9th February 2007

Right…lots been happening but just need to recap a few points that I might have missed in the last few posts.

Wellington is still really beautiful, more so than Auckland, and the city itself does seem to have more streets and nooks, crannies etc, but I get the feeling that it could get to feel small after a short while. Perhaps it gets busier at the weekends as we found some great bars on the main street (Courtney Place) but the bars away from there were a little empty. We had a wander down to the harbour to find a few bars but most of them were essentially empty. So we tended to hit one or two bars on Courtney Place, although don’t think that we are uncultured booze hounds as we did attend an artistic presentation of fictional drama. Daniel Craig makes quite a good James Bond doesn’t he? I expect a full critique of Daniels performance from Cheryl.

One of the bars, in fact the one that we frequented mostly had a seemingly endless Karaoke event listing, but it was always one of the full ones and quite good fun. The usual rules applied where people who know one good song, sand it with gusto and then the regular Joe Schmoes moved in to crucify “Summer of 69”, which is one of my most hated songs. Not because I think it is a bad song, nor because I hate Bryan Adams, but because the song was played at least three times every Monday at the Cavern Club in Liverpool when I was at university there. And as I was a poor student and the beer was cheap on a Monday (buy one get one free) I tended to spend a good few hours with my friend, Bud Weiser, listening to Bryan serenade the great unwashed time after time. For some reason, Scott and I were minding our own business and sampling a half of mild each, when the DJ (or should that be KJ for Karaoke Jockey?) press ganged Scott into singing a mystery song. Now, I am no Simon Cowell, but I have heard Scott sing. Kev Caulfield knows my appalling singing skills (I am still more in tune that you Kev…perhaps that should be less out of tune???) but Scott takes ear abuse to a whole new level, as he openly admits. With desperation in his eyes and the KJ’s immovable vigour, there was no chance of Scott being let off the hook. In a final desperate plea to share the embarrassment, he asked me to join him. Those that know me will understand that I am a shy and retiring soul, who shuns the limelight at every opportunity. You will be shocked to hear that I reluctantly approached the stage and tentatively gripped the microphone. Then the song started. We had no idea what the song would be, and even less idea why Scott had been selected, seemingly at random, to sing. Enter a familiar drum beat from yesteryear. “I’m too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt, so sexy it hurts!” Ouch. But we braved through and only received a few boo’s on the way back to our anonymity.

We prepared Arnold T Beast for his crossing of the Cook Straight to the North Island and set off to the docks. All went well and Arnold showed no fear at all. For the 10 minutes it took to find the docks and our embarkation point, Scott managed to stay awake. This is the first vehicular trip that he has managed to stay awake for. He is the amazing Sleeping Navigator who reserves the energy required for being awake until there is a Subway or any diner within 300 yards. I am convinced his stomach is like “The One Ring” and it leads him to food outlets. Once on the Blue Bridge Ferry it was scenery a-go-go as we sailed into Wellington Harbour. The other passengers were pretty much the same as us, just passing time until we got to Picton and began the South Island adventure. As we looked over a railing though, we saw that not all of the passengers had the luxury afforded to us, with our metal decking to sit on. There were a couple of trucks holding cows and sheep, all crammed tightly together. The worst thing about it was, apart from not having enough room to turn around, that some selfish farmer had the malicious forethought to put the barking sheep dog in one of the lower pens. The poor sheep could hear a dog woofing but didn’t know where it was coming from or what to do. So, some of them settled for a little voyeuristic sex while being cheered on by drunken ferry passengers. Some of the sheep knew Fenners by the way, although only by reputation.

What the crossing did tell me was that the two islands are a lot closer together than I originally thought. I am no expert at visually judging distance, but it only looked a couple of miles at the closest point. This helped with our contingency plan. Anything less than 90 minutes into the crossing, the first sound of engine change or possibility of listing and we were to leap into the sea and swim north. There is no way that we are going to be dragged under like in Titanic with all the regular suckers. We would take matters into our own hands. Anything after 90 minutes and we were jumping in a southwardly direction. If other people tried to stop us or follow us, then we would have to snap their necks like twigs, as the magazine interviews of survival would only last a short while and we would need to capitalise at every opportunity. We didn’t need to do any of this in the end which I think made Scott feel better as our shark survival techniques still haven’t evolved from holding his gills closed and jamming a toe up his hoop.