The land of sheep and chocolate

Its the end of the road for sheep and chocolate

2008-01-14T23:41:00.001-08:00

Having failed to update sheepandchocolate for a year, I am declaring it dead.

However, I am carrying on at Eatmyhorowhenua - a blog in bite-sized chunks! It's the same but different.

Feed you face at www.eatmyhorowhenua.blogspot.com

More Mountains

2007-07-21T04:21:00.001-07:00

It’s six months since we’ve ventured into the Tararuas behind Levin. The forests up there are massive and untouched, but it’s all a bit of an effort to get to them through the miles of ankle deep mud. But there is an alternative, behind the village of Manakau where we were confidently informed by the tourist office that we could drive straight to the walking track and leave the car in a car park. It sounded too good to be true. Was it too good to be true?

Of course it was. You have to be careful of Kiwis. They don’t have the same sense of danger as the rest of us. What we were told was that we could just drive through the gate to the next gate and then to the car park. Here’s a list of things we were not made aware of:

1. The road was a winding, potholed mud track.

2. The track was on the edge of a narrow precipice.

3. The track was several kilometres long.

4. There was nowhere to turn around.

The chances of sliding off the side of the cliff were therefore higher than expected.

Having said that, the views through the valley were pretty good and there were some cute baby cows on the track. And it probably wasn’t as bad as we thought. The most frightening part about it, apart from the fear of skidding to our deaths, was that we had no idea how long the track was; we were under the impression that it was a few hundred yards but it seemed like it was going to go on forever.

The advantage is of course that you get the place to yourself. No-one else was stupid enough to drive down that road this afternoon. There was a lovely bush walk down to a river bend, clear water bubbling through the gravel and jagged forested hills looming in the background. You almost felt like we were the only people ever to have gone there. Perhaps having to put in a huge effort to get to these places makes them all the more special.

My old boss once said that he thought the area didn’t get many tourists because it didn’t make the most of its assets and I have to agree. The mountains are great but you have to be pretty determined to get to them. I just feel that it would be nice if there was easy access to the forest somewhere in the district. It can’t be much too much to ask can it?

Cheese

2007-07-08T03:14:00.000-07:00

Charles de Gaul once asked how you could run a country with 246 different types of cheese. In fact he was wrong; France has more than 400 different types. He would have no such problem here.

New Zealand is famous for its dairy industry, which is responsible for half of its greenhouse gas emissions. With so much milk sloshing around, you’d think the cheese here would be brilliant, in the same way as the chocolate is. But you’d be wrong. Supermarket fridge shelves are full to bursting with cheese but it only come in 4 types, all of which are essentially the same. Mild tastes like mild cheddar. Tasty tastes like strong cheddar. Colby also tastes like mild cheddar, as does Edam.

The bizarre thing is that there are loads of dairy companies all making exactly the same range. At Countdown the other day, in a slightly French fug at the lack variety in cheese, I counted eight different ranges of Colby, Mild, Anchor and Tasty. That’s Mainland, Anchor, Valumetric, Basics, Signiture Range, Alpine, Dairy Fresh and another one as well. That’s 32 different varieties of identical cheese. Is this what Maggie meant by consumer choice?

Wellington

2007-07-08T03:12:00.000-07:00

Levin has its good points but it is quite insular. It’s a very small place, and isolated, being 40 minutes by road from anywhere. There is a daily paper published in the town which has one page of national news, with the rest of the paper being devoted to local events and moaning about the council. I realised the other day that after a year here I have no idea what David Beckham has been up to. Living here is like living in the 1970’s, whilst the rest of New Zealand has probably made it to the 90’s by now.

All this is rubbing off on use just a little bit as we realised the other day when we went to Wellington for the day. Wellington is not exactly a big city but compared to Levin it really feels huge and super-sophisticated.

We are so used to small-town living that we were completely thrown by basic things like one way systems and not being able to park right outside the place where we were going to. But there seemed to be a real buzz in the air, a palpable feeling of excitement like this was the kind of place where things really happen, like important decisions being made or buses running on a regular basis.

I have moved jobs now and I am commuting to the next town down the highway from Levin, towards Wellington and closer to the action. I am already feeling like I’ve made steps into a larger world.

The PM comes to town

2007-05-20T04:19:00.000-07:00

Today was a big day in the Horowhenua with the visit of the Prime Minister, Helen Clark, for the official opening of Council's impressive new offices. You don't get to meet the PM very often and I wasn't about to miss the opportunity.

Helen, as we were advised to address her, is a woman known for her severe hair, serious expression and eyes so fierce they could freeze the blood in your veins at ten paces. She is a woman who has what you need to survive in a mans world and she's been in power for eight years.

We assembled in the swanky new lobby, waiting for the PM to arrive, which she duly did, to be greeted in what I assume is the traditional Maori way, by a man dressed in a flax skirt with ferns wrapped round his legs and torso. She waited by the arch until everyone was ready and then there was singing as she walked into the building, surrounded by no security whatsoever. It's nice that the PM feels safe to enter a room full of people who could be anyone; no-one having been bothering to check identification on the door. But in a country with 2 million guns, is it wise?

There is something odd about seeing someone who you have only ever seen on TV; they always look the same, but different. Helen is much bigger than expected. Not taller or fatter; just bigger. But she is much less harsh. As she walked down the aisle past where we were sitting, I couldn't decide whether to doff my cap or try and meet her steely gaze. But she smiled and walked on.

Then there were speaches. Half an hour of the local Maori bigwigs talking in Maori. Which was excessive I felt. Then the mayor spoke for a bit about how well things are going in the district.

We listened politely and attempted to entertain Lily. But any one-year-old in a hushed event is like a bomb waiting to go off and the tension was mounting until the PM finally took to the stage and told us how great the building was and what great things the Council is doing. Lily sat through it all, but it was a relief when it all finished without any screaching incidents.

