The Corridors Of A Blue Hotel

And now back to the capital city of Wellington, with only a few weeks left before striding further to more adventurous shores. I checked into The Cambridge Hotel, a dense grey building lurking in between a few substandard restaurants and local cafes on Cambridge Terrace. The Hotel, much derided in local terms due to the vagabond clientele frequenting its pub, has a 'backpackers wing' where the low lives are sheltered away from view of the moderate paying guests. The rooms are not so bad; impeccably high wooden beams and ceilings. There is graffitied and amended 1950's iconic posters pinned up on the walls to advertise the in-house deals on offer, there's also the added bonus of some curious looking erotica art hung proudly throughout each floor. The poster that caught my eye, in my current economic crisis, is that of eggs on toast for breakfast at The Cambridge Pub - annexed to the side of the hotel, for a wondrous $2. Thus far this week I have enjoyed this calorie and protein rich diet everyday at around ten in the morning, alongside the company of the local constructors and dead beat drunks whom at dawn already have a warm pint in their hands.



Wellington has had a turbulent past in regards to its geographical location. The tectonic plate movements of where the Australian plate rides over the heavier, but thinner Pacific plate has resulted in three major fault-lines running close to Wellington City. The last major earthquake was recorded in 1855, hitting the lofty heights of 8.2 on the Richter scale. Although a series of smaller undulations have been witnessed in the past hundred years, the population of the country hold their breath for the onslaught of another, long overdue, 'big one'. On Saturday night, I thought that I was in the midst of the predicted tremors as my bunk bed rattled violently to and fro. On taking off my night eye mask that I stole from my Qantas flight over (very Zorro) and removing my neon orange foam earplugs I was distraught to discover that the god of sleep was disturbed only by the nocturnal habits of two loathsome Welsh vulgarians, enraptured by the poisonous vipers of lust on the bunk directly above me. I decided to pack my rucksack - Rollerpig - first thing in the morning to escape the abominations of common decency and moved rooms down the hallway as the very fabric of my innocence had been torn.


Te-Papa entrance

Having made casual acquaintances with a southern country lad from England with the whimsically Dickensian name of George Baden Hugh Sulley, we opted to spend an afternoon to visit the much lauded Te Papa National Museum by the quay. The hugely enjoyable and interactive Te Papa, translated loosely from Maori as 'Our Place', was built relatively recently in 1998 and has a wealth of collections spanning over five areas: Art, History, Pacific, Maori and Natural Environment. The real jewel in the crown for those visiting is the preserved specimen of a captured female Colossal Squid, measuring 33 foot in height and having the eyes the size of a football.



Other highlights included a decorative display of 'pounamu' - the jade stone that holds much 'wairua' and 'mana' (spiritual presence and prestige), which increases with each passing of the emerald ornaments from generation to generation. The Maori believe that genealogy 'Whakapapa' connects people to one another and also to the natural world. A fascinating insight.


Meeting House in Te Papa (Te Hono ki Hawaiki)

After Te Papa's abundance of riches I walked up to the edge of the CBD to the Executive Wing of the New Zealand Parliament Building, named 'The Beehive' - an atrocious building conceived by the Scottish architect Sir Basil Spence in 1964. I took advantage of the daily free tours of the building so as to absorb the intricate workings within the government and the processes of developing state legislation. Murray, our soft faced and kind tour guide with a self proclaimed heavy dose of Alzheimer's disease, banished concerns of his mental state and successfully orientated the tour group down all the appropriate corners of the building. This included an extensive demonstration of the anti-earthquake measures of the structure, utilising 417 base isolators which effectively separate the building from its very foundations in the likely event of an upheaval from the surface of the earth. They should perhaps think about installing some of these base isolators onto my previous lower bunk at the Hotel.


Parliament - 'The Beehive'

Interestingly enough, the style of the debating chamber, including the pine green carpet and moss green chairs are direct reflections of the House of Commons in London. Murray was overly keen to address (on four separate occasions during the hour long presentation) that there are five Samoan members of Parliament at present (of the 122 in total). I'm still not overly sure of the significance of this, but it was pleasing to hear nonetheless, if only to make our elderly guide feel worthy of his role.

