New Zealand 2004

This is my aunt and uncle's house in Epsom, Auckland. As you can see they have a pool, great on a sunny summer's day in February!

The Sky Tower viewed from Devonport on Auckland's north shore.

It's only a short ferry ride to Devonport, and well worth the trip. Devonport has many interesting little art galleries, such as Art of This World, with its fascinating abstract art and friendly, chatty shop staff. There's also Jackson's Museum, a peculiar little place boasting 'THE WORLD'S LARGEST COLLECTION OF VICTORIAN PORCELAIN TOILETS', and some amateurishly 'restored' antiques.

Ventilation 'mushrooms' sprouting from Mount Victoria, Devonport. Military bases were built into Mount Victoria throughout the twentieth century.

'The McKinney Kauri', an 800 year old tree at the Parry Kauri Park and Museum, just outside Warkworth

Leigh's busy town centre on a Saturday lunchtime in summer.

Volcanic paving stones on the shore at Goat Island Marine Reserve.

The reserve is a popular diving spot, but appalling weather while I was there meant that a stroll on the shore and a trip to the reptile house were as exciting as it got.

On the way to Waipu, I cycled along a fantastic long white beach, with the biggest surf I've ever seen, stretching for miles, and hardly another person anywhere. Leaving the beach was messy, pushing my bike across huge drifts of sand and past deep rust-red mud carved out by a stream. Then back on winding roads up and down hills with a surprising number of pick-up trucks going past with dogs in the back, grinning and ears flapping in the wind.

A brief stop for juice at Mangawhai, where I heard two old Scottish blokes chatting in the street. This inspired me to press on to Waipu.

Waipu was colonised by Scots from the highlands around 1850, and is proud of its Scottish connections, with thistles and saltires and so on painted on walls, on flags. The settlers' 5 month boat trip makes my 26 hours of flights seem like nothing.. They have a highland games here every January 1st, in mid-summer, and there's talk of starting regular highland dances.

See the Waipu Museum website for more on Waipu's history.

The waterfall looked good, but the walk was the most enjoyable part, with the quiet little stream twisting under fern-dappled sunlight...

Will with someone 1174 years older than him.

The tingling Australian took this picture.

The beautiful Helena Bay. You can see all my luggage in this picture.

I wandered down to the waterfront as the sun lowered across the bay and caught the fishing boats and brought alive the dancing surface of the water. Kids fished from the wharf in silhouette, and men stood around the boat fuel pump gossipping and laughing.

Some Brits told me they'd seen a ray, and while they fiddled with their camcorder, it swam past again, a huge 4'-sided black diamond with a little stubby tale. Within a second it had passed beneath the jetty and reappeared on the other side. Squeals of delight from tourists. Then it faded into the murk.

We saw three or four dolphins swimming about, usually only briefly, then reappearing elsewhere, sometimes right beside the boat. Another tourist cruiser was stopped nearby as well, and both boats were a mass of cameras, probably leading to a fine selection of photos of the water's surface where the dolphins had been a moment before. Sadly, because their was a young dolphin in this pod, we couldn't swim with them.

One of the crew had just started that day - what a job! He was also very easy on the eye. :-)

We stopped at an island and snorkelled a little, but saw very few fish. Walking on this island was a delight, and I could have done with a couple of hours there, exploring the paths through the mass of green, bushy bush, to pretty, isolated sandy bays. Gorgeous.

A war canoe with traditional carvings

I also saw the 'whare runanga' there, a Maori meeting house designed to help educate people about Maori culture. It's an amazing building, decorated with such intricate carvings full of meaning. There were parts created by most of the Maori tribes, most carved from Kauri. When I went in, school kids were copying the designs in activity work-books. I was compelled to do the same in my notebook.

According to the tour guide that appeared after a while, each element represents a whole history - be it the three fingers on the figures, meaning birth, life and death, or the position of the tongue indicating a being from the physical or spiritual world, the stripes and spirals leading the eye to certain details, and the smaller faces emerging from the joints of the larger figures. I wish I had the words to describe the power and intricacy of these carvings when you're stood right by them, but maybe some of the photos will come out ok.

