Changing Times

Smalls Books and Models was a shop selling ‘books, plastic kits and diecast transport and military models’ in Central Wellington. Every time I walked past it, I recalled the heady (and that’s not just due to the rather enticingly-named poly cement) days of Airfix kits.

With these models you could glue, assemble and paint rockets, ships, tanks, cars, dinosaurs and historical figures. They were a great thing to do on a rainy day when you couldn’t ride your bike or go to the park to play football. Parents got to play with them too, having hours of fun using tweezers for the fiddly bits that podgy children’s fingers couldn’t manage.

I remember my sister making a scale model of the Golden Hind, with miniature figures clinging to the rigging for their dear little plastic lives. Of course it was educational as she found out all about Sir Francis Drake and his voyages of discovery. It took her ages and the manufacture of it was more than half the fun – when it was finally finished, it was left to gather dust on the windowsill – I think it may still be there.

Building model kits taught skills for later life such as following instructions; manual dexterity; hand-to-eye co-ordination; patience; and the pleasure of seeing something develop before you and knowing you had made it yourself.

Airfix is now in a fix as their sales are down. Parents complain that many of their constructs are violent. Today’s children, and their parents, prefer instant gratification with either sanitised whimsy or video games, which as we all know, are inherently placid.

Whether this has anything to do with the disappearance of Small Books and Models, I don’t know, but I do find it symptomatic that it has been replaced by a shop called ‘The Apple of My Eye’. Established in late 2005, TAME purports to sell ‘a gorgeous compilation of our favourite hard to find nursery items and playthings from around the world.’

The website insists the ‘fantastic range of goodies are vintage inspired, contemporary and whimsical.’ The writers freely admit that they love sentiment. They also love the unholy mix of marketing and manipulation. They trumpet that the goods they sell are ‘ethically made and traded’, offering a ‘unique example of craftsmanship and design’.

Hence you can buy dolls with pink co-ordinated accessories, so your ‘wee one’ can learn early on about succumbing to fashion dictates. With a clear conscience and a knowledge that you are being ‘kind to the world and those in it’ you can start a child on the road to capitalism with ‘Birdie anibank’; a hand-knitted depository that wears a ‘cute little hat and sports rainbow striped wings.’

Smothered in saccharine you can buy ‘cosy’ cotton items for ‘onseies’ and ‘modernist’ blankets that are, apparently, ‘so snuggly (sic) that parting from them would be unbearable.’ The nauseating advertising continues with things for ‘baby’s room’ like the resolutely pastel ‘bedtime buddies’ and ‘softies’.

Of course, gender stereotypes are strictly reinforced with blues for the boys and pink for the girls. If you don’t yet know what flavour ‘the sunshine in your life’ is going to be, but are still desperate to part with your cash, there are some green, orange and brown items: Elfie and Sprite are mythical spirits combining a twee fantasy world with the latest boardroom buzzwords, as they are ‘perfect guests for tea parties, and robust enough for garden adventures.’ And there are knitted car-shaped music boxes which are both pink and blue.

TAME offers ‘apple lessons’ in which you can learn new talents and ‘wow your coffee group friends with stories of your trapeze and aerial tissue lessons.’ Clearly this is far more socially acceptable than spending time with your child building a model of something real.

We have softened the edges of our world, so it is all a big blurry, fuzzy cocoon. How nice; how safe; how mind-numbingly dull; how blatantly untrue; how crushingly brainwashed. Pass me the Valium – oh, I see, you’ve used it all up already.

International Comedy Festival

I used to go to a lot of live comedy when I was a student in Manchester, where there were regular gigs and stand-up comedy was an art form. Here, in New Zealand, I know the population is a lot smaller and there are not the opportunities to perform, but there is such a dearth of comedic talent that I came to the conclusion that New Zealand is just not a funny nation. I know Kiwis will disagree and I can hear the shout of 'Flight of the Chonchords' from here. But, and leaving the merits or otherwise of that particular duo (who weren't valued in New Zealand until they were recognised in the U.S.), what else have you got?

Well, quite a bit, it appears. The line-up for this year's International Comedy Festival includes some pretty fine Kiwi comedians. I am full of respect for those who hurdle these obstacles and prove that geographical isolation doesn't have to produce insularity. Jeremy Elwood, whose professional brand of political and social comment is so good that it reminds me of the fabulous Ben Elton, is an absolute stand-out. But then, he was born in Canada, and raised in the UK. If you get the chance to check him out, do.

