The Rose in the Lily Pond

Sick of eating the same old crap, my friends and I have started up a cooking club if you will. Every week one of us picks a recipe then sends an email around to tell the others what to bring. We cook it together, and eat it together, and it’s a way of trying something a little bit fancy. Since high school Danielle and I would dream of what we were going to eat when we got out of school to get us though the day, so it was only natural that it progressed into our mid 20s.  The first one got off to an interesting start. I choose a delicious and succulent Italian styled stuffed  chicken recipe. It had my mouth watering through out the day.  Well that was until I got a txt from a friend that recently got back into town and wanted to meet up at 5pm. I wasn’t meeting Gavin until 7.30pm so I thought it would be tons of time to have a quick drink, go to the supermarket, buy the ingredients and then get back to my apartment. Nope, no, I thought wrong. I got completely lost in conversation wi

I am rather sick of opening the New Zealand Herald and reading about how promiscuous New Zealand women are. As my flatmate says, there are more important issues going on in the world than how many sexual partners New Zealand women have had. But as they say, sex sells, even when it’s wrapped up in a Salem witch burning package.   The condom company Durex conducted a survey that found New Zealand women to be the most promiscuous in the world. They claim that Kiwi women on average have 20.4 partners and Kiwi men have 16.8. Dr Dr Albert Makary, a Timaru gynaecologist, quoted these statistics as he urged the media to stigmatise promiscuity, and called for a “Nana Revolution” – his reasons, unwanted pregnancy and sexually transmitted diseases. Others claim that New Zealand women are being promiscuous to try and find love and boost their self esteem, and they wind up getting hurt when it doesn’t result in a relationship. Let’s take a step back shall we? -           The survey was conducted by

My life could have been completely different if my parents called me magenta, but luckily they called me Rose. I was born in Golden Bay, New Zealand, a small town community that held a mixture of “alternative” jewellers, artists and yoga junkies with famers and rugby heads. My parents were more on the alternative side, and I played with kids named, “Fern” and “Clay”. Our family owned a few barn yard animals though, we weren’t woken by alarm clocks but instead the strangled crow of the rooster strutting proudly outside. I named two of our chickens Dorothy and Toto. Mum would hate it, but I would sneak them inside cuddle up with them and watch TV. When we walked our dog, a beautiful collie named Lassie, Toto and Dorothy would come along too. A strange site for the lonely tourist down on the Tukarua beach, but the most normal thing for us.   My Dad got a job in Auckland with New Zealand Autocar magazine when I was 12. I hated my Dad for saying yes at the time. I dug in my heels, and made