On to a more light hearted evening at the local cinema complex, where George (and all his elaborately embroidered affluent names) picked 'Iron Man 2' to watch in the comfort of an empty theatre. The verdict; not too bad and Robert Downey Jnr's instant on screen charisma ensured that it was totally watchable. In return I treated George to my favourite Sixth Form free period past time of 'Cinema Roulette' whereby after watching the initial film you paid for, you sneak into a random screen. You then have to take a seat and view whatever movie appears in its entirety. Our luck was in, as when we stealthily entered Screen 9 it was just starting to show some trailers and we were then rewarded with our patient and lawless game with a showing of Ridley Scott's Robin Hood. Russell Crowe's mythical character demonstrating all the merits of lawlessness, providing the poor with illegal provisions that we reflected with our own courageous game of chance.


Wellington Song of the Day: Fleet Foxes - Blue Ridge Mountains
As I sat amid the Sunday morning ambiance of the Olive Cafe on Cuba Street, I sipped my flat white coffee and was mesmerised by the smartie spectrum of glittering cakes behind the glass counter ahead of me that I could not afford to purchase as the baroque harmonies of the Seattle based indie-folk band's first album was playing softly in the background. This took my mind off succumbing to gluttony whilst the chorus of weekend babies crawling and crying ceased for only a few moments.

Fleet Foxes perform Blue Ridge Mountains on The Letterman Show - very Cold Mountain indeed:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dx7_Gmr4qMM

i-Pod Song of the Day: Josh Rouse - Rise
Josh Rouse's soothing voice and melodies usually put me to sleep, and I've never needed his songs more than this week. This is the last tune from his album 1972.

http://www.ilike.com/artist/Josh+Rouse/track/Rise

Should have caught a ride on a Brooklyn train / 30 years old and nothing's changed

The Mausoleum Inside

I said my fond farewells to the cheery spirited staff at The Coachman, who pleasantly enough remarked that I had become 'part of the family' and that it was a shame that I was leaving. I would have bought into this accented script had the manager, without missing a beat, harried the return of the now frayed sheets and pillow case from my bed as a matter of urgency, making me feel more like a part of the furniture. On a day borne of apprehension, light rain falling mercilessly from a darkened sky, I boarded the Stray bus heading onto the town of Kaikoura, 130 kilometres north on State Highway 1.

It became very quickly apparent that I recognised no one on the vehicle, and that the passengers themselves were in the midst of a tremendous group trip, speaking excitedly to one another before the ignition key was even turned. As the outcast, I took an isolated lone seat towards the back, looking ominously beyond the condensation impaired view out of the window. This was to be my role for the next couple of days. When we finally reached The Adelphi Hostel in Kaikoura, the driver and the hostile administrator of the bleak accommodation asked us all to organise ourselves as to who we'd like to share a dorm room with. I was cruelly overlooked by the party and embarrassingly moved into a room with the other loner in the camp, a quiet and plain girl made in Taiwan. I now know what it is like to be the slightly obese and clumsy kid who gets picked last at football in the playground.

Squint and you can see some seals

The upwelling currents brought from the Kaikoura Peninsula delivers an abundance of marine life to the town, and is a reason why it was originally a key area for the much maligned whaling industry. The only remnants of which are the stark whale bone arches leading towards the Southern Fur Seal colony. Something that I have observed on this trip, in any country graced with coasts, is that there is little more depressing than a small seaside town on a grey and morbid day, stripped wholly of any of its glimmering summertime charm. Even sitting on a wooden bench at The Why Not Cafe, a lukewarm chicken and vegetable pie before me that I harpooned with a silver spoon in homage to all those orca lives lost, skinned and cleansed of oil, whilst judging the local fools trapped in their daily routines was not enough to brighten the atmosphere.

Things were to get worse. With no real impetus to be a voyeur of the underwater activities of sperm whale and witnessing the likeness of the albatross to my nemesis - the seagull, on a cruiser (too cold and too expensive), I lurked my translucent presence to the warm fire place lit sitting room area of The Adelphi. Those in the room chose to watch a local film, to toast the best of New Zealand cinematography in The Return of The King, from an 80's millionaire's myriad of dated, dusty VHS tapes. On the two moth-eaten velvet rouge eight seater couches facing the television, seven backpackers sat cosily and intimately on one sofa whilst I sat on my own, stranded, on the other with only my Kitkat Caramel Chunky wrapper - silently and loyally beside me - for company. It was yet another low.

