Powhiri

I went to a symposium today, at the University of Auckland. Good speakers and lots of statistics, lanyards and coffee, a nice lunch. It reminded me a bit of the conferences I used to organise for financial services professionals in the late nineties (albeit with a bit less wine - it blows my mind a bit that we used to allocate half a bottle of wine per head to our delegates at lunchtime; the instructions to the waiting staff were simply 'just keep topping them up'. This meant the session after lunch truly was the graveyard shift, and on more than one occasion we were forced to schedule the long-suffering Robin Ellison there to shake people from their stupor.)

Our conferences used to typically open with a light introduction, a bit of scene-setting from the Chairman, and then straight into the first speaker. And all of that happened yesterday, too; but what happened first was rather magical. I experienced my first powhiri.

The powhiri is a Maori ceremonial greeting whereby the local tribespeople welcome visitors. Two of the tribe sat near the lectern; an older man and an older woman – the chap, with creamy white hair combed back, was dressed very smartly in a navy suit with the buttons done up, like an old soldier. And from behind us came the speakers, lead down the steps of the raked theatre by another older Maori lady – this one singing, in minor tones which to me sounded almost funereal. As she paused the lady at the front sang a response to her, and they continued exchanging lines of verse until the approaching group had taken their seats at the front.

The chap got up and said something to the room, and then the whole party stood up and engaged in a call-response song which some of the audience also joined in. This was also sung in quite haunting minor tones, a really poignant melody. It was odd to say the least to see some of the conference speakers, academics of European descent, the men dressed badly, standing there and belting out a tune in Maori.

This finished and then the Chairman said something in Maori to the old chap, and then they all walked forward and exchanged rubbed noses with each other. This done, the old chap said what sounded like a prayer, everyone said what sounded like a Maori ‘amen’, the couple and the lady left – and then the conference started.

I guess most of the audience would have seen this innumerable times but for me it was electrifying.

Waitakere Utd or Auckland City FC?

Both teams are amateur and play in the ASB Premiership - they don't get many supporters, but ACFC can count on having one more soon. I can get to them by bus; whereas the Maxx journey planner for Waitakere Utd says simply: 'bus for 57 minutes, then walk for 4 kilometres'.

No thanks!!

Come on you City.

Through de tunnel...

I remember when I first visited New Zealand, in 2006, my map filled up with pen marks showing where the best hikes, mountains, bars and pubs, glaciers, fjords, parks, boat trips and surfing beaches were.

Five years later my map is now simply marked with little crosses showing where all the playgrounds are.

We've been to a bloody heap of playgrounds since we got here:

• the little one behind Pat's (bark chippings, no swings, space to perform 'the underdad' on the slide)
• one in Castor Bay (sand, again no swings, but a double slide)
• a bigger one in Silverdale near Kris and Pete's place (bark chippings, swings and a big climbing-boat-thing)
• and a great one in Brown's Bay, next to a little skate ramp (rubbery floor, swings, a big wobbly wooden walkway and lots of tubes, slides and tunnels).

But yesterday we went to the best one yet, in Onepoto Domain - spread out over a large area in the basin of an old volcano, with a little toddler park right next to the car park and paths through the bush gradually revealing a wobbly walkway over swampy ground, a toddler flying fox, a high wooden tower with an enclosed slide on it - 'dark tunnel' - and a long track for the kids to ride their little bikes and scooters round, complete with road markings and a little chicane and stuff. Really safe and fun and big enough to absorb lots of energetic little people.

Me and Rach enjoyed a temporary rush of freedom and positivity that amazingly lasted almost until Leo was back in the car.

October showers

It's a little bit odd, but also a bit thrilling, to be in springtime again, only 6 months after the last one started. It'd be tempting to move hemispheres more regularly.

The trees in Auckland are in blossom, lawns and meadows are rich with healthy daisies and buttercups, and the garden shops are full of fruit and veg plants. The overnight temperatures are much higher on average than at home, and there's plenty of sunshine mixed in with the showers.

So it's all perfect conditions for starting anew in the garden, and fortunately Pat's given me a rich strip of bed to play with. She's already underway with lots of veggies - cucumbers, broccoli, garlic, tomatoes, peas, bok choi, spinach, iceberg lettuces and some very healthy herb clumps - so I've gone for a strip of leafy lettuce plants (little gem and royal oak - picture below, with Pat's existing crops in the other section) that we'll use as cut-and-come-again rather than wait to form heads, giving us a regular supply of salad leaves until the rocket and mixed leaf sowings are through. Leo helped me out and we'll make a gardener of him, no doubt.