Helen actually seemed rather nice. Afterwards, a couple of people demanded to have their picture taken with her and she seemed happy to oblige. She had a quick chat with a few people before disappearing out the front to be taken back to Auckland, leaving behind a vague impression of someone who was slightly fluffier than expected. She has got cold, hard eyes. But that's because she makes cold, hard choices. She is, afterall, the PM, not a cuddly toy.

Doggy Power Struggle

2007-05-14T03:52:00.000-07:00

Continued doggy indiscipline has has meant that we had to cave in to the inevitable last week and bring in the dog trainer. Too much barking in the front garden, and chasing flys round the sitting room has pushed us over the edge. Enough is enough.

They are cute and furry, but Molly clearly thinks she is in charge, or so said the dog trainer. Even Jake, downtrodden whipping boy of the pack apparently doesn't respect us. He just can't take on Molly. So, an evening routine has been establised where we bully the pair of them for ten minutes in order to show them who is in fact in charge.

And it is working, and has done right from the start. Both of them are much calmer and happier. By all accounts they don't want to be in charge; they just weren't convinced we were up to the job. Now we have started pushing them around, they seem quite relieved to hand over the reigns. Molly has become quite submissive.

The only unexpected consequence is that Jake has become more uppity and wilful and has started to stand up to bullying, formerly power-mad Molly. Last night they wrestled for hours and for the first time ever, he comprehesively defeated her. He seems to have decided that the time is right for changes to be made in the structure of the pack. Which all means that Molly is now trying to reassert herself to cover her own position.

Dog ownership. It's a constant fight for supremacy.

Hot Dogs and Hot Weather

2007-02-18T01:22:00.000-08:00

After lots of false starts and just in time for my Mum and Dad's visit, Summer's finally here in the Horowhenua. After months of wind and rain we've had unbroken sunshine for the last two weeks.

It's all too much for Jake, the shaggy and confused Cavalier King Charles Spaniel whose thick black coat is long and fluffy, ready to keep him warm as toast in the cold English winter. Here in the strong Kiwi sunshine he has been flopping around on the kitchen floor trying to keep cool, and shedding black clumps of hair all over the carpets. So we've given him a drastic haircut and he looks like a puppy again. And under all the hair, we can see enough of him now to be able to tell that, in spite of months of dieting, he is still a bit fat.

Summer also means that the beaches are (relatively) full. At Foxton Beach today the water was sparkly blue with waves gently lapping onto the grey sand. Still a bit cold mind.

Lily's Top 5 words

2007-02-18T01:18:00.000-08:00

1. Mum
2. Dad
3. Duck
4. Milk
5. Teeth

My Courgette Hell

2007-02-02T14:43:00.000-08:00

How many courgettes does a man need? I quite like them, so I put two plants in and we've been inundated for the last eight weeks. I've let some turn into marrows the size of rugby balls. What can you do with those? There is only so much marrow you can eat at any one time. Being inexperienced in these matters I put another three plants in a while ago and they are now leaping into production. We are going to be buried in courgettes. I think we will probably have enough that we could live on them and nothing else, if we wanted, which we don't. And there's not much else doing in the vegetable patch at the moment. That's my courgette hell.

First Curry

2007-01-08T02:16:00.000-08:00

There are many important mile-stones in a baby's life and at the weekend, Lily passed one of the most important. At the age of nine and three quarter months, watched by her proud parents, she ate her first aloo gobi.

Of course there's lots going on at this age and every day is different. But this event stands out amongst her daily progress. As it happens, on the same day, she also crawled tentatively for the first time, but this news has been drowned out by the other memorable acheivements.

Obsessed with Paint

2007-01-03T01:07:00.000-08:00

I spend half my evenings painting at the moment, which is probably not unusual for someone whose just bought a house. In the absence of anything more interesting to write about, I offer you this observation for your consideration.

There's something special about a new pot of paint. Maybe it's the crisp label, unblemished and unfrayed. Maybe it's the absence of drips running down the side of the can. Perhaps its the perfect unbent shiny lid and the clean rim, unspoilt by stray dribbles of paint. Whatever it is, like a new book, the effect only lasts until it's opened, after which it never looks so immaculate again.

Now that I'm a father-of-one with a mortgage, I haven't got the time or money for books, so it looks like my bookowning obsession has transferred itself to paint, which isn't necessarily a bad thing as I have to buy it anyway. Or possibly I'm developing an obsessive compulsive disorder in the style of David Beckham and I'll soon be arranging the beer bottles in my fridge in perfect lines, labels forward. I've already done it with the pots of paint.

Life in New Zealand then, carries on uneventfully.

Baby Trekking

2007-01-01T18:28:00.000-08:00

We've been avoiding the Tararua Forest Park ever since we got stuck in the mud with two dogs and a baby. But being able to tramp through the forests is one of the main reasons we came to live down here and it is a shame we've allowed ourselves to be put off.

To be fair, we have to consider Lily and whether its sensible to venture into the mountains with a nine-month old baby. And then there are the dogs to worry about. Thay are allowed in, but they are also guarenteed to be a constant nuisance, wondering off the paths and quite possibly slipping or falling down the slopes where I don't want to have to follow them. So when we've been out walking, we've gone elsewhere. But for new year, we had a visitor; Nick, who is on a round the world trip and determined to make the most of it. Time for us to take the park out of the too difficult bin.

As with our last visit, we were filled with a sense of dread on the way in, mostly due to the sign erected by the killjoys of the Levin Rotary Club, to warn about the dangers within. Don't come in here without full military style preparations or you'll probably die drowning in freezing mud is essentially what it says. It's perhaps a bit over the top.

There is a lot of mud though. More rain falls on the Tararua Ranges than you would ever believe possible and its not been especially dry recently. And to reach the forest you have to negotiate a mile or so of mud. Not being properly equipped with boots, I danced across the fields, leaping from stones to dry patches until the inevitable happened and found myself ankle deep in mud which was probably a blessing because from that point on I could relax.