The coastline of Kaikoura (roughly translated as 'meal of crayfish' in Maori)

From Kaikoura we travelled onwards up to the Marlborough Sound region of the northern point of the Southern Island towards the ferry terminal in Picton, but not before passing a battalion of freshly sheared sheep, hounded and humiliated by their patrol of dogs leading them to up to the rolling hills, heavy with the burden of a recent downpour of precipitation. The vineyards that looked so rich in vanity and the grapes which hung like purple ornaments only a matter of months before, were now nothing more than a withered antique; their golden bowing leaves flying the half mast flag of a season of decadence. Nothing more than an artist whose cataracts have been removed. Actually, Claude Monet had eye surgery twice in his latter years and his perception of tones was still subtle in his weeping willow brush strokes. So, ignore my last metaphor.

The three hour ferry ride was not as turbulent as the Cook Strait hinted to us with its animated waves. However, I finally broke my silence with my fellow passengers from the Stray bus with touches of conversation. However, just about the moment when they were beginning to thaw to my voice I fell hostage to a daytime nap, the motion unable to stir me from a deep slumber nor my uncontrollable slither of drool, hanging from the corner of my mouth. When I awoke, we were finally on the shores of Wellington and my new 'friends' had all left without a word of warning onto their elusive destinations.

Typical window view

i-Pod Song of the Day: The Smiths - There Is A Light That Never Goes Out

Time now to take a winding bicycle ride with Morrissey down the cobbled streets of Salford. After humming along to this tune from The Smiths' seminal album, 'The Queen Is Dead', the i-Pod play list on the bus (which had been verging on farcical thanks to multiple plays of N-Dubz) debuted Sweet Disposition by The Temper Trap which coincidental also featured on the soundtrack to 2009's quirky anti-love story movie: 500 (Days of Summer).

Here is a clip from 500 (Days of Summer) featuring There Is A Light That Never Goes Out.
What I'd do to be trapped in an elevator with Zooey Deschanel. Having said that, I'd probably just panic and go to my designated floor without saying a word to impress.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9IltBcAmE9E

A Punt, A Try and A Surprise Visit

Room 24 resembled the ravaged and torn carcass of a small town after the passing of a hurricane once the girls left town, having packed their hikers bags, picked up their stray used teabags from the floor and swept away the pile of dirty socks from each corner of the room.

Even our nasally challenged friend from Virginia, whom we named Jim (he looked like a Jim) and snored like an impatient rhinoceros, departed, leaving only Anthony and myself in the polished vastness of a strangely barren landscape. The cyclone had slipped away and all we could do was mourn the lack of character of our now immaculate home.

We've spent most days in a Groundhog Day state of phase, only without the rich life lessons and multiple suicide attempts that Phil Connors endured in Punxsutawney. To save some money we've been frequenting the Christchurch Library to utilise it's generous free Internet access. However, there are some shady characters lurking under the brightly lit roof of rotting encyclopedias, namely a scabrous faced man who sports a half bandanna / half cap as well as a luminous construction workers' vest who spends his time on the free computers shifting through a website of various scantily clad young Filipino ladies. He is a bad man. I am tempted to notify Manny Pacquiao now that he has a political uppercut within the Nacionalista Party to sort this abomination of a human
out.

After the sordid trip to the library, the Japanese Bakery on Gloucester Street calls, where the potato croquette and soy sauce bun is inhaled within minutes.

Generally the TV room and lounge in The Coachman is a safe haven to rest the legs after another dreaded sunny day. However, we paid the price for letting some preening busker take the controls and in the evening we were treated to a viewing of Melrose Place followed by the asinine dirge of a film, Win A Date With Ted Hamilton. This was a touch too much for us to bear, so we sauntered down the street with some regret to Iconic, a preposterous bar offering $3 drinks and the light entertainment of tattoo camouflaged thick necked inbreds conversing with one another.



