this year and I have drawn up a somewhat structured order of proceedings for the 25th - as follows...

6am     Wake up.  Go back to sleep again.

6.15     Ditto.

6.30     Ditto.

6.45     Ditto. Oh, what the hell, I may as well get up....

6.55     Run into dad making the morning coffee in the kitchen. Roll my eyes as he snorts and tells me I'm in the way.

7am     Use my parents bathroom. Run the gauntlet of geriatric aids including shower chairs, handrails etc. Must get onto dad about the leaky tap...

7.30     Prepare for breakfast. Cut up fresh peaches, apricots and cherries and roast for serving with honey vanilla yoghurt.  Put (frozen, homebake) croissants in the oven.

8.30     Breakfast, with lashings of champagne and cassis...

9.30     Presents!  Santa! More champagne! Chocolates (God, I feel sick...)

10.30   Start assembling seafood platter 'starter'.  Fresh oysters with Bloody Mary sauce. More Bloody Mary for the cook. Retro prawn cocktail. Smoked salmon terrine.  My home made flatbread and rye toast. And another Bloody Mary....

11am   Eat.  Again.

12.30   Main course time. Fire up the barbie for the stuffed, rolled pork loin. To be served with bacon wrapped sausages, baby new potatoes and pumpkin roasted in garlic olive oil and rosemary, my brothers freshly dug new potatoes steamed with mint and butter, balsamic roasted red onions, spinach out of the garden and pea/avocado/salad leaves salad (from Nigella).

3pm     Eat. Again.

pm       Flake out for a while. Argue with someone. Attempt to go for a walk up the hill. Give in to inertia.

7.30     Time for more food - Afters.  A cheese board. Creamy lemon posset served with fresh cherry and berry compote. Meringues and cream. Xmas pudding with apricot and brandy custard (for the diehards).

8pm     Go into a diabetic coma....

Wishing all my friends a happy Christmas for 2011! With a mention to my dear friends in Christchurch, who are once again experiencing a spate of sizable earthquakes, I am crossing everything (fingers, legs, eyes) in the hope of a more settled Christmas for you...

An evening in dialysis

The other evening I ran my mum down to her thrice weekly dialysis session at Hawkes Bay Hospital. Thought I would hang about for a bit. The dialysis unit in Hastings is squeezed into 2 barely fit for purpose rooms.  Light and clean - true. Accessible - true - good parking and easy to get to. But the space and number of machines is limited - scheduling must be a bit of a nightmare.

So anyway, we go into A&E and hang a right, down the corridor and into the unit.  The 3 nurses on duty are lovely and obviously fond of mum. The unit is full this evening and while mum is intent on putting her best foot forward (nice clothes, full face of makeup and hair done, bless her), the same cannot be said of the other patients.

The sad fact is that most of the dialysis patients here are sick, poor or maori. They all seem to know each other and mum says hi to them all - most are dozing in their recliner seats, plugged into the machine that ticks away beside them. There is a toothless bloke of 50 something, lost most of the fingers in one hand, seems a bit brain damaged and unable to really comprehend what is going on around him.  Next to him is a lovely big maori lady - looks sleepy though and dozes through most of her session.  Then there is a blind maori guy beside her - younger this time and just gazes sightlessly into the distance, although he responds when talked to. Another heavily tattooed bloke beside him. 

And then mums neighbour settles into the seat beside her.  Heavily tattooed, no front teeth, wearing cannabis emblazoned hat and t-shirt.  Has bought his young girlfriend with him - she is the podgy teen in pajama pants carrying the burgeoning McDonalds bag - dinner I see. His mobile phone rings several times during the evening - he tells the callers he is at the hospital but will be home and can 'fix them up' later. Uh huh - local drug dealer....

However, dialysis is the great leveller and everyone pretty much gets on it seems - I can see why it upsets my dad to see mum in here though.

Anyway, poor mum has a rough night.  Her blood pressure has been up and down all day and she has had dizzy spells.  Her dialysis line is clogged and the nurses have to bring in a house surgeon to authorise a drip of heavy duty human drain cleaner to dissolve the clots before dialysis can start.  Then when they finally hook her up for dialysis, she only manages about an hour (out of four) before everything clogs up again.  The nurses are upset that I am there and might be critical, although God knows, it's not their fault.  Just one of those things I guess. 