Walking back to Waitangi, I passed a field with a carved archway and ten carved figures looking like totems. They were striking, because of their impressive size, the majesty and defiance of the poses, the bright red colour, and the fact that many of them were very obviously male. To be blunt: big erect cocks.

Trees lining a ridge near Totara North, Kaeo, on the way from Kerikeri to Mangonui.

Will and his sandboard on Cape Reinga. Sandboarding is like sledging, but warmer and dryer.

Someone sandboarding on Cape Reinga

Cape Reinga, traditionally the departing point from which spirits of Maori dead return to their homeland, Hawaiki

Cape Maria van Diemen, viewed looking south from Cape Reinga. The cape was named after the wife of Anthony van Diemen of the Dutch East India Company by Abel Tasman, the first European to see New Zealand.

There's a lighthouse at Cape Reinga, and a silly roadsign with distances to world cities - all very camera friendly, but not particularly interesting or beautiful in their own right. Also the crowds of tourists and incessant beeping of cameras spoilt it a little. I saw a guy with a set of cameras and a big tripod and asked if he'd taken any good pictures. 'Yes, I've got a few. It was great until these buses of tourists arrived.'

A brief stop on the beach.

Fred Z., slightly windswept on Ninety Mile Beach

The resident Maori wood carver, Sharkie, and a friend.

Wood carving in traditional Maori style, by Sharkie

On the road somewhere near Kohukohu

Is that an ent on the hill?

Mangrove flats deep in the Hokianga near Kohukohu.

In the background is the ferry returning to Rawene.

View of the lounge at The Tree House, Kohukohu

View from my dorm at The Tree House, Kohukohu

Sandbanks near Omapere and Opononi on the Hokianga

A sign reflects Ruwai's sleepy rural character

A New Zealand hawk I saw by the roadside as I left Ruawai.

I cycled past it for 50m, then parked and walked back with my camera. It tried to fly away, but only flew one metre before landing again, as if its legs were tied together and somehow that stopped it.

Some cars passed, but the bird cowered and made itself invisible. It didn't look hurt, but it clearly couldn't fly away. I cycled on to the next farm and told the people there. They were completely unfazed, and suggested I kill it with a stick. One guy said I should put it in my rucksack and take it on to the next town.

'Umm, I don't think I could fit it in, and...' I began.

'Ah, I'm only pulling your leg!'

He then offered to go down the road and 'deal with it', which left me simultaneously relieved, and concerned about the bird's fate.

Eye-catching poster in Auckland

Cousin Dan and Cousin Justin in their backyard. They both live and work in London, but were able to come over and visit at the same time.

This is on Mount Eden, just a few minutes walk from Lyn and John's house.

I went to a Maori cultural show and hangi meal, with Brian and Sue, two Londoners also at the B&B, and a German guy staying there too. The show was Maori songs and dances, with a powhiri (welcome) and poi (ball dance), and demonstrations of Maori weapons and sports, and finally, the haka. All this was outdoors in a recreated Maori village, under a dark starry sky. The audience were well wrapped up with coats and blankets, but the performers weren't wearing much. The women wore traditional shawls and dresses, but most of the men just wore loin-cloths. Some of them, in the late teens, were particularly interesting to watch. Jeez, what a perv I sound like.

The meal was very tasty, but included many non-traditional Western touches - mint sauce for the lamb, stuffing, garlic bread. Dessert was chocolate log and/or mixed fruits with cream, which I doubt is traditional either.

There was a brief chat/question and answer session and then we all had a guided tour through the bush to see glow worms and a sacred Maori spring. It was very good, and very much a family-run operation. Mitai. That's the name of the show and the name of the family.

Afterwards, Brian and Sue and I stayed up at the B&B. They gave me a glass of wine and we shared stories of our cats. Once Brian had been surprised when peeing by his cat jumping between his legs from behind. He had to give the cat a more conventional shower afterwards.

Back at the grotty Planet Nomad backpackers, I met Fabian, a Belgian guy who, like me, was just about to go zorbing. There are a few zorbing options, all of which involve being inside a transparent plastic bubble as it rolls down a hill.