On a warm Friday night, a few of us from The Coachman visited the AMI Stadium, just outside the CBD, to spectate on the final Super 14's game of the season featuring the most successful team in Super League Rugby history; the Christchurch Crusaders who took on the Canberra Brumbies. Not after we witnessed the bizarre pre-match entertainment from the Crusaders' horsemen - a medieval routine involving eight horses and riders dressed as knights from the local Polo Club who circled the stadium, swords raised high in order to joust the crowd into a fervor.


Not real Knights

We weren't expecting a dense blanket of fog to descend eerily past the floodlights at half time, but we just about managed to see Dan Carter squander a couple of early, fairly straight forward penalty kicks and the colossal Richie McCaw bite into several tackles as the Crusaders cruised to a comfortable 40-22 victory.



The weekend arrived along with a familiar figure in that of my good friend from back home, Tobias, who had recently emigrated to Sydney. Having settled so quickly in his newly adopted city with a magnificent job manipulating an abacus in a local bank as well as a fond reunion in the arms of his native capture, he threw caution to the wind and arranged a short break in Christchurch for a catch up.


Wragg: Surprise visit

I could not think of a more pleasant way to spend a dry autumnal day than a soothing punt down the River Avon. We reluctantly embarked on the rickety wooden boat and were welcomed by our fellow passengers, a quiet couple from South Korea and the hollow figure of an English girl, with indifference. However, their serene journey down the mouth of the stream may have been ruined somewhat by our 'hilarious' observations and outbreaks of laughter as we swayed past carefree golden eyed ducks and lugubrious willow trees.




Giving Pinsent and Redgrave a run for their money

In order to conjure our lost traces of machismo after the quaint boat trip, we bought a treat at the popular-with-new mothers - Cupcake Boutique, before taking a leisurely stroll beneath the procession of English oak trees hidden within the Botanic Gardens. After a day of being somewhat too civilized and cultured, we were in desperate need of the remedy of a strong ale and a kick of a flat football in the dorm room before venturing out to the busy Poplar Street, to celebrate the day and sit by a chained up moped in the Vespa Bar before a few shots of cool, imported Russian vodka at Izba. The night wouldn't be complete without a quick jive on the notorious technicolour dance floor of Boogie Nights, before Tobias demonstrated his unfathomable appetite by fast-food hopping both McDonald's and Burger King in quick succession prior to returning to Gloucester Street. "Had I spied a KFC I would have gone there too" was his curt response to my consternation after the sorry feast.


Toby's tea party. This is what going to an all boy's school will do to you

A turn in the weather, resembling the Pennines curse of drizzle, meant that the Sunday would have to be spent indoors - firstly at the engaging Canterbury Museum and afterwards by the warm open fire bosom of the Bard on Avon's pub quiz once again. We'd managed to improve our score and rankings every week we'd been there (without troubling the top tier of contestants) and this time was no different. We finished 6th (out of 11, yes, very respectable indeed considering a healthy dose of questions were once again about New Zealand farming towns) thanks in part to A-bombs knowledge of sea goddess nymphs in Greek mythology. After three torrid and unsuccessful weeks of losing the quiz, we finally won a bar tab of $30 as the master drew out our team name from his fair hat. A fine end to the jaunt in Christchurch.

Christchurch Song of the Day: Miley Cyrus - Party in the USA
During our eventful punt down the Avon we passed a pleasant looking German couple by the grassy banks beyond us. They asked us, with a camera directed towards our boat, to sing to them to demonstrate our enjoyment of the aquatic experience. Tobias and I decided to give them, and the rest of our crew, a rousing version of Miley Cyrus's feel good hit of the summer, 'Party in the USA'.
Our Edwardian costumed punter, with straw hat on top of a fuzzy barnet, actually had the audacity of asking if we 'were high or something' on hearing our rhapsody.