The growing season here looks like it's going to be longer, which is terrific - plants can be sown earlier, so the more difficult chillies might do better here, and we can look forward to some early cropping tomatoes and beans in the years to come. I guess there's a chance that plants which might be annual at home might overwinter quite nicely here, too.

Next stop: success with basil and mint - both have defeated me many times so far.

You and me, me and you

Leo is wonderfully expressive and can generally get most of his thoughts and opinions across to us pretty easily. If we can't quite follow him he can explain himself using other words, associations or memories. But one thing he hasn't grasped, and which amuses me a lot, is his mixing-up of the meaning of 'me' and 'my' with 'you' and 'yours'. It's very endearing and leads to chuckles and twee knowing glances between us, his parents. So if he wants you to do something for him, he might ask: 'want me to do it?'; or if he's tired or thirsty, he might say that he 'wants you to go to bed' or 'wants your drink'. He'll grow out of it but for now it remains a gentle delight and a source of mild confusion for newbies.

We could of course avoid all the misunderstandings by always referring to him and his stuff in the third person - Leo's this, Leo's that - but this can sound a bit too babyish, and it means me and Rach have to constantly call each other, and ourselves, mum and dad, which means we fall into it by way of habit and keep it up even after he's not in the room. Frankly I don't want Rach to turn to me in the morning and call me 'daddy' - at least, not every day...so our twee little chuckles will pertain for a little bit longer.

Wit and fuzzy

So we've finally arrived at Pat's...and a new life lit with sundown skies and, after Leo's jetlagged body finally slept, a massively entertaining semi-final which saw the All Blacks dirty the bludgeons of the Aussie lot. This was extremely satisfying for me, being an England supporter with strong Kiwi tendencies, seeing as I was sat on a calm train out of Richmond, Melbourne only last Friday reading a hack job on the kiwis in the shittest commuter paper ever written (like The London Paper, but printed with trashy ink that sticks to your mind after you bin it).

It would be nice to think, having taken a couple of shaky first steps into a new mother country, that some sort of scales had fallen from my eyes and you'd find me writing to you, glowing agog in the heliosphere of a meditative, vegetative calm, sprawled on the velvet cushions of Middle Earth. Not quite - but it is lovely, with beautiful bushes and trees and strange birdsong and no threat of danger in the undergrowth, and reasonable beer prices and in a place where they churn out wine and apples and pumpkins for fun. And a place decorated by black flags! With intricate little spiral designs on the coins, little tiki faces, and even gladder faces behind the counters.

It's a bit odd arriving in Spring - with trees shooting and the ground yawning for seed, blossom on the trees - and to think that Christmas will be in high summer. Odder perhaps than I thought it would be. But that is a mere sideshow. It's been GREAT so far.

Do me a Faver!

I found the letter below whilst going through some odds and ends at my parent's house last night.

My mum used to perform an absolutely vital function when I moved to Nottingham to go to university. Music programming on the Nottingham airwaves was really poor compared to London; it wasn't possible to tune into any decent electronic sessions, as it was back then in the early nineties on Kiss FM. Indeed John Peel, Peelie John himself, was my only source of new music on the radio back then, and I used to listen to his shows every week. He was broadcasting in his strange Saturday/Sunday afternoon slot at the time, so his shows went out at the same time as the football was being played all over the country - probably one of the reasons I never went to see Palace play at either the City or County grounds during my four years in Nottingham.

Anyway, back to the point - once a fortnight, my lovely mum would sit and tape some of the Wednesday/Thursday night Kiss FM shows for me, and send them up in a jiffy bag recorded on a C90 or C120 cassette. I never quite knew what would be inside; a brutal bit of noosebleed drum n' bass from Randall maybe, some Outer Limits business from Colin Dale, perhaps a session from Roni Size or Kenny Ken, and perhaps two hours of Colin Faver. Colin Faver was an absolute legend who played the very definition of techno, and I was lucky enough to hear him play out a couple of times, once in a seedy club in the West End and once at the SW1 club under Victoria station. He had a slightly thin, delicate voice and I imagined him to be almost permanently addled, sitting there behind the decks at Kiss FM.