As it turned out, the forest is well worth the effort. The paths are narrow, muddy and often difficult to negotiate, but the woods are cool and untouched, with lots of different trees, ferns and that sort of thing.

And Lily had a whale of a time, strapped to my front in a sling. She whooped and wriggled with excitement as we climbed up the slippery paths, and tried to grab loose branches when we went past them. When I got tired, Nick took over which only added to the excitement as far as she was concerned. It just shows that having a baby is no bar to adventurous activities and if you have one, I urge you to carry them into the mountains whenever you get the chance. As far as I am concerned, the Levin Rotary Club and their sign can both get stuffed.

Kiwi Christmas

2006-12-26T01:34:00.000-08:00

Despite cliches of summer Christmas and dinner on the beach, Christmas day here is not much different here to at home. It was a bit chilly and it rained all day, the same as it does every year by all acounts. Fortunately, we were staying at home all day so that was no problem.

Despite the predictably dreary weather, Christmas day was very nice. We made an important step towards self sufficiency when Jo bought a beer making kit for me, and we harvested some of our own vegetables for the first time; some nice big new potatoes and some tiny tiny carrots, the biggest of which was the size of a golf ball. There was also a tiny tiny beetroot the size of one of Lily's fingers. Very tasty, but nonetheless slightly disappointing.

A baby's first Christmas is very exciting for the parents and more so than for the baby who really doesn't have much of an idea what's happening and is more than likely a little freaked out by the whole thing. Lily enjoyed her presents and, of course, the wrapping paper. But we the parents absolutely loved it. We bought her an amazing toy which blows balls out of a tube like a bingo machine whilst playing music and making funny noises. The balls are supposed to land in a tray and go round again, but half the time they don't and the poor parents are sent scampering across the floor to round them up whilst the baby squeals with delight. So we were exhausted by lunchtime. Those interested can check out the video.

Boxing Day today and I'm back at work tomorrow. Only 15 days holiday for council workers in this country and I'm saving my days for later.

Summer's Here!

2006-12-11T00:58:00.000-08:00

The sun is shining, the wind has stopped blowing and the town is looking terrific! Hooray!

The Dogs Are Fat

2006-12-05T00:40:00.000-08:00

Just like at home, obesity is rife in this country and the Hattam househld is no exception. The dogs are fat. They are both over a kilo overweight, which is a reasonable amount for a small dog. You ought to be able to feel a dogs ribs and with our two you can't. They have litle rolls of fat on their necks.

It's the food. At home we fed them on dried nutritionally balanced dog food. Here we feed them dog roll. It looks like pate and they love it! Jakes spins around in circles and barks with excitement. But dog roll is mostly salt and fat so they are having to be weaned off it.

I'm no different though. I've been munching my way through half a kilo of chocolate a week, in the office, away from Jo's prying eyes. I can still feel my ribs though so there's no panic. I've munched my way through most of the entire huge Cadbury's range now (except the white chocolate filled with strawberry creme, obviously). But I haven't tried the Whitakers range yet so there's still work to be done in the coming weeks and months.

So, it's no wonder there's a tendancy for the the Kiwis to be a bit porky.

Watford FC Old Boys Club NZ

2006-11-29T01:46:00.000-08:00

It has come to my attention that there's a link to this site from Watford Yellow Fever, Watford FC's most amusing fan blog. That's my cue to discuss the NZ footy situation, which I will attempt to do in the style of that site.

Professional pig's rear-end impersonator Ian Dowie may have disappeared from the scene for now, but what about all the other football people we never hear about any more? Like Darren Bazeley for instance. He inexplicably left the Golden Boys for moneybags underacheivers Wolves in 1999, despite Watford's phenomenal rise to the premiership that year. Then he was never heard of again, by me at least, until now. He has turned up as captain of the New Zealand Knights, Auckland's football team. They are clinging to the bottom of the Aussie league (or ladder as they insist on calling it), in much the same way that Watford are stuck to the bottom of the premiership like a bear glued to a skateboard (only worse: Played 14, Won 2, Goal Difference -27).

If that wasn't exciting enough, the team also features none other than Richard Johnson, who is not only in the squad, but apparently fit and making it onto the pitch. He scored two goals last season, presumably from his trademark thunderous strikes. Rumours abound that the knights are trying to recreate the glory days of Graham Taylor's second coming and Michel Ngonge has apparently been spotted around North Shore, along with Neil Cox and a fit again Nick Wright. Bring it on!

Those interested can check out the Knights impressive website.

How we are doing

2006-11-28T01:28:00.000-08:00

I've been here four months now. Jo and Lily have been here for three (and Molly and Jake two). So, how are we all doing?

Progress in general is good and we are loving our little house. We have painted two rooms (one apricot and one lilac) and put up some pictures so it feels like a home.

Jo is liking it here and keeping herself busy with a variety of baby related activities. Lily goes swimming on a Monday, to playgroup on Tuesday and Thursday, to Music group on a Friday and I think something happens on Wednesday as well. All good.

Lily's been ill this week. She's had projectile vomiting and stinky nappies. Pretty distressing for us all, but she's better now and back to her happy self. She's nearly nine months old now and desperate to crawl. She goes backwards about 6 inches then gets frustrated and starts crying. She's mostly happy though.

We can tell Molly has settled in because she is getting uppity. She gets jealous if any attention is paid by the pack leader (that's me, in her eyes anyway) to any other member of the household. She likes to stand on the back of the sofa and stare out of the window ready to bark at passers-bay. So she's back to her old self, slightly highly strung and stressed by the weight of responsibility she feels because she thinks she's my number 2. Jake knows his place.

The vege garden has been cleared and fenced off from foraging dogs. We have had lettuces and there are potatoes and cabbagey things on the way. I consider it a success.

Things have been quiet this week. I am currently watching Moon TV, a sketch show featuring Speedo Cops - police officers dressed in swimming trunks (and shirts) for no apparent reason. It's hilarious!

Ferroro Roche is Back. Hooray!

