Sunday 23 December 2012


I sat in my car for almost 2 hours today, parked beside the Ferry Building on Quay Street as an impressively regular stream of Airport Express buses pulled in, not one of them containing the Baby. She was due back from a night in Wellington, but Cyclone Evan had breathed on the sea there and sent an afternoon fog to block out the bright sunshine, and her flight, though delayed, was the lucky last out of the city for the day - and possibly even tomorrow too. People milling around at the airport, all their travel plans in disarray, will be sick of the sight of the huge Gollum hanging above them, all the Hobbit visual jokes having worn rather thin, I'm guessing.

While I waited I watched everyone arriving and departing with backpacks and shopping bags, as many heading off on the ferry to Waiheke Island as to the airport. I would have envied them, except that we'll be going that way in a month or so, not this time to good old Palm Beach, scene of broken wrist and sea-snatched glasses, but to Onetangi, which is quite a different beach. It's long and open, and quite often there is surf, which sheltered Palm Beach rarely has, apart from the rogue wave that dumped me from behind and made off with my glasses.

I lost my glasses once at Onetangi, too, frolicking in the water with dear departed Fudge, our non-swimming Labrador, who was in a panic so I had to hang onto her with both arms to keep her safe when a wave broke over us, meanwhile losing my specs. I had no hope of ever (blurrily) seeing them again, but the honorary Third Daughter who was staying with us was admirably thorough in her search and, astonishingly, found them within half an hour, none the worse. Good for her. If she happens to come over this summer, I'll happily buy her lunch at lovely Casita Miro, just up the hill, in memory of a good turn done.

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