So you can imagine my horror when I heard that Colin Faver, and his weekly Mastermixes, were being pulled. No more ripping open a cassette and slamming it on to get my dose of new music. Back to the pop drone of Trent FM?! No. Something needed to be said. And something was said:

I'm not sure why my argument wasn't enough to see him reinstated.

Palace Crystals

The Palace Crystals at the Palace beer festival 2011, originally uploaded by Kong_.

Here are some young girls semi-clad in blue and red. Here are some shamed older boys, one needing an urgent refill. Here is a stand inside Selhurst Park that had just borne witness to a seedy bunch of blokes cheering on the young girls as they cavorted. Here is a pie and chips for lunch, with chips and pie for dinner.

Sometimes I find my life impossibly glamorous. Malcolm Allison would have approved.

Three Deutsche Marks

Mark lives in a little bit of paradise.

Zurich, and Switzerland as a whole, is so bloody marvellous. A great standard of living, friendly folk, wonderful natural beauty - it's a little bit of paradise. If we weren't already moving to New Zealand (which at least has the friendly folk and the nature) it'd be hugely tempting. Mind you, I've only been during the summer.

I visited Mark to say hello but also to crash at his pad whilst we hit the 20th Anniversary Streetparade. It did NOT disappoint. In fact this was probably the best of the three Streetparades I've been to, being as it wasn't characterised by too much booze (2007 - and a 4AM finish) or too little booze coupled with familial responsibility, when Rach and G came with me in 2008 (and we had to leave quite early to visit Mark's fantastic parents.). Banging and sunny and a bit drunk and great. The four partners in crime were me and three people called Mark: Mark himself, Marco Stadli and Marco Vara - hence the title of this post.

The easiest way to sum up the fun is by posting this:

this:

and this:

Highlights for the non-hedonists:

A 2-hour hike round the lake at Pfaffikon on Sunday, including a trip to the Irgenhausen Castrum, a bratwurst, beer, sunbathe, swim and lovely Appenzeller wheatbeer at the Jucker Farm; a trip to Andrien and his missus' place, where we spied on their sweetly snoozing 10-month-old daughter and walked away with a fresh tub of bolognese sauce; a trip to the zoo and its Masoala Rainforest; baseball on the TV; and showing Mark how to make some beats using FL Studio - he has a cinematic ear I think, a Vangelis-a-like. Watch out for his first composition 'Molc'.

Five years ain't so much when you're 37, and so this is the deadline for our next meet - 2016, or the 25th Anniversary party....salud Kleibi, see you again soon bro.

Space invaders

This tickled me.

Post-it invaders

Reverberation, Swiss style.

This is one from a few years back actually. Note both the owl sounds made by Georgia, and the respectful distances left for the motorists.

Solid gold

"It's only 12 inches high, it's made of solid gold, and it means England are the world champions."

I was handed something pretty special at lunchtime, on a day when London was full of pageant and hope and new beginnings.

The 2012 Olympics are one year away exactly, and today the world gasped as it saw the striking design of the official medal - a 'pick up sticks' thing with the hectic 2012 logo smeared over it - it looks pretty stylish. The BBC have put together a nice page showing all the medal designs since the start of the modern Olympics. What's even more striking than the design itself is the size of the bloody thing - like a fat yellow dinner plate.

Amongst all this bling I was reminded of Kenneth Wolstenholme's words at the 1966 World Cup final, also in London, as the Queen handed Bobby Moore the Jules Rimet trophy.

But at lunchtime, amid slightly less ceremony, a guy with a black haircut handed me my own little trophy - a plastic envelope with an old book of mine inside, and on one page a new sticker, featuring a foil hologram of a fern.

And, whilst it might not be shiny, might not make any headlines, and certainly isn't about London..."it's 2 inches square, it's made of cheap paper...

...and it means New Zealand is our new home."

Two eyes, the nose, two cheeks...

Lovely boy, originally uploaded by Kong_.

My gorgeous lad.

Help break the world air guitar record...

Bring out your AIR GUITAR... » News » WOMAD

Help Action on Hearing Loss (formally RNID) Break The Air Guitar World Record!
Action on Hearing Loss will be attempting to break a world record - for the greatest number of people playing air guitar at the same time. The current record is 1,883 people, but with your help, they reckon we could smash that to smithereens. Guiding your guitar heroics will be WOMAD legend Justin Adams.