First, there's 'dry', where you're strapped to a harness fixed inside the ball. Alternatively, you can go 'wet' - without straps, but there's a bucketful of warm water to slip about in as you roll down. Finally there's 'double wet' - wet, with a friend. Fabian and I did double-wet, which was funny considering I'd only just met the guy, and here I was sliding through the ball's plastic sphincter after him, wearing just swimshorts. As I climbed in, the assistant-person said, 'I hope you guys know each other well!'

It was strange, and fun. I tried to get up, to stand up as we rolled down, but always slipped and rolled, and Fabian and I rolled all over each other.

I cycled up to the Redwood Forest and did a relaxing one-hour walk. Some beautiful scenes of sun-dappled forest, and these redwood growing fantastically straight and tall all around. Apparently they grow three times quicker here than in their native US.

I cycled on up the road to the Blue Lake. It certainly looked blue. And the hillsides around it looked very green. And the childrens' slide erected in the shallows looked very yellow. A lot of colour. It wasn't hot though. I walked around with my fleece and anorak on, and watched some Maoris my age or younger briefly have a dip in what looked like freezing water. I wondered how come there was a sandy beach there, and whether I should look at the other lakes.

There's several scary holes, pits, pools and other formations like this. Elsewhere there's the devil's inkpots and bath, as well as hell's cauldrons. Sounds like the early Christian settlers were rather fearful, and I'm not surprised - it's an unearthly place.

The colouring is from mineral deposits.

I was very lucky with the light. A combination of dark, brooding clouds with some bright sunshine made the steam look particularly dramatic.

I'm told this huge lake (600 sq.km) was created by a massive volcanic eruption about 1,800 years ago. There hasn't been a more violent eruption since. The Romans and the Chinese both recorded the sky darkening around this time.

Now it's a sports haven, with wind-surfing, water-skiing, sailing, fishing, golf (yes, really), and of course sky-diving.

They may look like the remains of a 1,000 year old Maori village, but these rock carvings were created in the late 70s by some local artists. Still amazing to look at, especially as they're only accessible by boat.

Actually, the boat nearly crashed into them.

Yes it was a bit nippy on the boat.

Six colourful houses on Marine Parade, Napier

There's several good examples of Art Deco architecture in Napier. The town was flattened by an earthquake in the 1930s, and everything was rebuilt in the style of the time.

I enjoyed the trip on the InterIslander Ferry, the Arahura, passing between beautiful green hills and mountains and over very blue water. It was sunny and warm where I sat, on the upper deck, so busy with people admiring the view and taking photos and videos. The ferry goes very close to the land in places, the steep hillsides dropping straight into the water. Here and there there's a small house and a jetty, and I realised that with the steepness and density of the surrounding bush, these places must only be accessible by water.

In the morning we had breakfast together at another place nearby that they always go to - the Mudhouse - where there's a cafe and shops selling local crafts, produce and wines. They offered free tastings of various speciality olive oils, including breads cakes and mousse made with olive oil.

Sat having tea with them, reading the paper, chatting with Heather about the trials of working for a university (she had a lot to get off her chest on that one). I felt welcomed right into their family. They were all so friendly and generous it was really touching. I promised I'd look them up when I was back in Auckland.

I left them, and cycled to Blenheim to catch my train to Christchurch.

There were many vineyards. They stretched in regiments right across the plains as far as I could see. I think there were occasionally apricots, apples, pears, etc., but nearly everything was grapes. Some were tiny, some big and busy, and some covered in cobweb-like netting. The roads were straight and long, and confusingly alike.

I took the bus out to the gondola, the cable car up the not very high Mount Cavendish between Lyttelton and Christchurch. It was a beautiful, clear but slightly hazy day, and I could see the deep blue bay curving monstrously into the haze and distance.

Looking south, I could see Lyttelton harbour, then in the foreground Summit Road winding modestly along the top. A bicycle drifted down the road. I could see its shadow sharply defined on the tarmac.

Walking back down this road, I was too hot in my jeans so walked barefoot and shirtless for a while. Gradually my feet became used to the hot, hard surface. I walked slowly, looking out for the occasional car coming around the corners. The road reminded my of the end of The Italian Job, and when I looked down the hillside I saw several rusting car wrecks in amongst the grass and sheep.