We finally leave around 10pm.  Mum is still dizzy and has to be wheeled out to the car.  I get her home and straight to bed.  A bad night.  Doesn't happen often apparently, but it gives me a feel for how quickly things can go wrong. You wouldn't wish this on anyone, but the staff are wonderful and it's keeping mum alive. I have to be grateful...

A Rural Journey

Hmmm.  My recent trip to Wellington has raised all sorts of thoughts. But today I think I'll confine my musings to the drive down, through Central Hawkes Bay and the Wairarapa. Rural NZ in all it's (increasingly deserted) beauty...

The drive out of Napier is lovely - past the local marae and Waiohiki golf course. Through wine country - and the increasingly fragmented small grape growers that stretch out along the road (does anyone actually make any money out of them or are they just vanity vineyards?). Then of course, past the more commercial growers - the Gimlett Gravels area, Trinity Hill, Te Awa etc, all interspersed with orchards.

Then onto the straight road that runs through miles of sheep farming country.  And yes, the sheep seem to be returning to the land - maybe lamb prices are increasing on the international market.  A stop at Onga Onga for a cuppa and a look around - they are clearly making hay on their historic, pioneering past....

Back on the road.  Down through southern Hawkes Bay - Norsewood and Dannevirke - the small towns that grew out of the Scandinavian bush clearers/foresters that settled in these areas long ago. Hang a left at Woodville (the Manawatu Gorge has closed for some months for road strengthening and clearance following a landslide). And down into the Wairarapa - now on old home turf. Pahiatua - the small town which seemed like the big smoke to Mum when she was a small girl.  I remember it as the spot we would stop for an icecream on the drive through, and a play around the old plane painted and  mounted in their most excellent childrens playground.

The turn off to Hamua where my great grandfather (an accountant to all the small local dairy factories) had a small farm and where my grandmother grew up - lovely green, rolling countryside. Then heading further south to Eketahuna - pretty deserted these days apart from 3 cafes, a pub, an estate agents office, stock and land agent and a couple of other small concerns.  My great grandparents are buried in the local cemetary.  Mum was born in the small nursing home that was here a long time ago.

Kaiparoro is just 5 klicks down the road.  Faulkner Rd comes off the new bypass that barged it's way through a hill at the back of my Grandads farm. It used to be the main road, but was very winding and there were several big accidents on the corner outside my grandparents farm. The bonus these days is that now it is a quiet road that I can dawdle down and take photos.

Drive up to the Old Coach Road - now mainly an access track - and one of the family farms close by - I remember the dam on it, the huge hay barn, and mustering sheep in the paddocks close by.

Check out the grandparents place and the home paddock and kite flying hill out the back.  Then the Makakahi river across and down the road where we used to swim.  And then up to Morgans Rd and my Uncles old house and the shearing shed that I worked in a couple of summer holidays. A lot of names on the rural mailboxes are still familiar to me - lord knows, I'm probably related to half of them.

Eventually leave and drive through Masterton, past our old house in College St and past all my old schools - which seem to be freshly painted, gardens planted and blooming.  It's gratifying to see the schools so well looked after (and so fit for purpose with large, light classroom blocks, sports fields and courts, rows of bike sheds etc).

Then a quick run through the small towns of the Wairarapa and the long climb up and over the winding road of the Rimatuka Range.  The weather has set in, the clouds hug the bush covered hills and persistant rain makes the road slick.  The run down the other side towards the motorway and Wellington seems faster then usual - I think they have been straightening the roads, and there is still major work taking place on the hill.

A slow paced, 6 hour journey down memory lane. And 30-40 odd years sit lightly on the landscape - all very familiar territory still.

Broken Butterflies and Lost Frogs

OK, it's starting to look a bit like Wildlife rescue around here. Ma has a whole forest of self sown Swan plants growing around the pool. Swan plants are the best beloved food of the Monarch butterfly and its' caterpillers.  Consequently, we have had regular fluttering visitors over the last week.

Two days ago, while skimming the pool, I found one such visitor had decided to go swimming.  I skimmed it out and put it in a sunny spot to dry, but noticed it had a broken wing. The next morning I went out to find the same butterfly swimming again.  This time, I pulled him out, expecting to find him dead, but lo and behold, the little blighter clung to my finger and tried to climb up my hand.  This tenacity deserves some reward, I thought.

