The Rose in the Lily Pond

I have become dependent on my “Breaking Bad” fix.  It’s a tv series about a chemistry high school teacher diagnosed with terminal cancer who decides to cook meth as a means to earn enough money for his wife, son and daughter to live a comfortable life after he’s gone.  I’m an absolute addict. Just as the show depicts meth heads craving their next hit, I’m at work counting down the minutes, itching and biting my nails at 5 to 5, gagging to get home and watch Walt and Jesse self destruct in their next big venture. A friend gave me seasons 1-4 and I have been staying up to the wee hours of the morning on the edge of my seat, covering my eyes then rewinding to see what I was too scared to watch the first time round, and I’m finished. I’m out, and my flatmates and I have the withdrawal symptoms bad. We sat in silence for about 20 minutes after the end. Depressed that we wont have it to look forward to after a hard day’s work. We knew that there was a season ...

Ok, ok, ok, I can tolerate the mountain of baby photos, the incessant need to post whatever culinary delight you may be eating but the line has to be drawn somewhere and I believe I have found it. I logged on today to find a picture of a potty with a little puddle of wee in it. I don’t care how proud you are that your little darling has done her first, “mummy wow – I’m a big kid now” moment – that should never be shared – not even your family and close friends want to see that let alone the hordes of facebook acquaintances you have made over the years. Instead of blame you, I am going to blame the cause - smart phones. They’re dangerous - they’re too instant and something that can seem like a good idea at the time is really not...  I think there needs to be a ‘count to 10’ application: 1.     I wouldn't put this on my kid’s 21 st board so why would I put it up on facebook? 2.     Would I show my mum this post? 3.   ...

After that horrible anxious moment of waking up and thinking you’ve slept through you’re alarm and now you’re really late for work, and you’ll probably be fired, and forced to do something treacherous to make a living and... then, realising that it’s Sunday and you snuggle back into your covers not caring about the time. It’s the first Sunday that I’ve had absolutely nothing to do, and after relishing it, I was a bit lost. What can I do? I feel like you need knowledge to have fun in the country. There’s an amazing surf beach, but I don’t know how to surf, I want to learn eventually but I’m a bit scared of drowning at that rough west coast beach, you see people riding horses, but I don’t have a horse, and I don’t know how to ride one. I have no interest in hunting or fishing... but I do have legs! So off I go down Turkey Flat road in Te Koporu. First off, it wasn’t flat, and I didn’t see one turkey, so misleading if you ask me, but it was lovely... Peaceful. Rolling coun...

Hiking up from the lakes and overlooking the longest drivable beach in NZ. It’s an absolutely stunning area to live. Fresh water, Kai Iwi lakes is only 30 minutes away, and the rough beauty of the wild west coast is accessible at Baylys Beach, a short drive away, but living in a small town will take some getting used to.    I remember coming up for my interview and feeling very much like an outsider. I got a flat white at a local cafe which could compete with any cafe in Auckland, and observed people coming and going. I didn’t feel at ease as I usually do when I enjoy a solo coffee, and I couldn’t really put my finger on it, but now I can – in Auckland, I’m anonymous. No one really cares who you are or what you’re about when you’re sipping on a latte in Auckland which kind of gives you privacy in public spaces. I could happily read ‘50 shades of grey’ for example, but in Dargaville – and I’m not sure if I’m imagining this or not – comers and goers gave me...

Going to eat a lot of peaches. Well kumara at least. I have snagged a job at the Kaipara Lifestyler newspaper in Dargaville, Kumara capital of New Zealand – and well, I guess, the world. Even people from Dargaville are asking – why? Why make a move from Auckland where I have a close network of friends as well as my family to Dargaville – population 5,000 and friend count, 0. At this point, I’m not sure of the answer but I figure the tag line on this blog is, “have an adventure, they are amazing” so I might as well live up to that. It’s my first “real” job and it’s been a bit tough so far, I’m not going to lie. My friends tell me that this 40 plus hour a week stuff is “real life” – gosh take me back to travelling the world and working in coffee shops or doing a masters and working in a pub part time. Actually scratch the masters part - has to be better than doing the masters. The stories that I’m doing are a bit different than the investigative journalism that I ...

One: Don't, don’t do it. Thinking of doing a masters? My biggest piece of advice would be – don’t! Don’t do it, don’t start. I know it’s pretty rough out there and landing a job is like New Zealand breaking a world record on the first day of the Olympics (oh wait – we did that!) but  work for free if you have to. Anything but put yourself through the torture, the pain, the suffering. Save yourself a lot of sleepless nights, panic attacks and oh, probably about five kilos and turn around now. Are you still with me? Of course you are – because we all have that little light bulb of denial, “Oh yeah, but that won’t happen to me.” Well fellow masochist, maybe I can help you out. Two: Start by looking at past examples. Simple right? Look at past examples of people’s work. I did a practical thesis which meant that I also had to write an exegesis. Don’t know what an exegesis is? Until about a month before it was due, I didn’t either. Then I was in panic mode – tryin...

Our BFG  It may stand for the Big Friendly Goat, but he had many of the qualities of a Big Friendly Giant. Big, kind, gentle and always ready to give you a nudge of affection every time you come and visit. I have fond memories of feeding him out of a bottle when I first started high school.  I used to walk through the goat paddock on my way to school and he would chew on my uniform so I had to go to class covered in goat slobber.   He died last night. My mother thinks he fell over and he couldn’t get up but I tell myself that he died peacefully in his sleep. He never slept in his goat house, he just never could get comfortable, so he’d sleep outside in the freezing cold and rain which gave him bad legs and foot root. It never seemed to bother him though. He still enjoyed his treats each morning, and head butting his sister, Gerry.   Mum and Gerry After my brother said matter of factly, “Tom died last night” my mother and I made our way down to t...