A stick that I found. What can you see? Can't write what I saw but it involved an "excited" man sitting on the back of a dog. I reckon the Earth was telling about an ancient crime that occured in that spot.



9th February 2007 (again …ever felt like I should write on the day I do things?)

Picton. 1700 hours approx. 822 Kilometres to Queenstown. No problem! A quick message from Penny later and we decided that the 5 hours driving from Picton to Christchurch would be enough for that day, as Queenstown is at least another 6 hours on from Christchurch. We looked through our books and called the Tui Lodge who told us that she closed the office at 10pm sharp. We told her that we would be there but might be a couple of minutes after 10. “That’s fine, but the office shuts at 10pm.” Can Arnold rise to such a challenge? With a driver who is totally unfamiliar with the roads? Roads that passed through mountainous terrain? You bet your life he can! Even when the whole front of the car became a holocaust site for insects, Arnold ploughed on heroically. We arrived at Tui Lodge at 9:59pm and had to dive, Indiana Jones style through the door as the owner was trying to lock us out. England 1 – New Zealand 0! At this point I think that it is prudent, considering Scott’s Police employment, to reiterate that at no point did we exceed the 100kmh speed limit. Not even at the point where all of Arnolds wheels were air born and the lying untrustworthy speedometer read 150. We were legally respectful at all times. Although when we stopped at an ill-stocked garage for a bite to eat and were caught trying to eat a whole pack of ham in one go, each, I think that the poor witness suspected a felony. I will be more cautious when going hamwise in future.

After a nights rest at the Tui Lodge, we zoomed on to Queenstown. We, as usual, hadn’t booked our accommodation in advance, instead preferring to trust that a huge tourist attraction like Queenstown would have more than ample hotels and hostels. We sped past fantastic scenery and some not so awe inspiring farmland. The nice bits were REALLY nice! Lake Tekapo was going to be our stop off and rest point as we had been told that it was spectacular, but it was the next lake along that was the most awesome. I can’t remember the name of it and the map book is in Arnold, but if I remember later I will put the name on. Alternatively one of you readers may wish to enlighten us and pop it in the comment. That would do two things. Firstly, it would stop me having to strain myself in trying to remember. Secondly it would give all of you a reason to use Google Earth that I know you all have on your PC’s. After all, there are only so many times you can look at your own house and the Empire State Building, you free(down)loading cheapskates! By the way…what are the funny lines on the pitch at Goodison Park on Google Earth? (Insert crappy football related insulting joke about Everton here).

After many long and winding roads and dangerous overtakes, we arrived in Cromwell (again, need to check that but I am sure it was Cromwell) where we had a coffee and looked through the books for the hotel that we would book. The choice was made very easy for us. All of them were full. No vacancies at all. Oh dear. We tried the hostels. Nothing. Fearing the worst we began to look at Arnold to decide what the most comfortable arrangement would be, when I tried ringing Scallywags guest house. The guy, Evan, who answered the phone, was the owner but I couldn’t decide if he was really grumpy and ill mannered or very funny. It turned out to be the latter and we managed to get booked in for two nights. The Lonely Planet guide said that Scallywags had an “interesting feel” to it. It certainly does! I think it is a great place and not because we were given a room in a house that was only inhabited by women until our arrival! All of them were really nice and friendly although I do have my doubts about the sanity of two of the Japanese girls.

Queenstown looks spectacular. The huge lake, surrounded by mountains and low hanging clouds, are so dramatic that it could be the most scenic place in the World that I have seen. Newfoundland was stunning and Queenstown certainly comes close for natural beauty, maybe even surpassing it. The theme for any stay here is outdoors, snowwise in the winter and waterwise in the summer. There are literally tonnes to do but we have been selective and gone for a white water rafting and bungy jump combo. By the way…that is the Nevis bungy at 143 metres and not one of the girly ones. We go tomorrow. Better write that will again. Having booked the deaths on sticks, we went up on the cable cars to see the view over Queenstown and to have a go at the luge. It is a bit like gravity driven go-carts and they were fantastic fun until an accident spoiled it. Having discovered that I was far more aerodynamic than Scott, we battled down the two tracks several times, ramming each other off the track and trying every dirty racing trick in the book. Having been rammed off the track (Michael Schumacher esque) twice whilst performing swooping overtaking manoeuvres, I performed a rear end shut in the slow down lane which somehow turned Scott’s luge over, causing him to be dragged for a metre or so over the concrete. A bloody elbow, scuffed calf and torn clothes were the trophies for our folly. There is still a stewards enquiry as to whether the slow down lane constitutes fair game in the hard and fast world of international luge and I don’t think there will be a definitive answer! Well I suppose that a few beers in the bar where they open the roof with hydraulic rams will help ease any pains.

Well, better prepare for the Bungy etc tomorrow. Clear the bowels etc. That is tricky in a house with girls as it isn’t fair to subject them to the foul stench aftermath of beer. This morning one of the girls came out after following me in there with a face like a dog chewing a toffee. She didn’t complain but even I knew the air stuck to the inside of your mouth. By the way, if you don’t understand the dog/toffee reference don’t worry but rest assured that giving a dog a sticky toffee, or a wine gum for that matter, is comedy gold!

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BBBBBUUUUUUNNNNNNNGNGGGGGGGYYYYYYYY!!!

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.