So, this time I found a sheltered spot with some sun, beside the towering parsley plants (4 foot high if you would believe). And I straightened out his broken wing.  And picked him some Swan Plant blossom to have a sip on.  I left him busily feeding and put a few more flowers out for him last night.

On checking this morning (after a warm/mild night), he had climbed a little way up the parsley overnight and I plucked more flowers for his breakfast. Again he is feeding, although the poor thing is looking pretty battered now and I think he has acknowledged that he won't be flying again. Dad tells me I am a fool and will just be disappointed when he eventually karks it.  I just feel for the plucky little begger.

In the meantime, the pool had claimed another victim.  Well, visitor actually.  A large green frog had taken up residence.  As Ma was tipping a load of pool chemicals in, I decided I had better pull him and out and find a slightly less dangerous spot for him to be.  I discovered that netting an active frog is no mean feat, but finally got him and transferred him to a damp shady spot  covered by greenery, underneath the lemon tree.  Ma gave the spot a bit of a water (as an apology I suppose) and we think he has settled back there nicely.

Any dispossessed hedgehogs in the area perhaps???

Driving Miss Daisy

Actually, Miss Daisy is driving me.  Bless.  After spending so much time in hospital this year, my darling mum is trying to regain some independance, and getting back into her car and driving me around town is one way to do that.

Never mind that she is such a little lady these days that she struggles to see over the dashboard.  Or that the side mirrors flummox her a little.  Or that it takes 2 hands to change gears.  Or that she has kind of lost that spacial awareness of the car, and parallel parking is now a bit of a drama, involving much mounting of the curb.

I figure it's better for me to be with her and at least be able to keep an eye out for other cars, or wave her into a parking spot.  But it makes for a bit of a seat gripping ride.... Thank goodness this is Napier - city of wide streets, drive in parking and relatively slow and quiet traffic.

An Ode to Cake...

The foreword to my recently completed, second Wandle Trust charity cookbook.  That Erica (the poet) is a clever bird...

Heaving on ropes to lift mopeds

A Spring cleanup may cause some backache
But the soreness is always diminished
With a cup of hot coffee and cake!

During the river restoring

Sledge hammers fix many a stake
And when we are feeling exhausted
Then we are restored by the cake!

 In Summer we pull up Him. balsam

To the dumpsite in large bags we take
Tons of the stuff for composting
But we stop and we sample the cake!

There’s wildlife to see on the Wandle

A moorhen, a duck or a drake
If lucky we might see a heron
But we certainly get to see cake!

We use lots of tools when we’re working

A crowbar, a shovel, a rake
We expend lots of energy this way
So we raise sugar levels with cake!

Pennywort clearing in Autumn

Together in Ravensbury Park lake
We forget we’re all muddy and soggy
When we sit on the grass and eat cake!

At a cleanup in Winter it’s freezing

Half way through there is always a break
Hot soup and cheese scones taste good but
Body temperature rises with cake!

We love our days out on the Wandle

And the change to its future we make
But as well as the chance to improve it
The truth is we come to eat cake!

So thank you to Jo and to Sally

Who work hard in their kitchens to bake
All the recipes found in this cookbook
They’re delicious, especially the cake!

Erica Evans

Trustee and Community Cleanup Co-ordinator
November 2011

Matakana Markets

Yes, there has been a gap between postings.  In the interim, I have flown to NZ to spend 6 weeks with the family. And I expect the upcoming weeks posts will have a distinctly NZ flavour.  The first certainly has...

After hopping (or crawling) off a 27 hour flight having developed a heavy cold and hacking cough, I spent most of my first week in Auckland curled up under a rug on my brothers sofa watching informercials and chat shows on TV (note - daytime freeview in NZ is dire).

However, I was starting to feel human by Saturday morning and the 3 of us drove north to Matakana for the craft and farmers markets.

And what a lovely morning that ended up being.  Apart from the glories of an artisan market that sold delicious breads, sausages, cheeses etc (including the half dozen oysters on the half shell for the equivalent of 3 quid - I decided it's never too early in the morning for oysters), the coffee was wonderful, the setting was beautiful and the people friendly.

The proximity to craft shops, delis and cafes made it all the better.  We spent far too much money, did some pre Xmas shopping and headed home in the afternoon, anticipating an evening picnic in the garden with an accompanying  Sauvignon Blanc.