On the bus back from the Gondola, I noticed again how passengers always thank the driver as they get off, even when leaving by the doors further back, shouting 'thanks driver!' or just waving.

Cycled to Hagley Park afterwards, an oversized Meadows to me, beautiful avenues of oak in the late afternoon sun, with cyclists, golfers, walkers, irrigation sprayers, duck ponds, greenspace.

On one of several trips out in Amanda's car, we stopped at some wonderful rock formations, which had a peculiar effect on Amanda.

Amanda and I visited some of the 'exquisite', 'renowned' waterfalls in the Catlins, some of which were very pleasant. The 'exquisite' one benefited from an enjoyable walk leading up to it. Took some photos; listened to the sound of the bellbirds (a truly exquisite sound); looked at various different trees and plants.

As seen at the side of the road. I have no idea why.

Driving into Owaka, the sun was low, the hills glowed and the air was quiet. We stopped several times for pictures.

Near Owaka, the nearest settlement (not even a town, really), at a place called Papatowai, there's a fascinating place called The Lost Gypsy Gallery. It's a converted caravan stuffed full of intriguing little home-made toys, gadgets and automata made from junk and found objects. I would have loved to have bought some of them, but they looked rather delicate and would probably not survive the trip home. A small wire-and-wood dolphin leapt gracefully as I turned its little wooden handle. A gurglebox made the appropriate noise when I turned its handle, turning three small conch shells half-submerged in water. A little electric train whizzed around the caravan. Buttons made noises, lights flashed, and various contraptions buzzed and span.

Outside The Lost Gypsy Gallery, a sign read, "There are many temptations in life, this switch is one of them", with an arrow pointing at a little doorbell button. I pressed the button. A jet of water squirted from the undergrowth and splashed me.

The Department of Conservation seem pretty keen on these.

What a welcome, driving towards Fiordland!

Not a hard walk up here, but jaw-dropping natural beauty everywhere. The Milford Road out here has the best views I've seen from any road anywhere.

I've since done a painting from this photo.

Good camera opportunities as the evening drew in. After passing - well, harassing, we came so close - a seal colony (they looked so small after the hefty sea lions), we stopped and gawped at the sunset. The low sun made the world radiant orange-pink, and the well-defined shadows gave the mountains a scale and majesty that was awe-inspiring.

Watching the sun set, I chatted with Amanda and a Brazilian guy about how we'd all been spoilt by seeing so much amazing scenery - a waterfall isn't enough any more; it has to be a huge waterfall, from a kayak, with giant mountains all around - that gets the gasps, but an ordinary run-of-the-mill spectacular sight is just quite nice.

I mentioned the 'I've seen better' comments I overheard at the Festival fireworks in Edinburgh one time.

The drive to Queenstown was good, especially the view as the road came alongside Lake Wakatipu. It reminded me of the highlands or Windermere, but here the sky was so blue (a primary, sky-blue), and the mountains so steep and so rugged, vicious black teeth biting the clouds.

The angular peaks looked cruel but attractive, and I fancied walking along the top (that's the Greenstone and Caples tracks; I didn't see any tracks on the Remarkables, which looked more walkable).

Outside the Deco Backpackers. Rob (middle) helped fix Amanda's car. Dale (right) was in NZ after becoming disillusioned with his career in I.T. The other guy was decorating the hostel.

A quick walk up Mount Iron gives great views over Lake Wanaka and the town.

Lake Wanaka looking like a wild sea.

We took the boat to Glenorchy for the day. We powered across the lake very quickly, and Amanda was glad not to be battering Ruby more on the potholes. We did a gentle walk by the lagoon, passing horse-riders splashing gently through a stream. We stopped at a sound like croaking frogs, but decided it must be that of ducks. We sat for hours in the Glenorchy Cafe - chatting, reading, petting the cat, looking through the vinyl collection and putting some on (Velvet Underground and Elvis Costello). We had tea, coffee, cake, lunch. Amanda checked her email. I did a pen drawing.

In the evening, we chatted with Paul, from Manchester, and Alex, from London. They're both friendly and funny. It was Paul's birthday, and we had a mini-party with dress-up, dancing (in front of the stove in the lounge) and a little wine. The next morning Alex congratulated me on my dancing the previous night. Not sure if she meant my enthusiasm or my ability.