It's all for the charity Action on Hearing Loss, which raises awareness about listening to music safely. So tune up your air guitars, charge your invisible amps and rock up to the main stage at 10.45 on Sunday morning.

Softball: A great season ends

Last night's fixture was over mercifully quickly, given it was grey and cold and soaking. Not ideal conditions for a summer game. So = that's it for the season! We've done well - won a few, drawn one, and lost a few. We won one game 45-20 and were only battered once this year. We scored well and our fielding was tighter.

Here's what I learned this season:

1. Ability without spirit is nigh on useless. Spirit and drive is more important than pure skill.

2. Despite encouragement, some players will never bother to put much effort in. Others, though, will surprise and delight you by travelling great distances, putting in 100%, putting their bodies on the line for very little reward, and badgering the captains about playing positions, scores, tactics - these are the questions a captain loves to be asked.

3. Working with someone as organised and enthusiastic as Semhar (although she'd never admit to it) has been an eye-opener. She's been a thoughtful captain and has spent more time than the team will know in thinking about the game and trying to organise the team - often with very late cancellations and changes to the line-up. She didn't try to please everyone and the team was better for it.

4. The captain has to forego concentrating on their own game because there are so many other things to do - making decisions, meeting the other captains, sorting out disputes, keeping in touch with all the players by phone and organising them, remembering the rules, making sure everyone's getting something out of the game.

5. The league is getting stronger and more competitive. The structural changes this year have eliminated many of the dead games, so most teams have had something to play for all year.

6. The organisers put in a ridiculous amount of effort - Nathan, Paul and Leo in particular.

7. Some people will tease you and say they'll play but never actually get round to it. Rascals, the lot of you.

7. RGS are a lovely team - Ellie, Hettie, John, Spike and the rest - we salute you.

Here's what I could have done better:

1. Made promises to Rach and stuck to them. There probably weren't many dads playing/staying behind for drinks afterwards, dads that really should be at home a bit more.

2. More tactical awareness of how to change things when they weren't going our way. My record as captain was really good, but we were up against it during one game and I wasn't sure what to do. 'Something' might be a good answer.

3. Taken on more responsibility - by the end of the season this was fine but I could have been more vocal at the start.

4. Batted better (perennial issue).

So, that's it for me after four seasons. It's been a fantastic 2011 and here are some names that will be remembered always for their dedication, enthusiasm, humour and guts: Fiona Magor, Helen Forrest, Andy Glyde, Martin Whitcombe, Mary Caparas, David Whitcombe, Lindsay Hodgson, Alaric Shorter, Simon Bull, Denise Goldman, Susannah Sconce, Nav Kuner...our fantastic captain and pitcher Semhar Beyene...and finally 'cameo of the season' - Simon Hawkins.

Bugger

Upside down, originally uploaded by Kong_.

For no apparent reason I heard myself call Leo "Bugger" the other day: "What's up, Bugger?"

He didn't answer.

Duck! Flashing duck! In park?

Adrian, at work, bought a handful of flashing ducks to give away as prizes on our recent staff away day. Very kindly, he gave me one for Leo instead of giving it away.

Softball: A tale of two defeats

We were sailing on quite nicely until tonight.

OK, so last week we lost to Alzheimers UK, but they're one of the strongest teams in our league - and the match couldn't have been closer, finishing 32-31 with a tagging between third and fourth bases ending our final innings. Fair play, I thought, we weren't going to get much change out of them anyway, and we've scored over 70 runs in our last two games.

This sets us up nicely for our penultimate game v Prince's Trust, I thought.

A win would have seen cruise into the knock-out stages of the tournament; something we've never managed before. And, following a very public endorsement of the team today (cheered on by 90 people at a staff away day) we left with plenty of wind in our sails...only to sink meekly away.

The Prince's dreadnaught slammed 36 neat torpedoes into our hull and we just had no answer to them. We lost 36-14 and frankly it was dismal, fielding was awful, batting mediocre.

This year we do seem to be scoring a few more than normal but you can't field like we did tonight and expect to go through. I reckon that's probably our lot, as I can't see the Trust losing to RGS in the final week.

And at least the pressure's off for us, against recent finalists and previous champions - the behemoth that is CRUK. It would be an almighty upset were we to get anything out of that.

Mind your backs, I've just got to rearrange these deckchairs...

Baby see camera?

Baby see camera?, originally uploaded by Kong_.