2006-11-21T01:59:00.000-08:00

Who could forget the Ferrero Roche advert? The ambassodor's party. The exquisite good taste. And people saying with this Roche you are really spoiling us. Five years on I can still recite it line for line. How we all laughed at the extreme naffness of it all. Jo and I were sad to leave that kind of quality advertising behind.

And things here can be a little different. Take government information adverts which tend to be just a little, well, blunt. If you drink and drive, you're a bloody idiot. If you go in a car with a drunk driver, he's pissed and your screwed. If you drop litter, you're a tosser. There's no telling whether these name-calling adverts actually work but the only way to keep the shock value of them is to continually up the ante, so who knows where it's all going to end.

New Zealand is a small market and it does show. A lot of the adverts are very cheap, with still photos and a commentary, in the style of cinema adverts from the 80's. Worst offender is Mick Quin, owners of Quins garages, who stands by every garage he sells. His advert features him standing by a selection of garages he has sold, pouting and looking fierce. Equally bad is rival Fair Dinkum Sheds, whose advert consists of a selection of still shots of sheds. Outbuildings are, as I have previously mentioned, a huge business here.

Adverts for cleaning products tend to be the same as the ones in England except that the name of the product is different. Vanish is NapiSan Oxyaction Max which doesn't trip off the tongue quite so easily. Cillit Bang! is Easy Off Bam! here. Bam! and the dirt is gone.

And Ferrero Roche are here as well and seem to have come up trumps again with another cracking avert, as the chocolate that fell to earth from the gods of Ancient Greece. We can only marvel at how they've got the front to pass off their tacky chocolate product as the food of gods (or indeed ambassadors), but long may they continue their efforts.

Getting Away

2006-11-13T01:54:00.000-08:00

Having been in the country for over three months, we decided that it was time to see a bit of it. It's a bit tricky to get away with two dogs and a baby, but we're determined to do our best and last week, we got ourselves a giant tent. This weekend we loaded it into the back of the Mazda along with Lily, Molly and Jake and headed for Wanganui, 70 miles up the coast.

Like Levin, Wanganui is a bit of a backwater and slightly off the beaten track. But it is a lovely old historic town in the middle of some fantastic, spectacular countryside. All jolly nice and we were glad we had made the effort to go.

We stayed at Castlecliff, where the beaches are even more wild than those of the Horowhenua. The wind was gusting from the sea and the spray hovered over the black sand like a bank of fog. Safely back from the coast, we were protected from the worst of the wind although the tent did flap noisily through the night. And in the day, the sun was shining as if it was summer, which it almost is now.

The only real drama was the escape of Jake from the tent at 2am and our inability to track him down. I wasn't really worried about him running away because he's not the kind of dog to wonder off deliberately. However, he's not the cleverest beast ever and he could easily lose himself in a campsite. He's also black and difficult to see. I spent 10 minutes in an escalating state of panic, searching the grounds and the beach before he popped out at me from behind a cabin.

So, only a minor incident to blemish an otherwise successful weekend.

Slipping Away

2006-11-13T01:52:00.000-08:00

The wild beaches here are covered with washed up tree-trunks and logs. It gives them a character unlike any tourist beaches I've seen. But you have to wonder where these trees come from.

The quick answer is that they come from the land. And they do. They are washed out on the rivers. But how they get there is something of an environmental disaster.

This is obvious when taking the lovely scenic drive along the Wanganui River from the town over the steep sided hills. There's a look-out point at the top of the hills along the valley, with views of fields and forest and the gorge along which the river flows. It's a stunning view but you can't help but notice the ugly brown scaring along some of the slopes. That's where the trees used to be, before they found their way along the river to be washed up on the beach. It's quite clear that things here aren't what they once were.

There's no way back from this kind of situation. Once the soil has slipped away, its gone for good. Partly, it's caused by the clear cutting of the pine forest. When the trees are gone, there's nothing to hold the soil in place. But it's also the result of decades of environmental mismanagement. Not much more than a hundred years ago the whole region was thick virgin forest but there's almost nothing left of that now. It was burned to the ground for agriculture and by the time anyone realised that much of the land was no real use, the damage was already done.

Things aren't really improving either. The landslips continue to happen, and there is still a mentality here amongst the farmers that land has no value beyond what can be produced from it. Of course, you can't change the past and the native forest is not going to reappear on the slopes of the Wanganui. But it would be nice if a stop could be put to the erosion while there's still a lovely green valley to admire.

Boring Newspapers

2006-11-04T13:59:00.000-08:00

The local paper here, delivered free to 14,203 homes, is the Horowhenua News. Just like all papers, it loves a good crime story. But in a district where there were less than 2,000 crimes last year, it doesn't often get one.

I knew this was a good place to come and live when the front page story was about an old lady whose mailbox had been vandalised. Apparently, she was particularly worried because it happened on a Friday when lots of leaflets get delivered from the local shops. She didn't want to miss out on the special offers in town.

This week, we have the story of a break in at Horowhenua College where a DVD player was stolen, along with the slightly bizarre theft of a heart monitor from the local hospital. And last week, there was a break-in at a beach-house in Hokio, where the thieves made away with six cans of lager and a packet of marsh-mallows.

I feel safe in Levin, but I wish the local press was more interesting.

At Kuku Beach

2006-10-29T02:06:00.000-08:00

Kuku Beach is a wild place. There's no town at Kuku and at first view, there seems to be no beach at all. Leaving the road, you have to clamber across piles of washed up timber to the water. It's not the sea you reach, it's a shallow estuary, separated from the Tasman by a sandbar. You can hear the roar of the waves in the background but you can't see them.

All this was a bit of a surprise to us, who were expecting more vast empty stretches of sand, like you get up and down the rest of the coast. But Kuku Beach is a different kind of a place. Whilst its not exactly an unspoilt wilderness (there's a scrubby pine forest running along the back of the dunes rather than native bush), it has a real back to nature feel. There's ducks on the lagoon, birds twittering in the bushes and not many cars because they can't really get through the fallen tree obstacle course.

