My newest favourite thing: artists on the green

It was a scorching hot day as I walked down to Arrowtown Village Green for a spot of art and craft. The shady positions were highly sought after as the artists and artisans sold their wares.

I love Leslie Duggan’s artwork and we have several of her colourful and vibrant fabric creations adorning our walls. One (of red hot chillies and ice cool martinis) was given to us as a wedding present. The quirky cats and jaunty pukekos are also favourites. I see she also does triptychs of more subtle korus and kiwis in muted tones which would make great wall hangings too – check them out at her garden shed gallery.

I met the charming Rex Charlesworth with his fabulous display of handcrafted glass beads and jewellery. He is inspired by dragonflies; their iridescent colours, fragile wings and superlative aerodynamics. Some of the beads featured in pendants and earrings are fashioned to represent their startling eyes.

We discussed photography and patience – he clearly has lots of it as he used to spend hours photographing dragons and damsels in minute detail and extreme close-up. You can follow a link from his Queenstown Hotglass website to see some of these wonderful images.

I was also pleased to meet the artist Christina Roach who, despite being inundated with golfing fans for the Michael Hill NZ Open, was still smiling as she painted her Central Otago landscapes. This is the scenery with which she chooses to surround herself and you can tell her connection to it with each loving brush stroke of the oil on the canvas or the dots of colour that represent glorious autumnal leaves on Tobin's Track.

Christina had almost sold out of her paintings and so was completing some more to add to her stock. Today she was painting from a photograph – a panorama of images taped together, which she kept in the front pocket of her apron. I suggested that it might be difficult to imagine the landscape while she looked out at the Arrowtown street bustling with summer visitors, but as she mixed more pockets of paint, she said she knows these hills like the back of her hand.

Driving Forces

People who drive sign-written vehicles can be startling stupid. I ride my bike around the Wakatipu Basin a lot and I see some alarming driving. Many cars (usually 4WDs) cut me up or don’t understand the concept of share the road. I know this is mutual and there are quite a few cyclists who display a reckless disregard for fellow road-users also, but that’s not what this post is about.

Last week I was carved up three times in less than ten minutes in Arrowtown by the same vehicle. Arrogance or ignorance; I’m not sure which is worse, but it certainly motivated this bloke’s attitude to the road. He ended up pulling into his driveway (overtaking me and then turning inches in front of me, causing me to brake heavily) so I know where he lives. If he continues this behaviour, I will let you know where he lives too.

And this is where those with sign-written vehicles come in. It’s all too easy to think you are in your own little bubble when you drive, but your antisocial and unthinking actions affect everyone else in your vicinity. You are blatantly advertising that you don’t give a toss and are reckless, thoughtless and completely inconsiderate. Do you really think anyone would want to do business with you? I’ve witnessed a lot of woeful driving; dangerous overtaking and careless corner-cutting. I won’t mention it here, but I know who you are.

I must also give credit where it’s due – there are some sign-written vehicles in the area who display consistent courtesy and I would certainly recommend their business to anyone who requires their services. Among the more noticeable champions of the road are Nomad Safaris, Otago Southland Waste Services, Addstaff and Ministry of Works.

Of course, not everyone wants you to know who they are. Once, Him Outdoors was racing around the Lake District when a car pulled out sharply in front of him forcing him to slam on the brakes and take evasive action. He waited until the driver was looking his rear view mirror then flashed a rude signal and mouthed obscenities very clearly, which the other driver couldn’t help but lip-read.

The flashing blue lights popped up and Him Outdoors was reluctantly pulled over by the unmarked police car. After trading ‘You shouldn’t have pulled out like that’ and “It wouldn’t have been a problem if you weren’t speeding’, the policeman allowed that he had another pressing call to attend and that Him Outdoors was lucky to be let off without a fine. His parting shot was, ‘Just watch who you call a f*&%ing t#%t in future, sir.’ Which goes to prove, you can never be too careful on the road – someone is indeed always watching.

Boy Books

The latest list to challenge my Libran (and female) sensibilities is Esqire's 75 Books Every Man Should Read. Clearly, I am not a man, but I'm always interested in the difference in reading habits between the sexes, so I took a look. I have read about a third of their list so I suppose I am entitled to some insight.

One of the things I took from this list is that men don't read books by women - we know this anyway. Often on men's top ten favourite reading lists, the only female author you will find is Harper Lee. I often thought this was because, what with the androgynous name and general lack of public appearances, many blokes think she is a man. Perhaps the same is true of Flannery O'Connor, as she is the only female included in the 75. I think that's pretty shallow. But then, why 'should' someone read a book? To find out about things they don't know, or to reaffirm what they already do?