Had another wonderful time at Kew today. Funny - so many people concentrate on the planes (Kew being under the Heathrow flight path) but for me the great metal just adds to the drama, especially on a cloudy day like today, when the beasts shot forth from gloom with a hopeful radar winking.

"Pichincha" by Kongsized

I never know what to call my tracks.  It's the sounds that count.  But for what it's worth, this one's named after a volcano in Ecuador.

Pichincha by kongsized

Peter Logan - bits of metal bits

We went to Fulham Palace this morning. As well as a restaurant, coffee shop and BBQ marquee, and currently a bit of earthwork, they have there a sculpture trail by Peter Logan.


Peter Logan sculpture, originally uploaded by Kong_.

I think it was only meant to be there for a year. The sculptures are mounted on stumps amongst the wreckage of a hurricane gone by but, on the face of it, bits of ladders and stuff welded together aren't the most exciting thing. And the photo doesn't do it any favours. But there's something beautiful in their silent and frictionless motion, twirling in the whispering wind.

We had a coffee with all the other parents, and Leo stole someone else's ball, chased a frisbee, put three cups in the bin, climbed a wreckless rose frame, and twice took our hands to lead us across the lawn for a look through the gate into a secret garden.

A fixture card from a banded pile

When I was much younger. news of the football fixtures would snake round the fans slowly, tasting the air with a leisurely tongue. It really didn't matter that much who you started the season against, or who you played last. You went along and bought the programme and found out about your opponents on the day.

But no longer. The 2011/12 fixtures were released today at 0900 and, without any effort on my part -as I'd forgotten that today was The Day - the full list was emailed to me by a mate at 0926. Palace had been promoting an 'exclusive' find-out-first premium SMS service but really, haven't those days gone? No sooner are the fixtures announced than they're on websites, Twitter, Facebook, texted to contacts, salivated over on blogs, emailed round...

When I was much younger my dad used to give me a coin and send me off down the road to ask Mr Patel to peel off a fixture list from his banded pile. It was made of thin card, folded, wallet-sized, and available from the counters of newsagents all over South London. Mr Patel also ran a VHS rental club from which I hired the full-length Thriller video.

I wondered today whether the newspapers of the time published the fixtures themselves, because why else would dad ask me to buy this treasured card? Perhaps it was because the sports pages were much, much smaller then - no room on a single back page for pundits and pictures and gossip and fixtures and tactics and boardrooms and finances. Perhaps it was because football wasn't the media darling it is today, so the papers reported it grudgingly - I grew up in the time when football was a hooligan sport, with Chelsea smilers, terraces, fencing and ID cards.

But maybe it was just so I could feel brave and proud and excited and trusted at going round the shop with his money to buy something that mattered to him.

Softball: RNID 45 Royal Geographical Society 20

Victory, victory, the sweet sweet smell of victory! What an enjoyable game, and my first win in THREE SEASONS!!! Great to see Fi and Hawkeye again - it's been too long.

Everyone played well; Semhar had to bat twice cos we only had three girls, we found a good short-stop in the shape of the Bull, and Martin, Hawkeye and especially Andy battered the ball out of sight. We scored 31 in our second innings and managed to avoid our usual third-innings collapse.

The Royal Geographical Society managed not only to navigate their way round the bases (boom boom) but were also superb opponents, even in defeat - friendly, generous and sensible. The toxic whiff from last week has blown away.

Next week: Alzheimers UK.

Harmonographs

They've got some fantastic images produced by a harmonograph in the Science Museum's mathematics section. They're a bit like spirograph patterns, but they're produced using a set of pendulums. A harmonograph looks easy enough to make.

The harmonograph is to me a very 'whole brain' device, using physics to produce extraordinary geometric shapes which describe the very heart of growth patterns in nature, and which can then be mathematically described.

There are lots of interesting harmonograph images on the internet, including this one:

This harmonograph pattern was photographed by Conor Lawless and originally appears in his Flickr photostream

The maths section also has a set of John Napier's bones, which are just one of his contributions to the simplification of maths. The 'bones' are an abacus-style set of multiplication tables, which massively simplify the multiplication and division of large numbers.

We all love the Science Museum!

Piled high like a cricket umpire

One of the things about kids is that, no matter how cute or gorgeous they are, they aren't complete without piles of stuff. When Leo was young this meant thermometers, medicines, detergents, babygros, nappies, muslins, skin-soothing lotions, bottles, teats, fluids, powders and measuring equipment - but these days it's just piles and piles and piles of food. He eats more at lunchtime than I do - little boxes of snacks, breadsticks, crackers, grapes, veggies, sandwiches, his drink, a muesli bar, banana, apple...