And there's hardly anyone around, unlike at Waitarere where the beach is road and the cars and quad-bikes are tootling past.

It's not deserted though and for the time being it has a unique attraction: a replica wigwam made of driftwood. It's big enough to sit in and a feature unlike any in my experience of beaches the world over. It must have taken a couple of schoolkids all day to knock it together.

Levin Idol Update

2006-10-29T01:06:00.000-08:00

And the winner of New Zealand Idol 2006 is.... Matt Saunoa from Levin! Hooray! He was so overwhelmed he could hardly sing. Gawd bless him.

Beach Facts

2006-10-23T00:34:00.000-07:00

It's well known that the population of the world could squeeze onto the Isle of Wight. Horowhenua is a small place which is quite sparsely populated and it's 30,000 people could easily cram itself onto a rugby pitch.

The district has around 30km of beaches reaching all the way from Waikawa at the south to the Manawatu River in the north, in a single long stretch of beautiful flat sand at least 50m deep all the way.

What this means is that, even if the entire district turned up at the beach at the same time, there would still be 1m of sea frontage for each person and 50 square metres of sand. This is an area 5m by 10m, which is big enough to put a small house on. If you compare this with Margate on a sunny day, or Marbella, where there is barely room to move, then you get some idea of how deserted the beaches might be in this part of the world. Even if the whole of Palmerston North City turned out as well, there would still be 13 square metres of sand per person. In the UK, that's enough room for a garage and plenty of space for a picnic.

And of, course, even if all the people of Palmy went to the beach at the same time, most of them would probably head for Himitangi, which isn't even in the district.

So, we can head to the beach in the summer and fully expect that it won't be too crowded.

Levin Idol

2006-10-22T03:49:00.000-07:00

First there was Pop Idol. Then there was American Idol. In Europe, there's Italian Idol, German Idol and Norwegian Idol, amongst many others including Albanian Idol. In this part of the world, there's Australian Idol and inevitably, there's NZ Idol as well. That sounds reason enough to avoid the TV on a Sunday night, I'm sure you'll agree. Afterall, Idol without cartoon baddie Simon Cowell is as pointless as The Apprentice without cartoon baddie Alan Sugar*.

And the statistics don't lie. All in all, out of approximately 642 series of Idol around the world, only Will Young and Kelly Clarkson have emerged as half-way credible artists. In a country with a potential audience of 4m record buyers, obscurity surely beckons for the NZ Idol winner within months.

But recently, something has happened which has made me revise my opinions of the Idol phenomena..

Doing nicely in the NZ competition is Levin's very own Idol, Matt Saunoa. He's made it all the way to the last two, to the grand final in Auckland and the town is going mad for it. Levin is a small place and this kind of thing is a big deal. Nothing much happens here at all, ever, to make the rest of the country take notice and Matt is putting the place on the map.

So, when he returned to town yesterday, to film a grand homecoming in the shopping centre, Jo, Lily and I were determined to be in the audience for possibly the biggest single event in the history of the town.

The venue was the Levin Mall, the central indoor shopping parade. The place was packed and the atmosphere was feverish. We entered through the side door and squeezed up with the crowds until we could see the side of the stage. The town had turned up in force, to the extent that they had to close the doors soon after we arrived. And I must say that there was a lovely atmosphere, a real sense of occasion, with kids on shoulders and lots of screaming.

When Matt did eventually appear the crowd went predictably bonkers and it was touching to see how moved he looked by the reception. How he must feel, leaving the town three months ago as a nonentity and returning to a heroes reception is anyone's guess. This is the kind of place where people would know his face, even if they didn't actually know him, and I almost felt like I was watching a huge family reunion.

As for our man on stage, he has a good voice and he knows how to entertain the crowd, but there's a touch of the honey-monster about him; he's a bit chubby and his moves are slightly awkward; he certainly can't dance. It just adds to his appeal though. With his cheeky grin he's like a young Tom Jones. That's like Tom Jones now, mind, only younger looking. He's not like Tom Jones was when he actually was young.

The final is next week and all of us will be glued to the telly. Pop Idol. It's a wonderful thing.

*Today's not the day to go into the American series of the Apprentice, in which tycoon Martha Stewart is nice (nice!) to the contestants.

The Face of the Horowhenua

2006-10-15T00:47:00.000-07:00

I am now a media star.

A couple of weeks ago, the head of personnel rang me at home in the evening. I must admit that I was quite spooked. Afterall, why would the head of personnel ring me out of the blue in the evening? I naturally assumed he had decided to end my contract there and then and he couldn't wait for me to come to work to tell me.

But I was wrong.

He wanted me to do an interview to promote working for the council. They have quite a few vacancies to fill and they want to appeal to people from outside the region. Levin is something of a backwater on the main road to Wellington. It's just slightly too far to commute everyday and as a result it is mostly known as a place people pass through when they are on their way somewhere else.

So, my job was to tell the people of New Zealand why they should move to Levin. And there are plenty of good things about living here. Needless to say, I was delighted to be asked for an interview; There's nothing like a bit of media exposure to make you feel more important than you really are.

So, floating about in the New Zealand press at the moment is a full page article, featuring me and my drivel on the region, filtered through the word processor of a middle aged journalist.

I've been quite worried about whether I said enough good things so I made Jo read it first. She said I sounded OK and I kind of skim read it. I have become a bit self conscious about the whole thing.

Besides, us media people don't like to read our own press.

Stuck in the Mud With Two Dogs and a Baby

2006-10-05T01:27:00.000-07:00

I should have heeded the warning signs. God knows there were enough of them on the way into the Tararua Ranges Reserve. "This is a multiple hazard area" proclaimed one as we drove past. "Proceed only in groups of four" said another, in large letters. We should have known it was dangerous. But we carried on just the same. We thought to ourselves: "Surely those are just for stupid people". Possibly, they are.