Miley's Version - less upbeat then ours: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M11SvDtPBhA

Oscar Wilde would be proud of such a rich grasp of prose:

That’s when the taxi man turned on the radio / And the Jay-Z song was on / So I put my hands up / They’re playin’ my song / The butterflies fly away / I’m noddin’ my head like “Yeah!” / Movin’ my hips like “Yeah!” / Got my hands up / They’re playin’ my song / They know I’m gonna be okay

Yeah! It’s a party in the USA!

i-Pod Song of the Day: John Legend - PDA - (We Just Don't Care)

There's nothing wrong with some smooth Rhythm and Blues now and again.

In my humble opinion, Legend has never been better then when he played a minor, non-speaking role in the 2008 movie Soul Men. You may recall that he played the deceased lead singer of a fictitious soul group that includes Samuel L. Jackson and the late Bernie Mac.

Marvel at John Legend's carefree attitude towards public embraces. This is pretty much how I'll be spending my time in Rio:

http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x1c6rs_john-legend-p-d-a-we-just-dont-care_music

Strange Weather In Room 24

After Rene left Christchurch, under the balmy fragrance of his own vomit, I opted to move my luggage (my backpack on wheels: Roller Pig) down the hall and checked myself into Room 24 where Anthony, Kansas-Caroline, Stoke-On-Trent-Helen and New Hampshire-Kate were residing. My sole purpose in truth was to re-inject Anthony with some male company as I was beginning to fear that his Y chromosome was in the midst of decomposing, having been wrapped in the floral blush of too much female company in recent weeks. I just about managed to find a few gaps in the carpet, under the train wreck shambles that was the state of the room, to reach my bed and tuck myself in the corner bottom bunk, clutching tightly onto my most prized possessions ( my PSP and blanky i-Pod), uncertain of what additional carnage was in store.

People actually live in this

I survived the first night, after the girls showcased their chorus of singing and dancing in synchronicity to the Wicked soundtrack, fresh from Broadway. Disturbingly, Anthony appeared to be immune to their warblings and Miley Cyrus routines as he tapped his feet in time along to the harmonies whilst browsing another one of his epic sci-fi novels the size of a loaf of wholemeal bread in the sanctuary of his bed.


Caroline, Helen and weiner devouring A-Bomb

For breakfast, we gathered for a team coffee outing to the plaza's Escarto Cafe where Anthony declared boisterously to 'let's make today a weiner day'. Only after the dust of confusion and terror had settled were we aware that he was simply referring to his compulsion towards the nearby Alpine hot dog stand, Fritz's Weiners. I decided not to respond to his erratic dietary demands and instead furrowed my brow further into the testing Woman's Own magazine crossword.



I had heard many great things about one of the chief tourist attractions here in Christchurch. The Antarctic Centre, voted twice as New Zealand's tourist destination of the year and also proudly the leading Antarctic Museum in the world (yes, it's one of two, the other being located in St Petersburg, Western Russia, which believes that it is the leading museum on polar exploration in the world). The trip, organised by the animated Stoke-on-Trent-Helen and joined by New Hampshire-Kate, initially led us on to risible transportation in Cathedral Square: A navy blue bus which weaved in and out of the vacant roads, undetected by the local pedestrians, even with the subtle cluster of moulded penguins on the roof of the shuttle to advertise the destination.


Kate and Helen fight the blizzard

On arrival, we immediately adorned a thick jacket and flimsy rubber overshoes in order to fend off the torrent of chinook-esque winds within the Blizzard Room, where we were able to shelter in an igloo type cave and also slide down an ice slope (and obtaining an instant hit of frostbite on the thighs). Soon after, the wind chill machine kicked in, reaching a blistering -18 degrees Celsius in a matter of minutes, causing torment for the marrow in my bones. The brochure promised that I'd be ultimately left 'exchillarated' by this experience. Well, it was certainly a factor in the rapid onset of ague.



It was as if I was reliving the infamous New York blizzard of 2005, but without the worry of skating on the ice from Herald Square to 33rd/5th Avenue, just for another day of tedium processing a worthless residency visa for a Nigerian Physician. I fondly recall sleeping through the night of the storm in my drafty apartment with four layers of sweatshirts, my skiing socks and my maroon Banana Republic woolen hat as my roommate emitted a heinous Guinness based fumes from deep within his body, and still feeling the ache of cold.



