World Headquarters of the Verb: Part II

Re-reading my post from September 29 I realise that since then I have put this idea much more succinctly. Being 12 hours ahead of England - I'm already sober Sunday when you're Saturday Night Live! P.S. when after months of dilberation I sat down to write this blog I immediately realised that I didn't want to fill my profile with all same old junk that I'd accumulated over the years - favourite book, film, etc - that wasn't what this gig was going to be about. However, this decision has left my profile looking a little barren. So instead I've decided to use that space to chart the films, books, songs etc that I discover during this trip. Enjoy.

A Tribute to All Those Who Have Come to These Shores

Yesterday was the one month anniversary of my arrival in New Zealand and I must admit when I woke up in the morning I was feeling a little under the weather. I'd worked all weekend and Labour Day - the wettest, windiest, coldest, darkest Labour Day weekend in a decade. 76mm of rain fell on Wellington over the holiday compared with the usual average of 6mm! Not that I minded - I was working and when I wasn't the rain beat on the tin roof of my room while I was snug inside. But it carried on raining on my Tuesday day off; cabin fever was creeping in and on the way back from a Tim-Tam run I caught myself thinking about going to the pub. Now I knew when I set out on this little escapade that in order for it to have any chance of succeeding certain old habits were going to have to die - no matter how hard - and top of the list was that well worn favourite 'Drinking alone'. So I was pleased to hear a strange voice in my ear telling me to go home and have a cuppa tea with my new housemates instead. Which I did. If I carry on winning battles like this I might just win the war. Still, by yesterday morning I was feeling out of sorts. Even though the rain had stopped and the sky was clear I was feeling blue. So I breathed deeper, opened my eyes and ears wider and struck out in a new direction - namely Roseneath. I followed the road which winds all the way to the top of Mount Victoria and from there surveyed the city which is now home. Fantastic. On a clear day like yesterday you can see all the way out to the Cook Strait, to the Rimutaka Range and north to the Hutt Valley. To one side the suburbs of Hataitai and Kilbirnie, to the other the towers of downtown and Lambton Quay. And one-by-one, from out of the sky above comes plane after plane, banking hard over the harbour, lower and lower over Evans Bay and now it's below you and it seems it's too low and it's going to crash but lands safely on the Lyall Bay runway. From here I descended down onto Courtney Place and over coffee and cake saw a listing for a film that very hour at the National Library - 'Beyond the Roaring Forties - a history of sealing and whaling, of shipwrecks and marooned castaways and of man's doomed efforts to settle and farm New Zealand's sub-Antartic islands. Fantastic! I don't know about beyond the roaring forties but I was certainly the only person in the auditorium under 40. The film dated from the early 80s and featured many a bearded jumper - the kind that if worn in the Orkney rather than the Auckland Isles would certainly still bear a well-worn Blue Peter badge. Footage of oily seals and penguins sent me home feeling refreshed and best of all - a call from a friend to say she is coming to stay next February. Perfect x

Lyall Bay, Wellington NZ

So much has happened since my last post and I haven't the time to tell all right now so meanwhile here is a panoramic view of Lyall Bay I took yesterday afternoon. The sun on the screen made it hard to see but this is the first picture I've uploaded from my phone so kinda exciting. You can't see the surfers but you can just about make out a plane on Wellington Airport runway. The planes were silver coming out of the blue, the surf was white and the surfers themselves seal black against the sea. That was yesterday. Today the wind and rain has lashed me to my room with nothing but my new ebony guitar for company. The bar across the street has been playing the blues all afternoon and now that my housemate Sarah is awake we're going to try and make it out the door. We may be gone for some time x

I love going to movies by myself

I love going to movies by myself. Without a friend or date beside you sharing your popcorn you can completely lose yourself, firstly in the anonymity of the darkened theatre and secondly in the celluloid world on the screen. And afterwards, if the film is particularly good, you can walk all the way home with your head still lost in that world, without interruptions asking you 'What did you think?' Don't get me wrong, I love going to movies with friends and discussing it afterwards. But I think people should go to the pictures by themselves more often. I've been twice this week. First, I went to see Nacho Libre. Jack 'cartoon' Black and his technicolour blue skies brightened up another dreary Wellington day. However, these paled compared to the film I saw last night. This week I finished reading 'The Black Dahlia' by James Ellroy and I was thirsty for more period- America LA noir. 'Brick' was showing at the Rialto cinema in town. I wasn't sure at first- loved the soundtrack, loved the look but was worried these hip speaking kids weren't going to pull it off. I was wrong and by the time we got round to the scene between Brendon and the Principal/Police chief I was grinning from ear to ear and didn't stop till the final reel/reveal wiped the smile right off of my face. My walk home was scripted by Raymond Chandler with a voice over by Bogart and I'll be reading Sam Spade once my library card is through. As I said, I love going to movies by myself. It's my birthday the day after tomorrow and if I don't get a better offer maybe I'll go to the pictures. If anybody wants to buy me Alabama for the night, I'll be in the Dream City Film Club from 9 x

Rocktober 1st, Wellington NZ

Last night (Saturday) went to the BATS theatre here in Wellington to see 'Yours, truly', a play about Jack the Ripper. Rarely has a production been so suited to it's surroundings. It was as if the theatre had been dressed especially. The play was an enjoyably macabre romp throught Ripper mythology with all the usual suspects present and correct - Sickert, aslyums, Masons, etc. The casting was excellent, the portrayal of William Gull particularly impressive and the whole performance was served with a nice slice of almost Rubenesque pie on the side. Afterwards in the bar, the spirit of Boss Christ came over me - F**k yeah! Picture Jack Pierce's Werewolf of London dressed in Springsteen's blue jeans and sleaveless T and you've pretty much got it. Latin tinged guitar instrumentals and a local version of Folsam Prison Blues made my night. Managed to drag my sorry arse out of bed this morning despite the clocks going forward (so that's why I've been only 11 hours ahead instead of 12!) and visited Te Papa which is excellent. I anticipate many a return visit - far too much to see in one go. Particularly liked the exhibit on earthquakes - when Maui hauled his fish out of the sea and made Te Ika-a-Maui (aka the North Island) I think he must of left his line in cuz the whole island is still writhing on the end it. The western edge of the Pacific plate runs right through here like a fishing wire - and Wellington has swallowed the bait. First day on the job tomorrow so early night tonight but before I sign off - Happy f**kin' Birthday Chris and hope u had a good one. TTFN x