The books have little blurbs to sum them up. A large proportion are about war. Others are about dogs, horses and cattle or mountains and seafaring - exploration in other words. Men 'should' read about tough manly heroes and their pursuit of survival; adjectives include raw, unrelenting and revenge.

They admire stories about slaves, prison, spies, scandal, presidents, journalists, detectives and the Holocaust; apparently these are manly topics. They are also encouraged to read tales of mateship, farting and sex; childhood, highschool and college. There is usually an edge about having a passionate longing (whether or not it is requited) with your best friend's girlfriend/wife and a troubled relationship with your father.

Of course, there are heaps of titles about drugs and drinking. Descriptions are full of words such as crazy, drunk, hallucinatory, boozing, brawling, fighting, whiskey and defeat. Naturally this leads to a chronic onset of navel-gazing; dirty, damned, grotesque, trapped, desolation, darkness, loss of self.
It's no surprise that the quintissential boy book, Heart of Darkness makes it onto the list, although I am puzzled by the omission of Albert Caumus' L'Etranger. Apparently men should read of cold brilliance, sparseness, animalism, brutality and deception.

I find this list somewhat depressing, mainly because it suggests that men are still living in the past. They dream of swashbuckling adventures where men were tough and women were unimportant. If there was a war to fight, then all the better, as they could prove their valour and value. They could then adopt an attractive world-weary pose to demonstrate strength and knowledge of unspeakable things. When they lost their pioneering capabilities they retreated into drugs and alcohol, unable to face reality, assuming a delusional paranoia that everyone was out to get them.

In real life they are drinking in bars, working in offices and playing pointless computer games by themselves. They read these fantasies but they don't discuss them (how many men do you know in book clubs?) because they like to believe they are the explorer who has discovered new territory. They still don't have any friends and they still don't care what women think.

My newest favourite thing: cherries

Cherries are the heralds of summer. They are the rubies in the centre of the golden stone fruit bowl.

When children, and some adults, swing the ripe red pendulums from their ears and pretend to be wearing sumptuous earrings, you know the season has arrived.

Obviously, when they arrive depends on where you live. Here they arrive just in time for Christmas, but in the Northern Hemisphere I associate them with my sister’s birthday. The Weevil was born in July and we were often abroad in European orienteering countries for the event.

I have a childhood memory (of course, they are notoriously unreliable) of the Weevil skipping joyously along carrying a Black Forest gateaux (I suspect we may even have been in the Black Forest itself) and tripping; sending cream, cherries and chocolate shavings in all directions. The tears had nothing to do with the skimmed knees.

A stall in Arrowtown tempts you with luscious delights; the sellers have come from That Dam Fruit Stall in Cromwell. You can try varieties and pick a favourite punnet, if you are decisive.

Otherwise you struggle with your choice; red, white, pink or purple? Sweet or tart; ‘subacid’ or ‘bland’ – those last descriptions are not mine but come from the Horticultural Society. They probably provided the more prosaic number and letter naming system, while someone with a little more imagination came up with ‘Liberty Bell’, ‘Stardust’, ‘Columbia’ and ‘Staccato’.

Not only do they taste delicious, but apparently they are good for you. Cherries contain high quantities of the antioxidant anthocyanin, (also found in grapes and berries) so you can claim you are being healthy as you puff out your cheeks with the pips.

We would count them as children to see who we were going to marry; tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich-man, poor-man, beggar-man, thief. There was never any mention of electrical engineers so I can only assume their powers of prediction are equally as good as any other form of divination.

If you’re not counting the pips, you can always spit them out. My mother will be pleased to know that I haven’t entered (or even witnessed) the cherry pip spitting championships, but there is a hotly contested regional round of the competition in Cromwell at the start of the season. They make their own entertainment in this area, you know.

And when the cherries have all gone, it's not too long to wait for the blushing blossoms to appear. Symbolising the ephemeral nature of life, they are bashed and buffeted by the winds but some survive.

They are revered in Japan and in 1912 the Japanese gave a gift of some 3000 trees to America to symbolise their blossoming friendship between nations. Is it even more symbolic that these ornamental trees bear no fruit? Whatever, they look simply beautiful.

Books read in August

The following are short reviews of the books that I read in August. The marks I have given them in the brackets are out of five.

Border Songs – Jim Lynch (4.5)
The anti-hero of Border Songs is tall, autistic, dyslexic Brandon who thinks in pictures, compiles mental lists of all the birds he has seen daily, and makes temporary art that is obviously influenced by “the great Andy Goldsworthy”. He joins the Border Patrol to catch drug smugglers and illegal immigrants, and discovers an uncanny talent for turning up in the right place at the right time.