After watching the blue penguins getting fed silver sardines at the enclosure (many of which could not feed themselves due to physical disabilities that had left them defenceless to the quiet siege of predators), we were finally treated to a ride on a Hagglund - the Antarctica all terrain vehicle, like a moon buggy for glaciers. Apparently this was the only ride of its type in the world and we were showcased its demanding amphibious capabilities as the tank like tyres tore through a mud lake as well as up and over a 35 degree gravel crevasse on the adventure course behind the visitors centre. I'm not convinced that Leonardo da Vinci's initial conception of armoured wagons designed for trench warfare had this type of tourist excursion in mind.

As the kids had displayed such good behaviour throughout the trip, and demonstrated a satisfactory propensity for learning, I treated them both to a 10 cent blue lollipop, which the lady at the counter described as having the flavour 'of the Antarctic' - which in this case, was mostly that of sugar.


Ring of Fire

Friday night was spent playing the game of heroes, Ring of Fire / Kings, amidst the dirty laundry and scattered Tupperware of the dormitory floor. As you would by now fully expect, the fall guy of the card game was to be Anthony, who raced through his allocation of copper tinted Tui's within twenty minutes thanks to the congregation's necessity to reward his distinct lack of 'Busta Rhyme' skills with the gregarious punishment of four fingers of express liquor inhalation.



We made our way to 'Boogie Nights', a run down shard of a discotheque a short walk from The Coachman, where the Jackson 5-era retro dance floor lit up simultaneously with our faltering jitterbug beneath our dancing shoes, giving the impression that we were dodging the outpouring of numerous packets of M&M's. I have to admit, the Back to the Future Enchantment Under-the-Sea dance air guitar on the knees may have made yet another appearance.


Christchurch Song of the Day: Marvin Gaye - I'll Be Doggone

As I was carefully making a classic dinner of spicy tuna, tomato sauce and penne pasta (thank you Chef A-bomb for that fiery creation) in the hostel kitchen, an upbeat gem from the 60's managed to Motown its way through the communal radio. However, as I closed my eyes and shouted out the chorus, a Brazilian man, who looked much like Luiz Felipe Scolari and smiled generously like David Letterman, ruined the ambiance of my methodical stirring by informing me in detail of his father's bloody death during World War II in Italy.

Doesn't Marvin look young here, live at the Shindig:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rx8HqhsB9Es

i-Pod Song of the Day: The Cribs - Men's Needs
I'm not convinced that the Jarman brothers from Wakefield can actually sing properly. This shimmering sensation was voted in the Rolling Stone magazine Top 100 songs of 2007 though, which is not really praise but an interesting enough statistic. This is taken from the sprightly 'Men's Needs, Girls Needs, Whatever' album. They are sounding a touch more polished now that the legendary Johnny Marr (he of The Smiths jangling guitar fame) has joined the band.

Check out the video where a model irons and also chops a capsicum:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oCNTYi9fHuo

Lost Between The Bars In Canterbury

Christchurch, as you may be aware, is pursued by an English shadow. Through the familiarly named streets; Gloucester / Manchester / Hereford / Durham / Worcester Streets, Bedford Road, Oxford Terrace, Sheffield Crescent, to mention only a small handful, to the charming Anglican cathedral in the centre of the square. The architecture of many official buildings is similar to that of a post-war seaside town in England, the type that still remains in the town halls and theatres of Brighton and Scarborough. The River Avon chisels the landscape with tranquility as white haired men, dressed in straw hats and pinstripes punt their rickety boats gently and merrily down the stream.

I am slowly adapting to the deft sewage scent that wafts down the high ceilings and reaches past the corridors of the 'boutique' Coachman Backpackers Hostel. Apart from this daily intrusion to the nostrils and the alarming red neon light that hangs vertically from the building as if to attract the perverted moths from the corners of the alleyways, it is a pleasing place to dump the burden of the backpack down. The rouge carpet leading you up the stairs from the lobby and on to the sociable lounge area encourages community and preservation from the anonymity of a foreign land. Even the Japanese receptionist has taken pity on me and regularly feeds me with the left over crumbs of her half eaten chocolate brownies.



