Definitely a lovesome thing. God wot.

Somewhat reluctantly, we skimmed up to reception at Kinloch Manor in our little golf cart, and surrendered it before driving away homewards. But not straight home. Trusting to the GPS, we headed off on relatively minor roads towards Hamilton, where I had an appointment. To be honest, my sense of direction was bamboozled by the route, and we could have been anywhere. But though it was so unfamiliar, it was certainly scenic. We followed the Waikato for a while, and then headed into the hills, going through few little towns, so I was relieved eventually to reach the outskirts of Hamilton.

Here I was to explore one of the treasures of what would be NZ's most mocked city, if Palmerston North hadn't bagged that title. I don't really know why people laugh at the Tron, and honestly, if Hamilton Gardens are any indication of its worth - well, shut up right now. They are magnificent! Also, big.

They cover 54 hectares, much of it the usual expanses of lawns, with rose gardens, rhododendrons, big trees, lake and so on - but, most notably, also including 21 enclosed gardens, each with a separate theme: Japanese, Indian, Italian, tropical, surrealist, modernist, Tudor, sustainable - and more, so much more. They are all beautifully designed, immaculately kept, colourful, interesting, and so photogenic that they are irresistible these days to Instagrammers wanting the perfect backdrop for their selfies.

I wandered for ages, fascinated, and could have spent much more time there if I didn't have a long drive ahead of me and a ferry to catch. I never got to Sissinghurst while I lived in England, but I truly think that Vita Sackville-West would be impressed by what Hamilton has. I certainly was, and would go back again any day. Great work, Kirikiriroa!

Two sorts of watering

It's just lovely, to start your day sitting in a window with a view like this. And, happily, it continued in much the same vein. After breakfast (pretty good Bircher muesli, I'm pleased to say - regular 😀 readers will know I am an expert on the subject) we went into Taupo to get more story material. First stop was the Taupo bungy, which I'd last seen from below, kayaking past along the mighty Waikato. 

The novelty here is that, first, it's from a 47m high clifftop; and then that you can do it tandem, or as a swing. I was surprised it was so busy - there was a constant stream of people flinging themselves over the edge - and disappointed that they were all so cool about it. I mean, not one person screamed! Did they not realise they had a performance to put on for us spectators? I suppose it's because bungying is so businesslike and run-of-the-mill these days - although also still enough of an event for people to do it, like one man I watched, to mark special days - for him, his 60th birthday.

Next came the Hole In One Challenge - where you hit a golf ball from the shore and try to get it into one of the three holes on a pontoon moored 102m out in the lake. Obviously, you buy a bucket of balls, up to 50, although the supremely self-confident can just have one go, for $1.50. I don't know if anyone has succeeded doing that, but they do average a hole-in-one about every fortnight. And someone scored the $10,000 prize for the hardest hole two years ago. They go out with a snorkel and dive for the lost balls every day, since you ask. 

We called in then at l'Arté Café and Gardens, in Acacia Bay, which is a lovely example of outdoor mosaic work, if not as over-the-top impressive as the Giant's House in Akaroa. It's really pretty, and I was especially taken by how comfortable the cushions on the sofas were, in the open-air living room. They were obviously modelled on real bottoms. It was colourful and pretty, and fun, and there was lots of art tucked away around the garden to discover, as well as a studio to nose into. Pretty good coffee, too.

I went next to explore Woody's Place, which is an art gallery near Kinloch Manor, and where, once you've got past the soppy Labrador begging for pats, there's heaps to admire and enjoy inside. Woody himself was there, working at his - of course - wood-turning in a dark and crowded workshop next door. In the gallery were paintings, photography, pottery, jewellery, furniture and more, all well done and well-priced. No photos allowed there, so instead here's one of the iconic McDonald's DC3 back in Taupo:

Kinloch itself was next: I expected it to be full of retired people but actually, there were all sorts and ages of people wandering the streets and along the lake shore, and it was nice. There was even a free book and toy library in a little hut on the beach; and the Tipsy Trout café looked good. Boy, though, the marina! So many expensive-looking boats! And there was a housing estate that looked eye-watering.

And then it was back to Kinloch Manor for another really lovely dinner, in the library this time. I had to skip the soup because, despite resolutions, I was unable to resist the canapés beforehand; but the rest of it was so delicious, my mouth is watering just remembering it.

To the manor

How exciting! We didn't only leave Waiheke today, we left Auckland! What a thrill, after so long, to hit the actual road and go somewhere else. Not that it's anywhere we haven't been before, numerous times, mind: Taupo, a huge, deep lake in the middle of the North Island, formed by a volcanic explosion so powerful that it formed a hole, rather than a cone. 

Our focus this time though is the little settlement of Kinloch, around the edge of the lake from Taupo town. This is where Kinloch Manor sits, on a hill in the middle of the golf course - the only one in NZ designed, and played, by Jack Nicklaus, golfers are excited to point out - the main building channelling a castle vibe, the villas low-profile in the surrounding grounds.