Couple the weight of all this grub with the fact of me invariably having to 'hang on to' our toddler backpack, Leo's bag, Leo's monkey harness, Rach's oystercard, Rach's phone, Rach's purse, Rach's psyche, my bag, my camera, any suitcases or wheelie bags that our guests need lugging, and any excess clothing that I or she may have been foolish enough to wear, and I've become the Dickie Bird of fatherhood, accumulating jumpers, hats and bags in a sweaty pile whilst those around me have fun jumping and throwing balls and catching and stuff.

As a lad watching test cricket on TV, I seem to remember the umpires ending sessions piled high with players' clothing, as a cold 11am at Old Trafford gave way to an unexpectedly hot Lancashire lunchtime. On reflection it's clear that the bulge around David Shepherd's midriff wasn't entirely a consequence of him 'layering up', but it was a fact of the game back then - you got hot, you took off your jumper and you gave it to the ump; and if you were a fast bowler charging in from the boundary you probably gave him your hat to wear, too, at least during your spell.

These days it's much rarer to see the umpires dressed up like hot snowmen. Advances in clothing technology have resulted in players wearing skin-hugging thermal micro-layers beneath their kit, 'cool when it's hot, hot when it's cool'-type fabric. The fact that they're generally a 'base layer' means that they're rather delicate to remove in public, and as such we're unlikely to be one day reminiscing about the time Chris Gayle handed Billy Bowden his sweaty lycra knickers mid-session.

If only the same could be said of Leo 'Take. Nappy. Off?' King.

Softball: RNID 10 The Brooke 29

RNID lost their first game of the season tonight.

I've been playing softball for my charity for four seasons now, ever since I was asked to play by the awfully nice Simon Hawkins. At the time I hadn't played team sport for about twenty years, and had only memories of being picked next-to-last for the class team on account of my technical inability, gangly discoordination, and thick spectacles.

Anyway, three seasons on, having sustained a little injury or two - like the photo, left, from 2008 - and with a bit of piss and vinegar in my sails, I've developed into an ace fielder, a decent batter and a sometime pitcher. As vice-captain I now have to help organise and cajole the team, arrange fixtures, and cope with the weather, which this season has been particularly tough: our first two league fixtures were called off due to wet weather. This hasn't happened in consecutive weeks since I started playing.

Anyway, finally, our season started tonight. I missed the game because it was Rach's birthday, and I was doing the partnerly thing, which would usually be a great omen for the side - in 2009 AND 2010, when I was sick and on holiday respectively, the team won.

But tonight bucked that trend; we lost 29-10 to The Brooke, and unfortunately it sounded like a fairly unenjoyable game.

Game two is up next Tuesday.

Auckland vs London pt3: Rain

It's raining in London, and has been for about five hours.

This otherwise unremarkable fact is given new life by a much more remarkable fact: it's been the driest Spring in the South East of England for over a century. Information like this usually prompts people to bleat 'climate change' in the same way that, come April, they start optimistically parroting the media's 'Barbecue Summer!!!' predictions, and then trot out another line come the first hint of cloud: 'that's it, we've had our Summer!!!'.

The regular reader of this blog will understand that I have no truck with such nonsense. Here instead, and continuing my now-sporadic series of comparisons of the weather in London and Auckland, are the facts about rainfall, accompanied by this posh chart:




Auckland (in blue) is WET!!  Wetter than I could have imagined.  There's so much blue on that chart, it's like a tsunami of rain gushing mightily over the meek cracked earth of London.  I almost feel sorry for London's tiny red defences as it struggles to cope and starts baling furiously with a saucepan.

One of the clichés about Blighty is that it rains a lot (...another cliché being that English people talk about nothing but the weather...), but this little gem of research betrays that as being poppycock and balderdash.  London is much drier than Auckland, all year round.  At certain times of the year it's three times as dry.  I should imagine this Spring is drier in London by many multiples.

So, we've found out so far that Auckland is (1) sunnier, (2) hotter and now (3) wetter. London is so middle-of-the-road, it's embarrassing.  I won't even mention the fact that Auckland is (4) funkily volcanic.

I need to ditch my tweed coat and get a wetsuit with a sunroof.

Always the bridesmaid...

