Once again I found myself clearing my desk, my useless notes discarded into the waste paper bin and my dog eared photograph of my long dead pet goldfish Tweedy packed away in my rucksack. Perhaps a less emotional farewell then when I left my last job in Covent Garden, but the surge of euphoria this time was nonetheless unparalleled. My Line Manager was despondent at the hurried announcement on a damp Saturday afternoon, his expression hid a mixture of fury and dejection that I had been anticipating. Only a day before, he had charged me with training up a new joiner, allowing her access to listen in on my torrid sales speech on the landline so that she could gain an understanding on how to become the cardboard cut out atrocity that I had morphed into in past weeks. It was of no surprise that after an hour of patient monitoring of my calls, the new girl abandoned her swivel chair and promptly left the office, never to return again through the menacing doors. I could only applaud her bravery.
Dan throws a frisbee with the grace of a ballerina
Team Frisbee Golf: (l-r) Me (obviously), Dan, Luke, Archbutt, Ian, Ben (with broken frisbee - he has rage issues) and Benni
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fjcTUmipxZY&feature=related
www.goldfrapp.com
Team Frisbee Golf: (l-r) Me (obviously), Dan, Luke, Archbutt, Ian, Ben (with broken frisbee - he has rage issues) and Benni
Now to a final weekend in Queenstown, and to salute my departure from the sham of my voiceless vocation (as well as Jimmy Jolion Archbutt who also handed in his notice and the coinciding birthday celebrations of Nottinghamshire Nichola), a handful of us rushed next door to the Ministry of Sport bar. In the confines of the upstairs room we sat and sank a well earned 'Man Handle' stein of Speight's Mac's Gold, earning a bicep workout with the strain of holding up the two litre glass. Nichola had the stunning idea for us all to wear 'amusing sunglasses' in honour of her prestigious day, which we all agreed upon, with mixed results.
Sunglasses birthday party. Pose was cool at the time
It was yet another bank holiday weekend, in honour of the ANZAC alliance in Gallipoli during The Great War, which meant that although the community could respectfully remember their harrowing plight and the collective loss of innocence buried unforgiven beneath the trenches, frustratingly the bars were all closed at midnight. Aware of the distant bass thud of a hidden gathering, we stumbled upon a house party within the labyrinth of side streets high up on Hay Street and set up shelter under a large oak tree in their overgrown garden, our hands cupping a breakfast bowl of rum and Coke Zero, as the rain descended. Like Andy DeFrain after escaping his torment behind a risque poster of Rita Haywarth in The Shawshank Redemption, I also found solace in the warm deluge, finally evading the shackles of the headset.
My final day in Queenstown was beset once again by ill tempered weather. Rene, Cork Dan and I consumed a delightful Thai Green Curry at the aptly titled 'My Thai' restaurant by the Wharf. The staff of which oddly decided to hang a thin violet silk veil by our table so as to provide a silhouetted partition between the affluent diners and ourselves. After the Bangkok shadow puppet lunch, we made our way back up towards the luge tracks to play one last game of Crazy Golf, along with Jimmy Jolion Archbutt, fresh from a job interview and dressed smartly in his crispest Ben Sherman shirt, and his live wire girlfriend Bethan from Devon. The circuit this time was insane, encouraging rampant drives through loose rope nooses within towering castles as well as putting down a steep volcano and steering the golf ball up a miniature Queenstown gondola. We were all rewarded with our zealous skills with a fluorescent Chuppa Chup lolly pop on the final hole. It made everything worthwhile.
The Circle of Trust: (l-r) Laura, Archbutt, Ben, Me, Dan, Bethan and Loren
A few final farewells, firstly to the unsung heroes of New Zealand, the chefs and waitresses at Fergburger whom I'd gotten to know so well during this past month. Also to the Telesales 'Circle of Trust' - the fellow POW's whom I shared many satisfactory hours discussing at which precise point that the candle of our careers had faded out in a sombre flicker.
Craziest Golf I've ever played
Back on the much travelled road with an early start the following morning, standing in the downpour with Rene outside a closed KFC as we awaited our Stray bus to take us onwards up to Christchurch. We spent much of the nine hour journey in silence, faces haggard and dubious from such a rude disposal of the comforts of our duvets. I was looking forward though to our scenic ride, past Mount Cook / Aoraki - the highest mountain in New Zealand - and over the Lindis Pass towards Lake Pukaki. However, my self belief in retracing the steps of Sir Edmund Hillary was lost in vain as Mount Cook, like a dithering Old Dame, whose lustre was lost many moons before, forgetting her cue to go onstage for her glorious finale, surrendered under the heavy burden of the passing raincloud. I would be left with no picture memory of the famous snow capped mountain due to the inert mist, passing like a phantom plagued with insomnia.
Still, we all managed to see the clear sapphire blue grandeur of Lake Tekapo. The still waters had an incandescent tint due to it being an incarnation of a glacier, and we were fortunate to make the most of it as the sun shimmered generously for a few minutes as we spun past.