Ours is very lovely, with a beautiful view out across the lake to the distant mountains volcanoes, huge bathroom with standalone bath, big comfy bed, absurdly well-equipped kitchen (I mean, who would use that when the restaurant is so good, and, to be frank, you're comfortable with paying so much for the accommodation that self-catering is surely irrelevant). Best of all, though, is the electric golf cart supplied for easy access to all parts of the property. Good fun! The only down-side is that the metal Labrador at the entrance to reception looks so sad...

I nipped out to get a bit of story material at some hot springs I hadn't been to before: Otumuheke Stream, with a little cluster of hot pools just before it flows into the Waikato River, and which is free to access. It was a bit of a mission to find, to be honest, mostly owing to my inevitably choosing the wrong direction when presented with a choice, and ending up in the wilds of a sports park. After beating my way off-track through the bush for a bit, relieved as ever that bears, snakes and pumas weren't part of the picture, I found the back way into the pools, which were pretty, beautifully warm, and patronised by people who had simply strolled there through the front entrance.

Back at the lodge, there were complimentary (disclosure: it's all complimentary for me) canapés on the terrace watching golfers battling with some of the course's 172 bunkers. Then followed a truly delicious five-course dégustation dinner at a table right in the window with a great view of the sunset over the lake, flocks of welcome swallows flitting about just outside, and ducks waddling over the greens far below. After such a big dinner, I would have been waddling myself, back to the villa - except, with the golf cart, happily there was no need. 

Crowning glory

Time has been passing unexpectedly quickly - various national elections, the relentless creep of Covid, vaccine buzz, family stuff will do that, of course. Not as much time as since 1981, of course, but tonight, watching (with so much of the world) The Crown, the eve of the royal wedding felt very fresh.

In episode 3, Charles stands at the windows of the Palace, watching fireworks - and I remembered that I watched those fireworks too, that night, in Hyde Park, in a crowd more vast than any I've been part of, before or since. Actually, to be a stickler for fact, Charles and most of the royal family (but not Diana) were out there in the dark with me too, rather than having a dramatic conclave in the Palace. After all, it was the most spectacular display - massive fireworks that went on and on, a huge Catherine wheel, cannons, band music, choirs... oh, and a bonfire that Charles lit, the first of a trail of beacons that led away across the country.

Even more memorable, though, was being literally swept along afterwards through the dark by the crowd, like an ocean, with absolutely no chance of choosing my own direction. It was actually quite frightening. But we made it out, and eventually onto our train home - the milk train, stopping and starting all the way to Gloucester, pulling in finally at about 5am, with just enough time for a bit of a zizz before we had to get up again to watch the lead-up to the wedding itself, the streets outside completely dead as everyone in the country sat glued to their screens.

Charles and Diana came to Gloucester in December that year, going to a service in the city's magnificent cathedral, and we saw them as they left on a snowy winter's morning, Diana in an enviably stylish big coat and muff. It was my least personal royal encounter, of several over the years I lived in England, which included suddenly noticing that on the other side of the car window I was standing next to at the Badminton Horse Trials was the Queen Mother herself. At the same Badminton, equally distracted by the horses, I had to have it pointed out to me that the grey I was admiring was actually being ridden by Prince Charles. Plus, of course, there was the garden party I went to at the Palace in 1982.

It was lovely to see London in the programme, looking so fabulous, and so familiar: the steps up to St Paul's, the Victoria monument opposite the Palace, the Mall. It reminded me of being there, in August last year, and the perfect, sunny day I had, the last of my Silversea cruise. I left the ship, which was moored right by Tower Bridge, in the morning, took the tube to Buckingham Palace, did a tour around the rooms, so big and high and opulent and gorgeous, and then walked back through summery St James's Park, to Downing Street, past Big Ben to the Thames, and along the Embankment to climb, eventually, the Great Fire monument and finally return home to Silver Wind for my last night onboard. 

It was a brilliant day, and a happy ending to a cruise that actually had gone really badly, almost ruined by our both getting terrible, terrible flu that laid us out and left me with a permanent cough, to this day. Except, in other news today, it's been found that some people in Italy had Covid months before it was first recorded in Wuhan in November. I wonder...?

Good luck, Koanga - kia kaha!

I went overseas today! Well, across a bit of water to another island, so that counts, right? Even if it was only a 10-minute trip. It started a bit excitingly, as the tide was high and the ramp up onto the ferry was angled at pretty much 45° but after that it was a super-quick slide across from Waiheke to Rotoroa Island.

It's a pretty little island, only about 80 hectares, with some sandy beaches, a couple of hilly bits, and lots of bush and birds. That was why I was there: today they were releasing onto the island a kiwi chick called Koanga. The island is a pest-free sanctuary, and it's used as a crèche for kiwi chicks, till they're big enough to stand up for themselves against a stoat or other predator. Operation Nest Egg collects eggs from the wild, using radio transmitters on adult kiwi males (who do all the hatching - fair enough, too, since the female has to grow and lay an egg that's about 2/3 her body size. Ouch!)