Too sunny!, originally uploaded by Kong_.

So, Leo had a bit of fun dressing up today - first nana's sunhat, then dad's beanie; a scarf wrapped up like a turban; and then, before you could say Les Dawson, one of Rach's handbags was out, hooked over his meaty forearm. He ended up helping out in the garden wearing one of Rach's blouses ('nice an' cooool!') and an Alice band.

Bless him for not giving a damn.

Segogs at Kew

The Seed Walk - amazing willow sculptures by Tom Hare, originally uploaded by Kong_.

I haven't been to Kew since I was eight or nine. I remember it well - it was an overcast/rainy day, so I was wearing a horrendous cagool, scratchy and plastic; we had a clutchful of activity sheets to do, including sketching one of the manmade pools; and, most memorably of all, my NHS glasses steamed up when we entered the famous Palm House, and, briefly, all eyes were on me.

More than twenty years on, and without raincoat, specs or 2B pencil, I found an extraordinary, sunbaked paradise of twisted trunks, flowering scrub, bees and birds and soft, soft grass, pine cones (Leo's 'segogs' - hedgehogs) - and two ladybirds making love amongst the aphid-heavy roses.

Caramba!

Up on the roof

The rooftop paradise at work is sorely neglected.  It's white and bright and it's got highly reflective furniture. It gets windy not perfect - at times and if it's cloudy it can be damn cold.  But where else can you flick bits of sandwich onto the floor and gaze at Old Street's digital natives?

Beside the seaside

Bournemouth seafront, originally uploaded by Kong_.

This is a picture of Bournemouth seafront. The sand was actually rather lush, and once you ignore the fact that everything's made of concrete, this could easily be Waiheke.

If you squint a bit.

Kiwi dude - good news

...so I just got an email from my man at the immigration dept, and - YESSSSSSSSSS!! - they're not going to make me re-do any forms or medicals or any other paperwork.  Just get the errant certificate resubmitted and then we're sorted.

Marvellous eh?

Palace Beer Festival 2011

Palace Beer Festival 2011, originally uploaded by Kong_.

Oh, what a lovely hoppy biscuity malty brew of a day. Palace's first beer festival was a great success with over 1,000 attendees, music, food, live football and the FA Cup final shown on screens - and even at one point a bit of a dubious cheerleading exhibition.

I started off with a pint of Dark Star Espresso Stout, watching the game on the pitch while slamming down the rich coffee-ground flavours. Then, given that the measures seemed more than generous, I switched to halves: Toad Chocolate Stout (not as sweet as the first and a bit disappointing); the showpiece beer brewed especially for the occasion, Morrissey Fox Palace Ale, a light and hoppy, easy drinking glass, which will be on sale next season; Sambrook Brewery's Wandle Bitter, thrilling because we're so often out walking next to the River Wandle and the beer's brewed up the road in Battersea; Mauldon's Black Adder stout, which again I found a bit bitter; a sumptuous porter called Old Slug from RCH in the West Country; and a few I don't remember too much about, including Oldershaws Alchemy blonde ale, Hopback Crop Circle blond ale, and Springhead Bramley Apple (blonde ale not cider). Must remember to try RCH beers if I see them on sale cos their Steam Pole Bitter, which Martin let me try, was outstanding too.

Other beers worth a mention, of which I had a little tasting sip, were Ringwood Old Thumper pale ale, Kelham Island Pale Rider IPA, Exmoor Gold bitter, and Thornbridge Jaipur IPA.

Given that we were treated to music, an exhibition match on the pitch, the freedom of the Upper Holmesdale, and an engraved glass, and all for a fiver, leads me to agree with James - we really do have the best owners in football.  Hats off to Palace, this was a great idea executed well.

Kiwi dude

Kiwi residence application, originally uploaded by Kong_.

So, this is a picture of me on Monday, holding my fat pack of documents and photos and bills and forms and stuff, all serious and windswept and big of hair. I took the photo quickly cos a big rabble of prickly lads was busy emptying itself from the Sports Bar next to NZ House.

Inside this pouch is the key to our future. It's taken five months to assemble and I've been absolutely meticulous in putting it together.  Along the way we've found out that no, neither of us has anything approaching a criminal record; yes, all the authorities and officials are on the take at every opportunity; and yes, I do have the well-trained body of a long-distance runner (the doctor doing my medical said so!).  The chap at Immigration was really helpful and checked it all through saying it all looked in order.