Overall, a less 'gritty' experience than some of the London markets, but made up for in spades by the lovely river setting. Aiming to drop by again when I return to Auckland in January...

Beautiful Girls (and don't they grow up quickly?)

I'm just back from a day visiting my 2 beautiful stepdaughters in Hastings. I may not have a husband any more, but I sure as hell hung onto those girls....

Every time I go down to see them, I spend the drive back to London feeling all warm and fuzzy. I don't see them as often as I would like (shift work, boyfriends, social life etc), but thanks to Facebook, texts and phone, I generally manage to keep up on their goings on. More or less.  Or as much as they will admit to me.

(Never mind - I was 19/20 once too you know...)

Watching these kids grow up is an experience.  Seeing their wins as well as their mistakes and fumbles - and we all had them at their age. One has found her path for now, the other is still struggling to find hers.  I can only love and support them (and provide a bit of intellectual rigour) through their choices. A distant step-mum makes quite a good sounding board, we've discovered.

Anyway - God Bless'em. You've got to love them. C and E - big up to you....

Remembrance Day

On Remembrance Day I think of my Great Auntie Margaret, a VAD (or volunteer nurses aid) who left the farm in rural Kaiparoro** NZ, to sail for the Middle East during WW2. My mother was very young when her auntie left, but remembers waving her off from the Eketahuna railway station.  And her auntie wrote to her family on the farm regularly and sent her presents bought in the souks. The stuffed toy camel was thrown away as it was very smelly and filled with reeking camel hair, but I have one of those presents today - a gold bracelet shaped like a snake, with inlaid gems on its head.

Her journey from a green and fertile patch tucked under the Tararua Ranges, across the world to the relentless heat and dust of a hospital camp near the Suez Canal in Egypt touches me. And a tragic truck accident, while on the way back to the hospital after manning the soldiers canteen one evening, killed her and 3 friends. They were buried in a grave at the Moascar Cemetary, far from home... It is described in more detail here:

 Margaret McAnulty was from a prominent early Kaiparoro family and had been a member of the New Zealand Women's Army Auxiliary Corps (WAAC). In 1941 women's auxiliary service groups began to be established based on male military models, and for the first time 'New Zealanders were confronted with the sight of women in military uniforms.' These women worked mainly as medical support staff, clerical workers, or in the servicemen's clubs in Egypt and Italy. McAnulty spent much of her time posted in the Suez Canal region in Egypt and was killed, along with three colleagues, when her transport vehicle was hit by another vehicle. She is one of only approximately ten WAAC members who were killed during World War Two.

Service Number:	72117
Rank:	Private
Regiment:	New Zealand Women's Army Auxiliary Corps
Cemetery:	MOASCAR WAR CEMETERY, Egypt
Grave Reference:	4. D. 17.

**Kaiparoro was a loud and violent wind from the ranges, that was followed by heavy rain which usually caused flooding in the Kaiparoro and Rongokokako area. Kai = eat, paroro = the wind."Ka hu te paroro, paroro kuri, ka kai, ka waipuke te whenua."
"The howling dog of paroro that eats the land, when you hear the howling dog move to high ground, paroro is hungry."

A big knees up..

I have been organising an event for a local charity.  Basically gaining support from locals and businesses and hopefully a bit of fundraising along the way.  However, the event has grown, from 60 to 140 people. Argh.  Quite a lot of work then. A challenge to my event management skills in fact. 

As well as the talking, wheedling and persuading that I am going to be doing on the night, I am also running the catering side of things. Today I will start juggling shopping lists and doing some advance food prep.  Have already spent a couple of days designing registration forms, hand outs and membership certificates.

But am sure it will all go well.  We have a very impressive venue - the Wandsworth Town Hall. We've done a couple of recces down there already and we have bags of space...

So fingers crossed for Thursday.  And keeping my head down for a busy week in the lead up.

Hypnosis revisited

In July, I decided to give hypnosis a spin. I have been along to several sessions in the intervening months and it has been an interesting experience.  As I said previously, no, you won't bark like a dog. Or be controlled by some manipulative Svengali. But it is a deeply relaxing experience designed to direct positive messages to your subconscious. Kind of like meditation, but a guided meditation that feels like a mental mini break.