The Tararua Park is about 10km out of Levin. We had taken the dogs out for a walk at the Gladstone Reserve, a small park by a bend in the river. But having just moved to the area, we're keen to see what it has to offer and we ventured further out. The Gladstone Reserve, pretty as it is, is strictly for a quick mooch and covers only a few acres. The Tararua Park, however, is a real tramping track, leading up into the mountains where serious weather can happen. There's a seven hour walk to a Department of Conservation hut, where the intrepid can camp for the night. From there I believe you can cross the ranges, over peaks as high as Snowdon, to Masterton, some 50km away. That's real hardcore though.

We were only driving through and we felt safe as we passed through a field of cows, huge green mountains rising before us. I drove slowly onward along the single track, pausing for a baby cow to cross the road. There didn't seem much to see though, really, for a casual vist, so I just thought I'd turn the car round by backing into the field.

Big mistake that.

There comes a point when you are getting stuck in the mud, that you realise that you are getting stuck in the mud. At that point, there seems nothing to do but carry on in the hope you don't get stuck in the mud. But you probably will get stuck in the mud. As we did.

Then a kind of panic sets in. The car can't be moved by normal means and it is just too heavy to push the front wheels out of the holes they have dug. Things are much worse on a cold day with a baby and with two delinquent dogs howling away in the boot.

By some amazing stroke of good fortune it was at this point that a saviour arrived for us in a gleaming new Toyota Corolla. I reckon you could easily wait all evening and no-one would drive past. A Kiwi bloke and his wife got out and he took charge of the situation. Between us, we pushed and bounced the Mazda out of the mud and back onto firmer ground. Then we shook hands, he cleaned the mud off his boots and drove away. What a man.

By the look of it, I had reversed directly into the worst patch of mud in the field. Three feet to the left or right and we would probably have got away with it. But if that man in his blue Toyota hadn't been there, the situation could have been awful.

Next time, we'll be more careful.

D Day

2006-10-04T02:57:00.000-07:00

Our Furry Children Arrive

There can be few sights more pathetic than a small dog that's been shut inside a wooden box for 36 hours. Dishevelled, bedraggled and smelling like week old laundry, Molly and Jake were presented to us in their crates in a large warehouse building at Wellington airport at the end of their long hard slog to get over here from Margate.

They are quite different and behaved in character. Molly was the most excited King Charles spaniel you could imagine and she squeaked furiously in her crate the moment she saw us. When her door was opened, she leapt frantically into and out of our arms, running between myself and Jo, yapping manically. Poor Lily, ignored by everyone in the excitement, burst out crying with jealousy.

Jake, on the other hand, didn't want to come out of his box and showed few signs of recognising anyone, let alone being pleased to see us. He limped grudgingly across the floor like an old man, glaring at us with a long suffering expression. He'd quite clearly had enough. We were a bit worried about his limp, but the reason soon became clear. On the long grass outside, he did a huge five-minute wee as if he'd been holding it in for the whole time. Poor thing,he's such a good boy he probably had. It was all a bit much for him.

Importing a dog into New Zealand is not something to be undertaken lightly. It costs a fortune and involves several trips to the vet for blood tests and microchipping (for which they use a needle almost as wide as the nozzle on a petrol pump). But the good news is that they don't have to be quarentined, as long as they get the all clear.

Which means that our dogs are now with us and we are glad to have them here. We have been taking them to some of the few places where they are allowed, the rules about dogs being quite strict here. They are not allowed off the lead in public except in a few designated areas and the nearest walk is a car ride away.

It also seems that it is quite easy to have them designated as a problem dog. If a member of the public was to complain about a dog barking at them, the council convenes a hearing and the dog can be labelled as dangerous, meaning they have to be muzzled in public. Molly has already worked out what the postman looks like and our delinquant lap-dog throws herself at the window in a frenzy when he glides past on his bike. I can see trouble ahead and a course of dog-training is on the cards.

Ten things we miss about England

2006-09-29T04:27:00.000-07:00

Here's a list of 10 things we miss about home.

Public transport
Channel 4
Decafeinated Tea
Match of the Day
Tomato puree in squeezy tubes
The Guardian
Next petite clothing
Ikea
Car boot sales
Pubs

Shed Mania

2006-09-25T04:00:00.000-07:00

There's so much more space here and we absolutely love it. But it's worth asking the question: What does a man do with 500 square metres of garden? If you're a Kiwi bloke, the answer is to cover it in sheds.

It is shed-tastic in this country and it is pretty obvious from the moment you start house hunting. Most places here have a double garage and workshop and more often than not they come with a sleep-out, a kind of impromptu shed based bedroom in the garden. I looked at average sized houses with quad-garages, the same size as the house, with a tiny garden squeezed in between. For God's sake, what do they do in these buildings?

To find out, the place to look is The Shed, a magazine devoted to shed based activities. And it's a man's world in the Kiwi shed. They don't potter around collecting nails in jars; they have circular saws and they operate powertools. On a Sunday morning, the sound of hammering and sawing echoes around the suburbs.

What do the women think of his? My research hasn't got that far yet but I can reveal that the divorce rate here is 50%. Whilst I'm not saying that the national shed-obsession is the cause of the divorce epidemic, whose to say that whilst the men are hiding out in their sheds, their wives aren't smuggling the handyman into the bedroom?

That won't happen here. I did my best to buy a house with minimal outbuilding coverage on my section. Even so, I have a garage/workshop with attached sleepout and storage area as well as a separate shed. I am going to have the shed removed at the first opportunity; it's not worth putting my marriage at risk.

Besides, I want my garden available for growing vegetables. I spent the weekend putting up a fence around the veggie patch prior to the arrival of the dogs at the weekend. I can't be doing with them rolling around in the compost heap and digging up my potatoes. Jo is horrified about the amount of space I have taken up (or stolen as she puts it) and the pressure is on for me to grow something worth eating. The early signs are not good. My plastic greenhouse blew over in the wind last week and my pumpkins, tomatoes and peppers have had it.