Imagine my surprise and disgust, then, to find, only four days later, and only a few short minutes after my file was handed to a case worker for processing, that one of the forms is bloody wrong! And as it involves Rach having to get her fingerprints done at New Scotland Yard, and then sending off to Australia for another police certificate - which will take a couple of months - I might have to sharpen my biro and fill in forms (and cheques) all over again?!

Hoping for better news on Monday when I find out what this all means and whether we have to start all over again...

Squirrels, blossom and tantrums

It can be tough, when everyone's tired, to deal with Leo's moods.

Auckland vs London pt2: Temperature

It's Saturday night.  Needless to say, I am not out on the tiles smoking my bodyweight in crack.  I am sitting on our horrible sofa having a few beers.  Our flat is a bit thrown-together, to say the least.  I've just repositioned our draught-excluding orange towel over the big gap under our front door.  Hey, I thought, as the breeze numbed my fingertips: perhaps this will be the last time I have to worry about being bone-chillingly cold for six months of the year?




Conclusion: The Auckland Blue wins EVERY month of the year - Auckland is bloody warmer all year round!  As per sunshine hours, the difference is more noticeable in winter, where the average temp is nothing like as low as it gets in London. In London it's basically a bit chilly come November, and you feel like you've beaten the Devil if you've held off from sticking the central heating on until then. But Auckland, at its coldest, is about the same as October in London, and for six months of the year (November to April) London is colder than Auckland is at the very depths of its winter.

Auckland vs London pt1: Sunlight hours

Right, so I've been banging on about what the differences in the weather are going to be like when we move to Auckland; and I've finally got round to working out some seasonal averages. (This was the direct result of Leo refusing to sleep in his cot and being an absolute rat-bag at 4am, causing me to get up and leave them two to it...)

I'm going to publish four sets of stats, on sunlight hours, temperature, rain, and wet days. Here's the first, on sunlight hours:

Conclusion: Auckland wins this one hands down. There's roughly one hour per day more sun in spring and summer; but a massive 2.3 hours more sun each and every day in autumn and winter. Goodbye unchanging grey dishcloth skies of London!

Palace 1 Cardiff 0

Palace 1 Cardiff 0, originally uploaded by Kong_.

Great result and a terrific end to the day. This is me and the boys afterwards, Selhurst emptying quickly. Cardiff bought a shitload of fans down, great support for a Tuesday night, had no trouble in the ground. Good to see Dave back on his feet, he's had loads of trouble with his hips, with one more replacement to come.

Sad in many ways to think that this will be one of the last Palace games I see for a wee while, but very happy memories - not least because I backed us to win and made a massive 50p profit.

I walked a beer home and was still up at 1AM.

Another year older

It's a magic day.

Not only is my birthday the oh-so-inconsequential 37th, meaning I don't have to lock horns with death-anxiety, but it is also fantastically sunny in London, I have the day off, and I've just set free an extremely noisy track via my Soundcloud page. It's mixed a bit too loud actually.  I'm also revelling in the afterglow of a banana cake, looking forward to going to the game tonight (Palace v Cardiff), and sitting here knowing that Rach and Leo love me.

And further to that - I've got a bit of the caterpillar cake I got at work to finish off; and come tonight, if Paddy McCarthy scores first and we win 3-2, I'll win two grand.

There is so much rich joy in the now right now. Time for a beer.

Caterpillar slices

So it's my birthday tomorrow, and they knew I was coming at work, so they baked me a caterpillar cake.  Well - Mr Sainsbury baked it.  Tough crunchy casing, sticky smartie scales, eyes and nose...but, oddly, no caterpillar mouth. Brown and sugary.

One of the most gruelling tests of patience for me at the moment is waiting for the exchange rate to slowly rise before our move down under. A move of just one cent in our favour (i.e. a weakening of the kiwi dollar) means our savings will increase by about NZ$500.  So, if we see rates of 2.5 to the pound - by no means unreasonable; it was about 2.8 when I was first there in 2007 - we'll be NZ$15,000 better off.

That'd buy a lot of cake.

"John Peel!"

"John Peel!", originally uploaded by Kong_.

Leo's a sweet guy. Here he is listening to some kids' stories in the "My Life Illuminated" exhibition at the Royal Festival Hall. His daddy imagines that, in another world and at another time, he might instead be getting off on some bluegrass/gabba on John Peel's radio show.