Hypnosis takes me (or I take it) to happy places. Places I didn't even know were my happy places.  Underwater swimming across a white sand seabed amongst gently waving seagrass. Or to a sunny walled garden with a fountain, relaxing on a lounger under a tree listening to the water. (Re the watery theme - I am Piscean you know.)

And the general takeout from the process is that I am in control of my life, there is lots to look forward to and what a jolly good chap I am. All very nice messages thank you, and somehow they seem to have been sinking in. Because 4 months down the track I have lost a big chunk of weight, am more focussed on career change and am of a generally happier demeanour than I was  6 months ago.

Hypnosis - I recommend it.

And to things Secretarial...

I have been to a lot of committee meetings lately - the Wandle Trust working party and the Piscators, our associated Angling club.  Somehow the role of Secretary landed on me this month, in the absence of certain key people.  So I have spent the morning writing up (somewhat tardy) minutes of the meetings and circulating them to the group(s).

I carry a very antiquated image of the Secretary - a quill pen and parchment sort of view.  Of course, completely belying the actual mundanity of the task - taking meticulous and attributed notes and regurgitating them at a later date.

Never mind, while I haven't actually captured the romance of the role this morning, I have caught up on the minutes.  Job done. Onto the next pile of papers...

Abuzz with figures... and java.

Many of my friends would be surprised to hear that I am the Treasurer of an urban fly fishing club.  In fact they may fall down laughing.  I'm not normally known for my perspicacity with figures. However, many years of running my own small business accounts (and half a brain) qualified me for the role.  And generally it's not a hard one, check a few statements, write a few cheques, a bit of online banking etc etc.  More or less the same as my household accounts.

However, once a year I have to prepare the annual accounts for the AGM and it is a time fraught with  anxiety. Armed with a calculater, piles of reciepts and bank statements and a half completed accounts spreadsheet, I start on the task this week. Oh, and copious coffee - a rather turbo charged approach, in the hopeful expectation that it will sharpen my calculations.

Actually, it wasn't too bad, until I hit the final stretch and discovered a surplus 13p appeared on the bottom line.  No matter how many times I go through the spreadsheet, recalculate, tick things off, add columns up, divide by 3 blah blah blah, this unwanted 13p turns up on the total. It's got me stumped. I am now cross-eyed from peering through the figures (actually the coffee hasn't helped me here).  Time to put it away for a while and see if I can bury 13p in the cost of materials tomorrow....

Sloe Gin season!

Yes, it has come upon me again.  After foraging at my friend Sallys a few weeks ago (her blackthorn hedge carefully cordoned off from the contractors clearance - thank you!), and having washed and frozen said sloes, today is the day!

Last years batch was made with dried sloes and was not as rich and fruity as the year before, so I am going to recycle some of it into this years brew (more hunting around in the garage).

However, the gin making has to take it's place in the queue behind the crabapple jelly and mustard pickle which will be first off the line this morning.  It's been a real autumn harvest weekend - jelly, relish, pickle, cakes, apple compote and tomato pasta sauce for freezing.  But that will be it for me for the season now. I've run out of both jars and freezer space!

Swimmming

I just woke up from a beautiful dream about swimming.  Large outdoor pool, warm water and sunshine. As in all dreams, I looked much better in a swimming cozzie than in reality but that is the nature of dreams you know.

I've been thinking about swimming a lot lately, especially since my sojourn in France when I was in the pool every day.  It reminded me how much I love it. 

Anyway, I think it's time to act on these impulses and take the plunge (so to speak). While me and the swimsuit have not been the best of mates in recent years, I'm willing to renew my acquaintance. David Lloyd, here I come...

The Delicious Ms Lumley...

While catching up on a tv rerun of Lewis (mmm James Fox...), I recently caught an episode starring Joanna Lumley playing a game but aging Rock Chick.  She gave a spirited performance as a free spirit of easy virtue with a hidden past.

Now, while a certain friend of mine channels Doris Day, I would like to think that Joanna is one of my heroes. She sets a particularly aspirational example as the cool blonde with a dry wit and a wicked eye, who refuses to age gracefully.

In a recent Good Housekeeping magazine, in fact she revels in the 'mutton dressed as lamb' look and wears skirts which are perilously short. (And don't even get me started on Ab Fab...)

Good on her is all I can say.  As a women who is bang smack in her 7th decade, I think she sets an example for us all.... Viva la Lumley!