We're Levin It!

2006-09-16T15:31:00.000-07:00

Its three weeks since I last wrote anything and in that time Jo and Lily have arrived and we have settled in to our new house. There's far more to say than I can possibly begin to write in the time available so lets just say that I am pleased to see them and leave it at that.

The task of furnishing the house has begun in earnest and for the last couple of weekends we have shuttled between various department stores but mostly we have trawled around Levin's branch of The Warehouse, which seems to be some kind of national institution in much the same way that Tesco's is at home. It is a bit like a downmarket version of Ikea crossed with Poundstretcher. Every town seems to have one and it sells absolutely everything. You might say its killing the high street, but when it comes to sorting your house out, it gives the Kiwi consumer what they want.

What this does mean is that we haven't really explored what the district has to offer. The 30-mile long (windswept) beach remains unexperienced and we haven't ventured into the bush reserve or up the mountain path. We have been down the coast to Paraparaumu (you pronounce it like it is spelt), but only to go to the shops. We did venture down to the beach and the locally famous Marine Parade. Here, shops and cafe's face the sea, behind a short stretch of sand-dunes. The water was turquoise, the waves were gentle and the views across the strait to Kapiti island were stunning. However, the wind was up and when the wind blows around here it really goes for it. It wasn't a day for taking in the sea air and besides, the clock was ticking; shops here close at 4 on Saturday and I had a fence to buy.

Jo is settling into life here and has made positive noises about the house, much to my relief. We both really like the town. It has lots of parks including two huge play areas for Lily, and wide open streets without too much traffic. Jo has been to the play group and we have been invited over to tea at one of the other Mum's place. So, the early progress is good and we are are liking it.

Down at the Beach

2006-08-26T18:36:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago I decided that two weeks in a hostel was probably enough and that I would move down to the beach for a change of scene for a few days before Jo arrives. This I have done today and I am now staying in a cabin in the holiday park at Waitarere (pronounced Whiter-Rarey) Beach. It seemed like a good idea at the time. But in the cold and rain of the New Zealand winter I can’t help but wonder why I left a place with a roaring fire every night and where the toilet wasn’t a hundred yards away across a muddy field for a small hut with cardboard walls and no heating.

The weeks big news is that Jo and I became home owners on Thursday. The house is completely empty, which is why I am not staying there, but if things don’t improve then I might change my mind.

Moaning about the cold aside (and it is winter here), I am pleased with how things are going. One of the most exciting things about relocating is that you get to try out all the different foodstuffs. I don’t mean fancy food; all the ordinary food is slightly different.

You don’t get Heinz baked beans here; Heinz own a Kiwi company called Watties who produce their own variety which is nothing like the real thing. The best brand of beans is, in my opinion, Oak and the worst is Pam’s. Basics is somewhere in between. I haven’t got round to SPC or Budget yet but I will in time.

There are different fruits to try. Obviously there’s the Kiwi fruit which I love (interestingly, the kiwi fruit isn’t native to New Zealand; it’s a Chinese Gooseberry). There’s also the Tomarillo (like a pear with a very strong tomato flavour - yuk) and the fijillo (just yuk).

There is a huge choice of beer for me to work my way through; so far my favourite is Speight’s. There are lots of bakeries in the towns here and the cakes they have are unbelievable; chocolate muffins with toffee centres topped with kit-kat, or Mars bar cake, butterscotch tart, chocolate pie. The cakes are a voyage of discovery in themselves.

So, this is how I have been amusing myself whilst I wait for my family to join me. Life in New Zealand is, for me, like an edition of Which? magazine.

Palmy Pimp Your Ride

2006-08-19T22:27:00.000-07:00

Palmerston North is a city about 30 miles to the north of Levin. With a population of about 75,000 its not big place, but in New Zealand it counts as a proper city; its the largest town between Wellington and Hamilton, which is about 300 miles to the north. however, there isn’t a great deal going on here.

Palmy is a student town and there are a lot of young people so it does have a certain buzzing kind of a vibe. It’s most noticable in the evenings when the boys bring their cars out. In Britain the teenage pose-mobile of choice is the ten year old souped up Vauxhall Corsa with fancy rear lights and shiny alloys. Things aren’t much different here but the cars are bigger, the exhausts are fatter and the rear spoilers are huge. Its quite fun really, but obviously I’m laughing at them, not with them.

Some people, however, are obviously impressed. I’ve heard that the thing to do is to put a sign in the window that says Offers and your phone number. Then, if a lady sees your motor and she likes what she sees, she can call you up and tell you how impressed she is. The temptation to put up a sign in the Mazda is huge, but some things are not appropriate for a respectable married man in his thirties.

I have managed to get out and about a bit in Palmy and I’ve been round the shops and down to the scenic river walk which is actually very pleasant. It has a bush reserve of native woodland and an area where they have installed a selection of Eucalyptus trees. It’s not terribly exciting though; about as exciting as Livingston and when we moved up there people were a bit snotty about it.

Things improve in the surrounding countryside though. I teamed up with Tim from Canada and we went for a drive through the Manawatu Gorge, where the river has cut through the mountains. It’s the only way across the Tararua Ranges and the road is perilously perched on the edge of steep cliffs all the way. It twists and turns with the valley and you have to be a bit careful driving through it, especially as the scenery is quite distracting. There’s a huge and impressive windfarm on top of the hills and we walked the Gorge Trail, which runs through woodland over the mountains. It takes about four hours, so we called it a day after about 40 minutes of climbing the steep canyon and turned back.

I’m starting to enjoy staying in the hostel, mostly because it’s nice to have a couple of friends to talk to. I am also amused by what goes on in the kitchens here, always a highlight of hostel living. There’s a man who eats nothing but cabbage and Tim bought seven tins of baked beans yesterday to see him through until tomorrow evening (apparently, they were a bargain!).