His father, Norm has a failing dairy herd, a half-built yacht in his barn, and a wife (Jeanette) who is suffering from Alzheimer’s. He fantasises about Sophie the masseuse, who may or may not be writing a book about the inhabitants of the small town, and turning a blind eye to illegal immigrants in return for bundles of cash. His neighbour, Wayne taunts him from the Canadian side of the border where the drug laws are different, and Brandon falls in love with Wayne’s daughter Madeline who puts her gardening skills to good use.

No one actually knows where the boundary is, and a lot of money and effort seems to be poured into a ditch. The novel is whimsical and lyric with gentle prose which leaves a lasting impression. Full of a cast of picaresque characters and universal themes of exploration and defence, this book is simply beautiful.

Two Caravans – Marina Lewycka (4.4)
Marina Lewycka’s second novel covers some of the same ground as her first, A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian, but in this she focuses more on the experiences of immigrants, legal or otherwise, in England. Obviously there are good and bad people of all nationalities – Ukrainian, African, Polish and even English. Told from a variety of perspectives, the story is also an expose of the demise of socialism in favour of the exploitation of the labour force.

This is not a novel about the unemployed underclass. Everyone in this book wants to work, even if it is low-paid, often demeaning in appalling conditions (the chicken farm is a narrative highlight), and usually illegal – no union members are employed. This is a capitalist society where self-preservation is everything and the human cost in employment rights is the first casualty.

Bizarrely, where there is exploitation, there is also integration as people are treated similarly despite class, gender, religion or race. Many of the immigrants came to England with hopes of a bright future, escaping “that old derelict Soviet world that we are trying to leave behind”, only to have their dreams of the Promised Land shattered by the reality with its hints of the violent underworld; human trafficking, guns, stolen passports and underage prostitutes.

There are constant shifts of point of view as we follow the different characters and this makes it difficult to get to know any of them well. It develops into a Mills and Boon/chick-lit type romance but there are acres of slapstick shenanigans and economic politics to travel though en route. Much of the plot is implausible but that’s not really the point, as it is more a novel of ideas and principles. It is far from dry and sterile, however, and the humour and language is as sparkling as in her first.

Timoleon Vieta Come Home – Dan Rhodes (4.5)
The title obviously brings to mind Lassie Come Home, and the fact that it features a mongrel, Timoleon Vieta, encourages the comparison. Cockcroft is a faded English composer and socialite who lives in a dilapidated farmhouse in the Italian countryside. He dreams of his previous lovers and lives only with his dog, with whom she shares a deep friendship. When a mysterious stranger arrives, known only as The Bosnian, the relationship is tested, and we have to question who is indeed man’s best friend?

The Bosnian and Timoleon Vieta don’t see eye to eye and the Bosnian persuades Cockcroft to drive the dog to Rome and abandon him there. Timoleon Vieta immediately sets out to walk back to the farmhouse. Along the way he encounters various people who are living out their own tales of love and pain, offering a kind of solace to those around him who take him in and feed him for a couple of days, giving him various names, before he resumes his own incredible journey.

It’s a hard-to-categorize book, written in a deceptively simple style. There are disturbing moments and there are heartrending passages, but it is a fantastic little read – like a twisted parable that has no moral. Life just is. This could be a Canterbury Tale based in Umbria – the dog’s tale, as it were.

The Sonnets – Warwick Collins (2.3)
I don’t understand the point of this book. Warwick Collins has taken Shakespeare’s sonnets and woven a very loose and not particularly entertaining story around them. Half of the novel is actually comprised of the sonnets themselves, which anyone with interest will have read already, and he even makes up a couple, passing them off as the ones that got away.

He writes his story in Shakespeare’s voice as he stays with the Earl of Southampton, his patron, when the theatres are closed. Southampton is fatherless and placed under the guardianship of Lord Burghley, Queen Elizabeth’s chief minister. Lord Burghley sees his ward as a rival and despises Shakespeare’s verses. Southampton, on the other hand, is flattered and impressed with the sonnets although he advises caution, telling Shakespeare to couch his sentiments in ambiguity; a handy explanation of the obscurity of the sonnets which allows Collins to interpret according to his will.

There are rumours of homosexuality to be countered. Through the questioning of Shakespeare by Southampton’s mother, who demands the household needs an heir, it is made clear that the love expressed towards the young lord in the sonnets is purely platonic and an example of artifice. Meanwhile, the dark lady is a married courtesan who becomes the mistress of both Southampton and Shakespeare. Christopher Marlowe gets a cameo role as he competes for Southampton’s attention, and is frequently compared with Shakespeare.