Lake Wakatipu is behind her, and Glenorchy is the small town where the smoke is rising on the far shore.

Lake Wakatipu.

...is a place in New Zealand, just north of Lake Wakatipu. This is the view from Paradise.

(gasp!)

Taken somewhere between Glenorchy and Queenstown, facing back up Lake Wakatipu towards Kinloch and Glenorchy. The dark hill at the end of the lake in the centre of the picture is Mount Alfred.

Where the rail trail stops and the rail proper starts - Pukerangi station, out in the middle of nowhere. I had to wait here for several hours. Not even a chocolate dispenser. The train from Dunedin comes out here once a day.

Found this decorated fence near Pukerangi station.

On the train back to Dunedin - on the Taieri Railway. Mmm, with hot tea and a pie to warm me up after waiting for so long in Pukerangi.

A nephew of Robert Burns, Rev Thomas Burns led some of New Zealand's first European settlers. Dunedin has retained some of its Scottish character (by character, I mean they have the same old crappy tourist shops full of tartan and bagpipe music that decorate the streets of Edinburgh).

This is in a square called the Exchange. A row of three red, hexagonal phone boxes are overshadowed by this mini-Scott monument, and kept company by a peculiar scattering of wombles. I presume they're sculptures of some NZ bird, maybe even stylised kiwis.

Arc had a record launch going on - with live music from a Dunedin and a Wellington band. I chatted with a couple that knew the Wellington band's drummer, and perched on a stool listening to the music and drinking double gin and tonics.

I was smiling lots. It was either from the drink, or my growing love of this venue. There was such a variety of people there, and so many different styles of dress. Despite the cold outside, one guy was wearing khaki shorts. Another had a corduroy jacket and a flat cap. One girl, dancing energetically to the music, was wearing Sloan Ranger style tweed jacket and skirt.

I enjoyed the music, and could have danced, but was happy tapping my feet, nodding my head, and people-watching. A young guy with straggly black hair and beard was wandering past with beers in his hands and a satchel slung over his shoulder. A girl in a slinky red dress and high heels came in, and she looked out of place almost, as she'd clearly made an effort, and worried about her appearance.

But there were so many styles of dress, nobody looked out of place - people just looked relaxed, comfortable in themselves (or at least comfortable in one of the battered sofas). Of course it was generally a young crowd, probably with a large representation of students.

McDonalds reinvents itself as coffee shop and cyber cafe.

The 'Cook Connections' minibus stopped for photos at the Elephant Rocks, giant chewed bits of toffee, oddly eroded limestone lumps. In the bus, by coincidence, the X Files theme came on on the compilation CD the driver was playing.

Mount Cook looked suitably dramatic and imposing in the afternoon sunlight.

The obligatory 'Top Gun' picture.

I've never seen a glacier from this angle before.

I must have taken a dozen pictures just of the sky. Amazing.

After the flight, I walked up to the Red Tarns on Mount Sebastapol, a fairly easy walk, but with many steps. A helicopter flew past, then hovered to drop some equipment for two DOC (Department of Conservation) staff working on the track.

My calves and knees felt the walk back down. I started counting the steps, but lost count at nearly 300. I stopped for a rest and my leg started sewing-machining.

For scale, note the road (with a car) winding up the valley floor. Aoraki is the one with its head in the clouds.

I don't often have the chance to sit and have a cup of tea with a view like this. That's Aoraki Mount Cook in the background.

A rather twee wet street in Christchurch. Note the tram-lines.

Now how on Earth did the 'Kiwi Experience' bus acquire a nickname like 'Vagina Liner'?

Apparently it's quite popular with 'young people', but I wouldn't know anything about that.

I met a couple who were travelling on these buses. They were both 23, and said they felt old compared with everyone else.

It was a bank. Now it's a gallery.

I saw many towns with grand old bank buildings like this - especially in the South Island... Apparently many South Island towns were booming during the gold rush years. Now the gold's gone.

Passed stacks and rocks out in the water. Four shags stood still and silhouetted in formation, facing the sun. One turned its head as I passed.