Two Weeks In New Zealand

2006-08-12T22:22:00.000-07:00

It’s now over two weeks since I arrived in New Zealand and I am, I think, doing quite well. I have bought a car and I am buying a house and I have settled down in a backpacker’s hostel in Palmerston North whilst the purchase goes through. When I arrived in New Zealand I was determined to hit the ground running and now I am feeling rather pleased with myself.

Buying a car was easy. I don’t know anything about cars; as far as I can tell, one Japanese hatchback is much like another. So why worry about it? I bought a Mazda 323 and it seems to be a lovely car. I might have paid too much, but I might not and if I did, I’ll hopefully never find out about it.

Buying a house was a bit more stressful, although less so than in the UK. It could be argued that it is a bit rash to buy a house within two weeks of arriving in a new country, especially with Jo not having seen it. Certainly, my boss Tony thought I was barking mad when I started looking the day after arriving. However, we need to find somewhere to live and the quicker the better. I don’t fancy renting and having to move again and I don’t want to stay in an expensive caravan park for weeks if I can avoid it. More importantly, the dogs are arriving in 6 weeks and we need to have somewhere to put them.

The house is a lovely 1960’s bungalow (unusually) made of bricks, with a tin roof and it has been nicely done up inside with tiled floors and a new kitchen. It has a huge garden and a garage with a “sleep-out” at the back (effectively a spare bedroom). There’s also a vegetable garden (hooray!) and a shed (every house in New Zealand has at least one shed). I am soooo excited about it. The house will be ours on 24th August.

The thing I was most worried about when I came over was meeting Tony and staying with him and his family. It was very nice of him to ask but it was still a daunting prospect; I was terrified we’d fall out before I even started work, or that I would get drunk, say something stupid, lose all respect in his eyes and never be able to recover it. Fortunately, he and his family have turned out to be really nice and I was glad not to be alone.

Tony and Linda live on a “lifestyle” block a couple of miles outside Levin. A lifestyle block is a house in the countryside with a great big garden (Tony’s is 10 acres). Tony keeps cows and chickens and Linda has a miniature horse (the horse is called Smudge and looks cute, but has a tendency to head butt you). They live under the Tararua Ranges, the mountains that divide Levin from the east coast. The hills are often obscured by low cloud and mist, but on a clear evening they are stunningly lit up by the orange glow of the fading sun. The countryside around here looks gorgeous but I haven’t given myself the time to explore it yet. And besides, it’s rained most of the time since I’ve been here.

So, I’m just over two weeks into this adventure and there are just over two weeks before Jo and Lily get here. I must admit I can’t wait to see them both again. It’s been OK without them, but I’ve had a lot to think about. Now that the big things have been done, there isn’t so much to distract me from the fact that I am here on my own.

Thai Time

2006-07-26T07:14:00.000-07:00

Half-way to New Zealand and who can say how I am feeling about the whole enterprise at the moment? On the one hand I have a lovely new life to look forward to, but on the other I have made my mother cry. Nothing's easy I suppose.

I arrived at Bangkok in the heat of the afternoon in the rainy season. I booked an expensive hotel through Trailfinders and what a mistake that has proved to be. Instead of the friendly backpackers home from home of the Khao San Road, I am across town, through some of the worst traffic in the world, in what can only be described as one of the sleazier areas. A larger than average percentage of the tourists around the Sukhamvit Road are men travelling on their own and I am aware that I am one of them. Well, I am sick of the constant demands for sex from ladies on street corners and I have fled to more familiar surroundings.

The journey here in a Tuk Tuk during the Thai rush-hour was an adventure in itself. We swerved through the traffic and the drizzle, over the pavements, narrowly avoiding motorbikes and street stalls selling unidentifiable food; but then the rest of the traffic was doing the same. I breathed in the fumes of two-stroke exhausts and raw sewage, the smell of an Asian city. The only disappointment has been my bargaining skills (I paid 130 baht, probably twice the going rate).

Now I am off for dinner at a backpacker restaurant where they show illegal copies of the latest movies, filmed at the cinema and complete with the backs of peoples heads and people getting up to go to the toilet. And afterwards, if I want to go and buy some stripey trousers, then I will. That's how much at home I feel at the moment.

The Land of Sheep and Chocolate

2006-07-23T13:57:00.000-07:00

New Zealand is notoriously a land where sheep outnumber people by 8 to 1. Or something like that. That's the main fact people seem to know about the country I am about to make my home and there is no doubt that there are lots of sheep there. However, it would be tiresome to go on about it and in my opinion, if New Zealand deserves to be famous for making anything, it is chocolate. It's just ordinary Dairy Milk, but made with much creamier milk from happy cows and is far and away better than anything you can get in the UK; it is reason enough to move over in itself.

I am writing this the night before leaving. Emigrating has involved months of planning, weeks of packing and days of saying goodbyes and there are now just hours left for me in the UK before I leave the country for a new life in New Zealand, the land of numerous sheep and fantastic chocolate.

Getting to this point has been harder than expected and by far the hardest thing I have done, but not really for the reasons you might expect. The goodbyes are emotionally draining and the doubts ever present, but most of all its been months of hard physical work, slimming down our possessions into twelve cardboard boxes and what we can take onto the plane. I feel like I've been moving house for a year and I can't exagerate just how fed up I am with carrying things into the car and then out again at the other end. By contrast, actually going is a breeze and I can't seem to get worked up about it in the slightest.

I don't have any worries about having made the right decision. Jo and I have thought carefully about what we want from life and it seems to be very hard to get it in the UK, with its all working, all drinking and shopping lifestyle and overpriced housing.

And there's more. As far as I can tell from reading the Daily Mail, the streets of our cities are full of gangsters, crack-whores and knife wielding hooded teenagers loitering with intent. Clearly that's not the kind of place I want my little Lily growing up in.

So, New Zealand is the right decision. It's a lovely green half-empty land full of nice people doing nice things and being nice to each other. I just can't wait to get there!