Collins has chosen to write in the first person but he doesn’t want to relinquish the omniscience of the third, which results in a dissatisfying effect. Collins also attempts to circumnavigate the restrictions of the first person narrator by having Shakespeare imagine a scene at which he is not present, which is awkward and jarring in its construction. He does capture the Warwickshire scenery of parks and woodland, but he also has a repetitious turn of phrase. Generally, this is a shameful exploitation of one great man’s art by a much lesser writer.

Many thanks to the fabulous cast

We were worried about the weather for Shakespeare on Location. We feared it would rain as it had done all week. If there are such things as weather gods, they were smiling on us as we had excellent weather - if anything it was too hot, (especially for Sarah Bogle in her cape as Chorus from Henry V) but we are not going to complain.

We were also concerned that people might stay away - the combination of the bard and the rain might prove to be too challenging. And yet they came in their droves. The Otago Daily Times was there, taking pictures. Here's Samuel Farr being Hamlet crossed with Bono for the 'I'm-so-much-cooler-than-thou' look.

I heard a comment that the excerpt from King Lear was good because it was basically a stand-alone piece and you could understand the story from that segment. David Cantwell, Jane Robertson, Patricia McInerney and Victoria Keating should be pleased with their Days of Our Lives interpretation.

Understanding might have been more limited for the scene from A Midsummer Night's Dream but the language is so beautiful that you can just let it wash over you, while the fairies (Jo Blick and Samuel Farr) threaten to wilt in the heat.

At least the scene from Antony and Cleopatra was conducted under the shade of the arbour. Jill Derbie's Cleopatra and Jason Medina's Messenger kept their cool.

The sunshine suited the day at the races theme we had chosen for the scene from Hamlet where Getrude (Jane Robertson) attempts to placate an increasingly distraught Ophelia (Caroline Early).

David Cantwell led us delightfully between scenes beside the pond as he sang the Page's song from As You Like It; 'There was a lover and his lass'. Hey Nonny No, indeed!

There were some incredibly quick changes from people; some of whom had to scurry from one spot to another in record time. It wasn't break-neck, but apparently it was strain-calf speed. Samuel Farr and Jason Medina coped admirably for a scene from As You Like It performed on the bridge.

We then crossed over the water where Jill Derbie and Jo Blick proved that Shakespeare is truly universal by performing a scene from Henry V in French.

Juliet (Patricia McInerney) was anxious for night to fall so that she could meet up with Romeo, but probably also because it had been a very long day (eight hours of solid acting on Saturday).

The giggling girls in Much Ado About Nothing (Caroline Early, Victoria Keating and Tanya Surrey) were just gorgeous as they set their trap for Beatrice (Jo Blick) who fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

We had two guides so they took turns leading the tours. Here is Victoria Mills as Prospero, releasing the delighted Ariel (Jane Robertson) in The Tempest.

So perhaps I was tempting fate by gatting Jill Derbie to sing Feste's 'The Rain It Raineth Every Day' from Twelfth Night as the closing song, but thankfully fate stayed resolutely steadfast.

Besides the sun and the cast I also want to mention the fantastic job done by Mary Todd who was an excellent wardrobe mistress and stage manager, keeping the production on track and adhering to its punishing schedule.

And a huge thank you to all the audience who came to see the show - I'd love to hear your feedback. You can also check out the latest from Remarkable Theatre on their website.

Annoying Songs

I feel it's time for another list, so here is my list of the top 20 most annoying songs ever:

1. Macarena – Los Del Rio; Superman – Black Lace; The Birdy Song – The Tweets; YMCA – Village People; The Time Warp
Any song with built-in actions; if I wanted to do exactly the same movements as a room-full of other co-ordinately-challenged people to some execrable music, I’d go to the gym.

2. From this moment – Shania Twain
Shameless manipulation – as if she didn’t just sit down and go, ‘I’m going to write a revoltingly mushy song that everyone will want to play at their wedding and I can garner immense royalties from it, never mind that the song itself is a pile of pap.’

3. Star Trekkin' – The Firm
I hate most ‘novelty’ songs but this is one of the worst. My best mate once left a pint of bitter behind when this came on the jukebox and he stormed out of the pub. Being the good friend I am I quickly downed my pint (and his) and followed him out.



4. I Wish I Could Fly – Keith Harris and Orville
This is another of the worst combining ‘novelty’ with childish lyrics and climb every mountain sentiment. Pass the bucket.

5. The Gambler­ – Kenny Rogers
It’s country, which is bad enough in itself, but it also encourages ukuleles/banjos, muppets, spontaneous sing-a-longs among drunken hen parties in New Zealand, and hoe-downs; are those the same thing?