I arrived in tiny Punakaiki earlier than I expected. Had a stroll along to the pancake rocks, chimney-stacks of layered rock. I think it was a form of limestone, but it looked more like sandstone. Apparently, there's blowholes there, but nothing was happening then, despite it being nearly high tide. The most I heard was an occasional low thunder-roll from deep in the rock beneath me.

I checked into Te Nikau Retreat - a place Magnus had praised strongly - and found an odd little network of huts and houses in amongst the bush of ferns and nikau palms.

I was in a building called Rata Retreat - a three-storey octagonal construction, with a mini-mountain emerging from the living room floor - the house having been built around this lump of rock.

I've never seen a dormitory like it. On the first floor living room, there were steps up to a mezzanine bedroom area, consisting of little more than mattresses lying on the floor at intervals.

Back in the main building, I chatted with Sarah and Sarah, who'd only been travelling for a few weeks. They were staying in the 'Palace' at Te Nikau - a corrugated shed just big enough for their bed.

Later I had tea and played rude scrabble with Sarah and Sarah. One of them was from somewhere in Lancashire. We had a disappointing lack of rude words.

We sat in the kitchen, where there was also the shop - a few shelves of tinned food, eggs, etc., and a shiny Buddha with a tray of coins. The honesty system seemed to be working. The Buddha also ran a bar: a red and a white wine tap at $2 per small glass.

I walked down to the beach along a winding little bush track that emerged into bright afternoon sunshine. The path led to a beachy cove, pocked and rippled by the sea and the constant drip of water from the bush behind. The scooped concave rock wall was amazing, great shelves of shiny polished stone, as if fluid waves were in the cliff. On the shingle sat hulking lumps of Swiss-cheese stone, a giant eroded sponge. The beach was, I read, home to Little Blue Penguins, but all I saw were clouds of hungry sandflies. I was bitten quite a bit, enough to stop me hanging around for the sunset.

This was fun. Several vineyards and many glasses of great wine. Here we are on the lunch break, featuring (of course) a glass or two of wine.

Grampians walk - up to the TV mast.

We also did another walk up to the (rather arbitrary, if you ask me) 'Centre of New Zealand', where a giant needle is suspended at the top of a hill.

Saw many of these distinctive plants around New Zealand. Anyone know what they're called?

The lovely decor in the Palace hostel

One of my room mates was from Dunfermline, and claimed to know the name Emma Hutton. Amazing! To be on the other side of the world and bump into someone with a common aquaintance like that. Who'd have thought it? Not Emma, it turns out - she'd never hear of this woman!

Dave's Palace also had an outdoor spa, albeit a tepid one, with a view across the town.

Picnic on an uninhabited island - sandwiches, fruit, tea and coffee, muffins - and a beautiful view across the sunny bay and the clear blue still water. The picnic was prepared by Chris, the cute, raggle-haired kayak guide, who shared Lord of the Rings trivia and obsessiveness with Amanda, whilst they both claimed non-nerdishness.

Apparently this is the height of fashion on uninhabited islands.

There is an explanation for that damp patch - but it's more pleasing for me not to give it.

On the boat, AquaPackers, we spent evening reading, playing scrabble and rude scrabble, listening to the radio... The radio (Fifeshire FM - it seems this is Fifeshire) played the same irritating Austen Powers music again and again throughout the evening.

I went up on deck and looked into the dark night at the Milky Way, Mars (?) and stars so bright they reflected off the water.

Walking the next morning, I -thought- that this was vegetable sheep. Apparently it's not.

This is at Farewell Spit, the northernmost point of the South Island.

No home should be without one.

Drove to Tata Point and the Abel Tasman memorial (not that we knew it was there until we saw it). The coastline was fantastic, great stacks of salty limestone rock, layered like Punakaiki, but rising up over the road or collapsed into the sea, huge square caramel slices of stone lying half-submerged in the water.

The memorial is the unworldly glowing white obelisk on the hill.

We saw a pair of rock climbers on one of the stacks, which was surprising as they were right beside the road edge - but also understandable because it looked like great climbing and the sun was out, and the air was still and not too cold.

A bit further on, and there's a sandy beach and the sea with only the gentlest of ripples on the surface. It was serene, peaceful and quiet, and the water was beautifully clear.