The eggs are hatched at Auckland Zoo. The chicks then come to Rotoroa for a year or more till they're up to 1200g, and finally they're returned to their point of origin. It's a lot of bother to go to, and expensive, too, but the kiwi is unique, and a national icon, so there's no choice. Besides, it's fun and interesting.

There was a big crowd there to see the release, and learn all about it, and a somewhat sleepy Koanga (kiwi are nocturnal) was paraded around for everyone to see, which was pretty special. Then he was popped into an artificial burrow in the bush and left to emerge tonight in his own time, and explore his new home.

Then we all went off to explore it too, first on a tour with Milly Lucas, the resident and very enthusiastic ranger, and then by ourselves. Even without the kiwi, it's an interesting place to go to, since for over a century it was used by the Salvation Army as a retreat for thousands of addicts - first alcohol, then drugs - where they would be sent to do a hard withdrawal, spending their days working, and expected to go to church at least once daily. There's even a set of two jail cells for those who got bolshy.

The farm they worked is gone now, the cleared bush replanted by volunteers and growing impressively well; and most of the buildings have been demolished. I enjoyed exploring the various tracks, spotting other birds, and especially coming across a dam (pond) where I couldn't see, but could certainly hear, many many bell frogs croaking fit to burst. At one end of the island is a striking memorial sculpture of granite rocks, with lovely views over towards the Coromandel Peninsula, where the kiwi eggs come from.

And then it was time to head back to the ferry, everyone relaxed and chatty, having had a good time. Me too - which is just as well, since I'll be back here again in a few weeks, to stay overnight. But not in a cell.

Fox News deliberately misleads the public. Which is not news, of course.

Sigh. It's Fox News - what else would you expect? But, for those (hopefully very few) readers here who might be inclined to accept the nonsense this "news" channel promotes, here are the facts about what is properly termed Managed Isolation in New Zealand:

- You return from overseas

- You are taken to a 4- or 5-star hotel, not of your choosing (which may even be in a different city, according to demand)

- You are confined to your room, except for daily walks that may be only around an open carpark space; but you're also allowed to go out into a fenced-off area where you may speak to friends and family from a distance of two metres

- You do not pay anything for this hotel, if you are a returning Kiwi - not for the food, the WiFi, the accommodation. (If you are a returning Kiwi who chose to go overseas since the pandemic began, then you will be charged $3,100 for your two week stay.)

- You can use UberEats, order from supermarkets, receive packages up to and including exercise bikes, but not home baking

- You will be tested on Days 3 and 12, and then, if clear, released on Day 14

- If you test positive, you will be removed to a special quarantine hotel and taken to hospital if necessary

- If you refuse the tests, you will have to stay in the hotel for another fortnight 

That's all very far from imprisonment in a "terrifying quarantine camp", Fox, you stupid, irritating, irresponsible panic-monger. How do I know all this? Because my daughter is in managed isolation right now, and sent me the photos I've used here. 

As a result of all this, we have had just 25 deaths overall, and are currently living an almost-normal life, with kids at school, people at work, sports events and concerts happening, restaurants and bars operating as usual. The only Covid signs you'll see ih New Zealand are masks on public transport, people scanning the QR codes outside shops and businesses, bottles of hand sanitiser everywhere, and a bit of social distancing. End of. Spit.

Once in a blue moon? Not any more.

Seeing as how it is my birthday today, as a token gesture towards the (increasingly tiresome and irrelevant) custom of celebrating the occasion, I have drunk what is likely to be my last ever Blue Moon beer. It was given me as a 6-pack, brought back from the US by the Baby on her last-but-one trip, and eked out since then in a very miserly manner. Regular 😀 readers will recall, since I have harped on about it a number of times, that I first tasted this beer six years ago while on a post-IPW famil in Wisconsin, at lunch in Popeye's Restaurant on the shores of Lake Geneva. It was properly served with a slice of orange, and I became an instant fan, and have sought it out ever since.

Sidenote: we had a little down-time for browsing round the town and, while trying on a top (which I bought and still like), I heard a woman in the next changing room say excitedly, three times, "You're gonna grieve yourself to death!" Still trying to imagine the scenario for that. Also, in April, the lake was still partly frozen and clinking musically with small icebergs - inside which it's apparently possible to find freshly-frozen fish, we were told.

Anyway, I've found Blue Moon in some odd places since, including on tap in the Lord Nelson pub beside the Thames where I saw a couple of cliché red-coated Chelsea Pensioners walking past. The most unexpected place, though, was in the bottle shop around the block from where I used to live in Auckland - what a joy that was! But a few years later, the imports ceased, and that was that. sigh. 

That glass, by the way, I bought in Reykjavik in celebration of the Einstök beer I enjoyed there - that memory, though, always tinged with regret over the four bottles of my airport-bought six-pack that I left, forgotten and unopened, under my seat in the van I did my guided tour in. An unplanned tip for Páll, which I'm sure he enjoyed - but I would have appreciated it more...