After an adventurous ride on the free canary yellow shuttle bus to Pak N Save in order to buy 200grams of Champagne shaved leg ham (What, $1.70 from the deli on special? Glory is mine) as well as some TimTams and my daily dose of apples and pears, I ventured further away from the franchised stores of the plaza and passed the daunting bronze bust of Queen Victoria and the impressive statue of Captain James Cook looming in Victoria Square. Following this I traced my finger on the one page map that I had stolen from the hostel's bookshelf and made my way, without hassle, on to the labyrinth Eden that is the Botanical Gardens, watching the dead leaves descend effortlessly to their winter's grave made up of dirty earth.




I was at a loose end for the evening (though playing FIFA 2010 on the PSP should never really be considered as killing time). Michigan Caroline and a German girl whose English pronunciation was as bizarre as her erratic behaviour, leaning towards the faltering staccato of a South African native, dragged adidas dressed Rene and myself to the Rialto Cinema to indulge in the finest of New Zealand film making in the recent, Sundance Film Festival endorsed 'Boy'. The cinema itself had an element of sophisticated glitz adorned by the mature guests and kind offerings of macadamia and cashew nuts with a cool glass of wine at the stalls rather than the standard Pepsi Max and popcorn in movie theatres that I am accustomed to. However, my favourite popcorn trick would not really work through a crumpled paper bag of sweetened pistachios.



Rene saw the trailer and quickly bailed on the experience, wishing to spend his dollars and cents on the more jet fuelled Iron Man 2 (but to be fair to him, he did receive a spectacular silver bucket emblazoned with the motifs from the movie after purchasing a snack combination at the counter). 'Boy', directed by Taika Waititi (Eagle versus Shark), was an absorbing film, demonstrating adept storytelling in the point of view of an 11 year old (he of the title) and his smaller brother Rocky within the bleak backdrop of a nothing East Coast town of New Zealand in the 80's.

Trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RwqfR8g-Qow

To round off the weekend, a group of us competed at the Bard On Avon's Sunday night pub quiz. We ordered a basket of chips and stayed close to the warm log fire as we failed miserably to answer tedious questions on homegrown topics such as:

Question: What sport did Kiwi Alan Thompson win Gold at the 1984 Olympic Games?
Answer: Kayaking.

To our amazement, we didn't come last thanks to a few saving graces, namely Anthony's ability to memorise quotes from the Nobel Peace Prize winning statesmen, Henry Kissinger.


A-Bomb sinks a Dos Equis at the Mexican Cafe

I turned my back on Rene in the midst of chewing on my quiet rage as I bothered the cobwebs guarding my general knowledge. He thus decided to join the celebrations of our dorm mate's birthday, a decent enough Topman cartoon of a youth from Essex and his two friends who we invited to sit by us on an adjoining table in The Bard. Distracted by their tiddly winks drinking games and distanced from the incoherent quiz master's microphone, Rene was found later that night shivering in his bottom bunk. He confided desperately to me in hushed tones that he had vomited twice in the neighbouring internet cafe on Colombus Street, Dub Dub Dub, where he had visited in an intoxicated haze, and destroyed two keyboards in two thick heaves. Apparently the boy racers' medicine of sambuca did not agree with him. It would seem that I had failed in my guardian responsibilities over the Bavarian adolescent, but I was satisfied that he learnt a valuable lesson that night.


Christchurch Song of the Day: Journey - Don't Stop Believin'
This is another song that appears to follow me everywhere I go, on coaches, radios, television and passers by humming. An 80's anthem that is suited strongly to the road trip that has been embarked to date in this rogue country.
Rarely has this been sung better than by Dr. John Dorian and Christopher 'Chocolate Bear' Turkleton in Scrubs. Who knew what a gentle voice JD had:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NS7WGY49iAQ&feature=related


i-Pod Song of the Day: Interpol - No I In Threesome
The New York four- piece showcase a stunning song title, whilst Paul Banks (Clacton-on-Sea's second favourite deserter across the Atlantic) bare bones declarations echo with the feedback riddled atmospheric strings and guitars.
For fans of Desree's Life and Hanson's MmmBop, pick up your headphones and listen to this instant pick me up:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KDm4Vs7xl6U