I have been trying to get to as many shows as I can and it is a delight to see some good comedy again. One of the things I like about the festival (apart from the laughter) is the fact that not all the shows are on really late. Some even start as early as 6.30pm, which I think is very reasonable. As I said, I used to go to comedy a lot when I was a student. When I didn't have to get up early the next morning and go to work.

Maybe that's why traditionally stand-up appeals to a younger audience. You don't have to do a different show; just do it earlier. Sometimes it can be even better when the audience hasn't had a chance to get pissed yet, and can actually appreciate what you're saying. Just a thought...

These are my reviews of the shows I have seen so far:
First Laughs
The Lonesome Buckwhips: Charity Gala
Janey Godley: Tell It Like It Is

Fennel tea: my newest favourite thing

My new favourite thing is fennel tea. Twinings have brought out a version in their infusions range, which they call Pure Fennel and in which they claim to only use fennel seeds. Hmm, I could probably pick a few and add my own boiling water, and not have to pay for a box with a rather fey picture on the front of a fennel bush in flower.

My run through Pass of Branda (which sounds wonderfully gothic or otherworldly but is actually just a wee hill between bays) is lined with fennel – in the summer it feels like running through a curry kitchen of bright yellow flowers; in spring the brilliant green feathery fronds hold enough residual moisture to soak you as you brush past.

Fennel is naturally caffeine-free, has ‘anti-spasmodic properties’ and stimulates the production of gastric juices. Not only is it useful for gastrointestinal and menstrual cramps, heartburn, diarrhoea, and colic, but apparently it can also be used to help alleviate the symptoms of whooping cough, asthma, bronchitis, and other upper-respiratory infections.

I don't know if any of this is true, but it is a great ingredient to add a piquant flavour to many meals. I discovered a great recipe involving fennel, pernod and cannellini beans which goes perfectly with firm white fish. My mouth is watering as I think of it.

Fennel has been used as a drug to aid indigestion for centuries form the Chinese to the Greeks and of course, the Romans. It is native to the Mediterranean and has a mild liquorice flavour. Fennel tea is not as strong as liquorice tea, which can leave an unpleasant aftertaste. Fennel tea is good for bloating and gas, and can be combined with peppermint for a different type of refreshing flavour.

As with all organic and natural remedies, there may or may not be a measure of truth to any of this, but who cares? It tastes good!

St George's Day

Happy St George’s Day!

Yes, today is the day to commemorate St George, patron saint of England. It’s not as widely regarded as St Patrick’s Day when the plastic Paddies pour green food colouring into their Guinness and dance to fiddle music while wearing shamrocks. Good for them; I’m all for celebrating your national day – even if you are a hanger-on because you think the Emerald Isle is romantic and everything Irish is fine.

England doesn’t get the same treatment abroad. In England the pubs may be festooned with the proud St George Cross and people may wear red roses (unless they’re from Yorkshire – everything has multiple associations) and jingle through a Morris dance or two, but the rest of the world stays strangely silent.

For some reason, it is not fashionable to take pride in your national identity if you are English, especially if you are living in New Zealand, where England is responsible for all the evils of the world if you believe the national press – and sadly, many Kiwis do.

Recently the St George’s Cross, which has been the flag of England for centuries, has been reclaimed by sports fans, especially those of football, cricket and rugby, and this has put other non-sports fans off. In a bizarre union, it is also flown from Anglican churches. On the Sunday closest to the day itself, many congregations sing Jerusalem – the same hymn sung with rousing effect by the Barmy Army when their team takes the field.

Once on a par with Christmas revelries, the celebrations are now more muted, and there is even a movement to abolish St George as being too Anglo-Saxon. This is ludicrous! St George was born in Palestine and served as a soldier in the Roman army in Turkey. According to legend he killed a dragon that was terrorising the inhabitants of a town in Libya, in return for the people converting to Christianity.

As well as being the patron of the scouting movement, St George is also the saintly representative of Spain, Portugal, Georgia, Serbia, Bulgaria, Bosnia and Herzegovina, and Macedonia. This is what we should be celebrating as a fitting symbol for England. It embraces diversity; welcomes people of differing cultures; is creative and indestructible, standing up for what it believes in. I see no shame in being proud of that.