Lake Takepo and the behemothic Mount Cook in the backgr....oh wait, the rainclouds have ruined it
Finally, arrival at Christchurch on a dry afternoon. Rene and I were immediately startled at the exaggerated modernity of the High Street, the roar of the vehicles on busy lanes compared to the calm of Queenstown. Our new accommodation, the renovated hotel stylings of The Coachman, hid a treasure than I was not prepared for. On walking down the empty corridors towards the laundry room, the high ceilings pressing down on me like a weight on Atlas (or more likely from the heap of luminous boxers in my arms), I walked past the open door of Room 24. Within that room were the mischievous New Yorkers - Caroline and Kate whom I met in Franz Josef, and dancing alone to a Chris Brown song blaring out a white laptop beside them was none other than Anthony.
Sunglasses birthday party. Pose was cool at the time
It was yet another bank holiday weekend, in honour of the ANZAC alliance in Gallipoli during The Great War, which meant that although the community could respectfully remember their harrowing plight and the collective loss of innocence buried unforgiven beneath the trenches, frustratingly the bars were all closed at midnight. Aware of the distant bass thud of a hidden gathering, we stumbled upon a house party within the labyrinth of side streets high up on Hay Street and set up shelter under a large oak tree in their overgrown garden, our hands cupping a breakfast bowl of rum and Coke Zero, as the rain descended. Like Andy DeFrain after escaping his torment behind a risque poster of Rita Haywarth in The Shawshank Redemption, I also found solace in the warm deluge, finally evading the shackles of the headset.
My final day in Queenstown was beset once again by ill tempered weather. Rene, Cork Dan and I consumed a delightful Thai Green Curry at the aptly titled 'My Thai' restaurant by the Wharf. The staff of which oddly decided to hang a thin violet silk veil by our table so as to provide a silhouetted partition between the affluent diners and ourselves. After the Bangkok shadow puppet lunch, we made our way back up towards the luge tracks to play one last game of Crazy Golf, along with Jimmy Jolion Archbutt, fresh from a job interview and dressed smartly in his crispest Ben Sherman shirt, and his live wire girlfriend Bethan from Devon. The circuit this time was insane, encouraging rampant drives through loose rope nooses within towering castles as well as putting down a steep volcano and steering the golf ball up a miniature Queenstown gondola. We were all rewarded with our zealous skills with a fluorescent Chuppa Chup lolly pop on the final hole. It made everything worthwhile.
The Circle of Trust: (l-r) Laura, Archbutt, Ben, Me, Dan, Bethan and Loren
A few final farewells, firstly to the unsung heroes of New Zealand, the chefs and waitresses at Fergburger whom I'd gotten to know so well during this past month. Also to the Telesales 'Circle of Trust' - the fellow POW's whom I shared many satisfactory hours discussing at which precise point that the candle of our careers had faded out in a sombre flicker.
Craziest Golf I've ever played
Back on the much travelled road with an early start the following morning, standing in the downpour with Rene outside a closed KFC as we awaited our Stray bus to take us onwards up to Christchurch. We spent much of the nine hour journey in silence, faces haggard and dubious from such a rude disposal of the comforts of our duvets. I was looking forward though to our scenic ride, past Mount Cook / Aoraki - the highest mountain in New Zealand - and over the Lindis Pass towards Lake Pukaki. However, my self belief in retracing the steps of Sir Edmund Hillary was lost in vain as Mount Cook, like a dithering Old Dame, whose lustre was lost many moons before, forgetting her cue to go onstage for her glorious finale, surrendered under the heavy burden of the passing raincloud. I would be left with no picture memory of the famous snow capped mountain due to the inert mist, passing like a phantom plagued with insomnia.
Still, we all managed to see the clear sapphire blue grandeur of Lake Tekapo. The still waters had an incandescent tint due to it being an incarnation of a glacier, and we were fortunate to make the most of it as the sun shimmered generously for a few minutes as we spun past.
Lake Takepo and the behemothic Mount Cook in the backgr....oh wait, the rainclouds have ruined it
Finally, arrival at Christchurch on a dry afternoon. Rene and I were immediately startled at the exaggerated modernity of the High Street, the roar of the vehicles on busy lanes compared to the calm of Queenstown. Our new accommodation, the renovated hotel stylings of The Coachman, hid a treasure than I was not prepared for. On walking down the empty corridors towards the laundry room, the high ceilings pressing down on me like a weight on Atlas (or more likely from the heap of luminous boxers in my arms), I walked past the open door of Room 24. Within that room were the mischievous New Yorkers - Caroline and Kate whom I met in Franz Josef, and dancing alone to a Chris Brown song blaring out a white laptop beside them was none other than Anthony.
Queenstown Song of the Day: Goldfrapp - Rocket
I know, incredible, I've listened to some new music. This is a real 80's inspired pop gem from Alison Goldfrapp. The video, of which I witnessed on the bearable Select TV show, is also sunken with a rosemary tint attached to the era belonging to Ralph Macchio, Corey Haim and Gizmo.
True fact: Alison Goldfrapp's songwriting is characterized by its use of animals to describe human emotions and status.
I know, incredible, I've listened to some new music. This is a real 80's inspired pop gem from Alison Goldfrapp. The video, of which I witnessed on the bearable Select TV show, is also sunken with a rosemary tint attached to the era belonging to Ralph Macchio, Corey Haim and Gizmo.
True fact: Alison Goldfrapp's songwriting is characterized by its use of animals to describe human emotions and status.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fjcTUmipxZY&feature=related
www.goldfrapp.com
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