This was near Niki Jimenez's house, but I don't know if she created it.

This obscene thing was growing in the hostel's back yard. You can see the banana fruit at the top.

I joined a small demo outside the parliament buildings in support of the Civil Union Bill currently before parliament. The bill allows unmarried couples, including gay and lesbian ones, to register their relationships and receive the same rights as married couples.

I've read some criticism - that gays and lesbians shouldn't settle for anything less than full marriage, or that we shouldn't be fighting to have access to or even emulate the faulty, clapped-out institution that marriage is. The vast majority support it though. The wider public are fairly evenly split here in New Zealand, I think, but maybe MPs are marginally more behind it. The Labour government in New Zealand is far more to the left than the Labour government in the UK.

There were a few speeches, and somebody sang and played the synthesiser. She had energy, but otherwise it was painful to listen to.

I went inside to see the parliament buildings. Didn't have time to do a guided tour, but was able to watch the goings-on from the public gallery. There was a final discussion of some legislation regarding sign language and the deaf in New Zealand, though I couldn't tell from what I heard exactly what the Bill would do. The public gallery, unlike the floor of the House, was packed, and although everyone kept quiet, I could see many conversations going on through sign. Some were holding conversations right across the house.

There were a few MPs there - maybe half a dozen visible to me on the government benches.

- One MP addresses the House

- Up to one MP may pay attention

- Half the remainder read their own notes

- One will be on their in-seat telephone

- More will be huddled in groups chatting among themselves. This includes the Speaker.

- Two or three will be wandering between the benches, rustling and carrying files and papers.

I suppose that's typical of politicians the world over. I've not been to the House of Commons in London, but I don't suppose it's much different (do they have in-seat telephones, though?) It's not the public's apathy towards politics we should worry about; it's politicians'. How dare public servants - elected to represent the electorate to the best of their ability - show such lack of interest!

We wandered down to Civic Square and looked around the City Gallery - I was keen to see the Tracey Emin exhibition. Other than when Emin's been shocking enough to merit news coverage, I've not heard much about her - but I had a vague feeling that she was attention-seeking and obnoxious. I still feel that way. Much of her work was deliberately shocking without saying much (Red White and Fucking Blue was the centrepiece, a bright neon sign). There were childish scrawls and childish, but sexually explicit drawings, and then childish scrawls carefully stitched into fabric.

I suppose it says something about the sexualisation of children, and Emin is exploring her feelings about when she was raped as a teenager. But what is the something she's saying? I don't know.

I sat in the cafe at the Whakapapa ski resort, looking at the blizzard of sleet and snow coming down, and waiting for my 4pm bus.

It was great being able to snowboard again. The first day, I was slow and stuck to doing falling leaf, zigzagging down the slope. Only the beginner's slope, Happy Valley, had opened. There wasn't much snow - but enough for me to get back to how I was in France. On the second day I was dismounting the chairlift without falling over, and even being able to turn properly, and not fall over too much.

It's very different to Les Arcs - the greater number of people, the lesser amount of snow, the fewer shops and cafes. It's not traditional French cooking either; instead it's traditional Kiwi fare: pie and chips, spag bol, soup, burger, etc. Many many Japanese tourists, a few Brits (mostly working here for the season), and many Kiwis down from Auckland or up from Palmerston North ('Palmy').

Without the language barrier, it seems a far friendlier place, though. Every time I've taken the chairlift, I've had a conversation. On the second morning, the chairlift stopped, broken, for twenty minutes, and I had a decent chat with the Aucklander sat beside me. Snow fragments dropped from our snowboards, and my leg began to go numb. A ski-buggy zoomed down from the cafe to the bottom of the slope. We were only a minute from the top. Skiers were walking up the slope, having given up on the lift. I disconnected my foot from the snowboard, which gave some relief. The guy next to me shouted to some of his friends on the slope, and they laughed back at him. We looked on in resigned wonder and with a detached fascination as staff with climbing gear and ropes pointed from below and looked serious. Fortunately, the lift started up again, and we all made it back to snowy Earth without difficulty.

Buying a rug for her flat.

Meal with John, Lyn, Pete and Juli at Thai Friends in Parnell.