6. Sweet Caroline – Neil Diamond
This song came out in 1969; surely to God after 40 years people might have moved on, but no. In New Zealand hordes of folk young enough to know better will run to the dance floor screaming, ‘I love this song!’ whenever it’s played – and that’s far too often. Their own music must be horrendous if they prefer this saccharine nonsense.

7. Word Up – Cameo
In fact any song (and there are many) that include the lyric, ‘wave/put your hands in the air like you just don’t care’. I blame this for being the first.

8. Bliss – Th’ Dudes
I’d never heard this song before I came to New Zealand, where it is played at every rugby event you will ever go to and it’s not as if they need any more encouragement. New Zealand has much of great substance and beauty to offer, and then there’s this.



9. Ironic – Alanis Morissette
Something is ironic if it the situation renders bad something that at any other time would have been good. Hence the death row pardon two minutes two late is ironic. The black fly in your chardonnay isn’t. If you’re going to sing a song about an adjective, you should at least know what it means.

10. Save the Best for Last – Vanessa Williams
For similar reasons to the above; the snow may well come down in June, especially if you live in the Southern hemisphere. No matter how much it rhymes, the sun will never go round the moon. Don’t be so stupid.

11. Emotions – Mariah Carey
Or in fact any song by the screaming human vibrator – just pick a note and stick with it. Your warbling and trilling may show off your voice to your yodelling teacher, but it’s ruining the song. I blame you personally for Christina Aguilera.

12. Everything I do, I do it for you – Bryan Adams Perhaps it’s not his fault, but this song was number one in England forever. Okay, so it was ‘only’ 16 consecutive weeks but it felt like forever, and it’s still the longest in British chart history. It was the theme tune to Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves so reminds me of Kevin Costner, and that’s never a good thing. It was summer 1991; I split up with my boyfriend and I just wanted to go back to Manchester.

13. Snoopy’s Christmas – The Royal Guardsmen Why is this song so popular in New Zealand? Despite attempts to secularise/ commercialise it, Christmas is by definition a religious holiday – the clue’s in the name. If you don’t like it; you don’t have to celebrate it. Celebrate Thanksgiving instead.

14. Every Rose Has Its Thorn – Poison; More Than Words – Extreme; Wind of Change – Scorpions; Don’t Want to Miss a Thing – Aerosmith
Any song in which a rock band does their slow and sultry power ballad to try and prove they can sing – they generally can’t. I love Guns n' Roses as much as the next bogan rock chick, but November Rain is a total wash-out.



15. Heal the World – Michael Jackson I know he’s dead now so we’re all meant worship at his cult of self-delusion but this has got to be the pinnacle of nausea from the prince of hypocrisy. All issue songs are ridiculous – let’s all buy a record/ wear a ribbon or a PVC bracelet to show that we really, really care about something we don’t give a toss about otherwise.

16. We Built This City – Starship; Can’t Fight This Feeling – REO Speedwagon; When the Going Gets Tough (the Tough Get Going) – Billy Ocean
I lived in America in the mid 80s – when we were on the coach to basketball/football matches, the rest of the team played the above mindless tosh. I sat stoically with my walkman on listening to The Cure, The Clash and Billy Bragg. When the batteries ran out I suffered. Boy, how I suffered.

17. There’s No One Quite Like Grandma – St Winifred’s School Choir
Three words – singing children; no! This was number one for two weeks over Christmas in 1980. This is even more remarkable because it was at the same as John Lennon was shot, and it kept his (Just Like) Starting Over off the top spot. Apparently the St Winifred’s School Choir reformed last year to do a ‘charity version’ – I’d pay them to shut up.



18. Greatest Love of All – Whitney Houston
One of the worst examples of ‘climb every mountain’ songs you’ll ever hear – yeah, yeah, you’re wonderful and you learned it all from kids. This song is all the more painful because she has such a great voice and could have used it for good rather than drivel.

19. Can’t Get You Out of My Head – Kylie Minogue
I really like Kylie, bless her, but this song is just too infuriatingly catchy for its own good. I find myself singing it out loud when I’m cycling or running, which earns me some odd looks because I don’t’ own an i-pod. I also inadvertently match my stroke to its rhythm when swimming. 50 lengths of that can drive you crazy.

20. I Dreamed a Dream; Don’t Cry for Me Argentina; I Don’t Know How to Love Him; Love Changes Everything; Memory
All of these are actually great songs in their place, which is in a musical. The only song that can possibly exist outside a musical is One Night in Bangkok. They should not be played in isolation or released as singles onto the charts.