William Shakespeare is said to have been born on St George’s Day, and though nobody really knows, it would seem fitting for this great English playwright who loved his country and admired other nations to have the final word.

"In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears
Then imitate the action of
the tiger…

I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game’s afoot!
Follow your spirit and
upon this charge
Cry, ‘God for Harry, England, and St George!"

Compatibilty test 2

Either, Or

Mountains or sea

Austen or Bronte

Town or country

Cat or dog

Play or watch

Hot or cold

Sandals or boots

Book or film

Lunch or dinner

Ski or snowboard

Wine or beer

Flowers or chocolate

Red or yellow

Pulp Fiction or Natural Born Killers

Blur or Oasis

Football or rugby

Bath or shower

X-country or downhill

Tattoos – yes or no

Boat or plane

Oil or watercolour

Whale or dolphin

Earth or sky

City or United

Raw or polished

Hemingway or Fitzgerald

Gloss or matt

Lift or stairs

Antique or modern

Square or round

Individual or team sport

Tea or coffee

East or West

Latin or Greek

Monopoly or Scrabble

Deciduous or conifer

Sydney or Melbourne

Broadsheet or tabloid

Coronation Street or Eastenders

Sheets or duvet

Compatibility test

There are certain things that people tell you and you extrapolate the information to form a psychometric profile of that person from one tiny detail.

For example if someone likes dogs, I assume they like to control things – they like companionship, but on their terms and are they not fond of unpredictability. They may be insecure or find it difficult to make friends, but they are loyal and will sustain strong relationships. They require something that loves them and depends on them and needs them. They will probably go on to have children.

If they prefer cats, they are possibly slightly arrogant and unreliable. They like their freedom and don’t like to be tied down. They change their mind at the last minute and are tempted by the best offer rather than the first commitment. They like beautiful things and are happy to observe without having to hold. They will probably not want to have children.

If someone likes deciduous trees, I assume they like change. They believe in renewal and they are prepared to take risks and make mistakes because they can forgive, forget and move on. Life is an experience to be lived to the full and they can laugh at failure because failure leads to growth.

Those who prefer conifers like consistency. They are more likely to vote conservative and they are resistant to change. You know where you are with these people; they don’t have rapid mood swings and they avoid confrontation. They like tradition – there is a proper way to do things and they get frustrated when people break the rules.

Of course, these are wild generalisations and totally unscientific. But we do this all the time. And so, I have devised my own compatibility psychometric test, using this theory.

Here’s how it works: You fill it out, and then give it to a prospective partner, friend, or employee. There are 40 questions. A perfect partnership should have a compatibility quota of 25-35. If too many answers are the same, you will agree on everything and that’s boring, but if you don’t have anything in common, then why are you together in the first place?

Maybe I should patent this device. What do you reckon? If anyone has any other top ‘either/or’s, and what their extrapolated implications please let me know. See next post for the list!

Grape picking

A couple of weeks ago I went to harvest grapes for a friend of a friend on their vineyard in Te Horo. For some reason this is something I have always wanted to do.

I love vineyards. William Morris once wrote “Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.” I think this is a lesson to live by. It certainly applies to vineyards.

The spacing of the vines forms perfectly symmetrical rows of brilliant green or flaming red depending on the season. The tendrils curl in crazy ways around the supporting wires to hang on and take over. The roses often planed at the end of the vines bloom tenderly but are readily sacrificed to a purpose.

As for the grapes themselves; they are bold goblets of rich flavour and are decorated in sumptuous skins. When pressed, they release wildly hedonistic juices to be converted into decadent delights. Beautiful and functional; they combine artistry with industry – what more could you want?

So I loved being there picking the grapes, even when it started raining, my back was aching and my fingers sticky. I loved the ride on the tractor (my first ever) and the lunch provided, as we sat around an outdoor table tucking into bread and cheese with banana cake and wicked fudge.

And I loved being paid in wine! Look out for Avatar (available at Macs Brewery Bar and St John’s Bar in Wellington) – it’s great, and when the 2008 pinot noir vintage comes out, I had a hand in it. It was tiring work but it felt good to be getting to the grass roots of a thing I love from all angles.