Friday Five: Scooter

It is with infinite sadness that I write about the death of one of my dearest friends, Glenn 'Scooter' Reid. Him Outdoors and I have known Sooter for a dozen years and he has enriched them in a way I cannot express. He has the biggest heart of anyone I know, but sadly his little body wasn't strong enough to deal with the pancreatic cancer with which he was diagnosed almost a year ago to this day. I will love him and miss him forever, but I am also incredibly lucky to have had such an amazing and close friend. So I want to acknowledge the affection, warmth and humour that he brought into our lives. This one's for you, Scoot:

5 Things I Love About Scooter:

1. His ability to be all things to all people: Whether with rugby, work, or theatre productions, he has a way of making you think that you are the most important thing in the world, and at that moment you are. With so many diverse interests he knows a lot of folk and there are always numerous claims on his attention. To love Scooter is to share him; whenever we went out for a meal or to the cinema or whatever, we would have to leave at least half an hour early to give everyone who wanted to, the chance to stop and say hello.
2. His problem-solving ability: There are few problems Scooter couldn’t fix (usually with a Maglite and a roll of gaffer tape) and he loved being able to do so. As a director I often asked if it was possible to produce a certain effect and he would say ‘of course’ and then work out how. I generally left all that technical stuff to him, as if you gave him a clear idea of your vision, he would bring it to reality. He hated problems he couldn’t fix (such as emotional issues) and on more than one occasion he wished he had a time machine so he could go back and change things.
3. His enthusiasm: There aren’t many Southern Men interested in both sport and theatre, and I’ve loved our travels nationally and internationally to see both (I’ve taken him to football; he’s taken me to rugby; we both respectfully disagree about the greatest game ever), but his interests don’t stop there. He knows stuff (he’s been an invaluable member of our quiz team), and what he doesn’t know he is generally happy to learn. Don’t get me wrong, he has an acerbic tongue at times and won’t take shit from anyone, but he can talk to most people about most things – a wonderful companion and great drinking buddy.
4. His thoughtfulness: He provides you with things you didn’t even know you needed but then can't do without, and is always available for friendship and support. We were on holiday in Vanuatu and Tasmania when we were made homeless by the Queenstown floods and landslips of 1999; we returned to find that Scooter and some other wonderful friends had gathered up our essential belongings (photos; diaries; records; books; cats) and stored them in their spare rooms/ basements/ garages out of further harm. We moved five times in six months and he helped us with every single shift. We rented a caravan for a week over Christmastime, which was tough with two cats and no space. He brought us a box of beer and a barbeque and came to visit every day to help with whatever he could, especially the cooking and drinking! Being an immigrant (albeit of fifteen years), Christmas is one of the hardest times for me as I miss my family desperately. Scooter knows this and is always particularly welcoming at this time of year, inviting us to share his family and his time.
5. His affection: he is fiercely protective of his family and his friends. When Scooter loves you; you know you are loved. And he is one of the best huggers it has ever been my pleasure to know.

Friday Five: Summer

Apparently it's official: summer is here. It starts on the 1st of December, so I am told. So it seemed appropriate to do this:

5 Best Things About Summer:

1. Long evenings - it doesn't matter what you do with them (go for a bike ride; take the dog for a walk; meet friends in a beer garden; sit on the patio with a good book) - it's just nice not to come home from work and straight-away have to light the fire, close the curtains and turn the lights on. It feels like a time for leisure
2. Summer fruit - strawberries; raspberries; cherries; peaches; apricots; nectarines; plums - even better when you live in Central Otago!
3. Summer sport - although I now live in New Zealand, summer sport to me is always the sound of Wimbledon tennis on the tele (of course, it's shown in the middle of winter here) and test cricket. Every two years we alternate between the Olympic Games and the World Cup, so we get festivals of sporting passion - love it
4. Parliamentary Recess - at least a month without having to listen to pontificating politicians pretend to give celebrity soundbites - 'news' stories about kittens stuck up trees and the world's largest knitted rabbit are a small price to pay
5. Outdoor swimming - rivers; lakes; sea - it's so much better than swimming in a pool

You're Right to Vote

Last weekend a general election was held here in New Zealand. Back at work, people having been asking me, 'Did you vote?' I am amazed by this question and simply answer, 'Of course!'. Apparently one third of the the eligible voters in this country didn't - that's about a million people. That's something I don't understand.

The fact that the party I didn't vote for and the one I despise is back in power to 'govern' (their manifesto includes privatisation, ditching workers' rights and breaking up unions) for the next three years, is not the point here. The point is that our ancestors fought World Wars so we could live in a democracy. Men and women died so that we could vote.

It is your civic and moral duty to vote. Many who didn't (mostly in the 18-25 bracket) say they don't care, couldn't be bothered or were too lazy. They claim no interest in politics and say it doesn't affect them. They might change their mind when they can't get a job, or (more likely from the sound of most of those interviewed) a benefit; when they can't afford to feed their children; can't plug in their laptops or express their opinions - if they have any, because they probably are too lazy to form them.

Perhaps if they forfeit their right to vote they should also forfeit their rights to citizenship: freedom of expression, assembly, peaceful association, thought, conscience, religion and belief; freedom of movement and residence; freedom from discrimination. And why should someone who can't be bothered to vote be entitled to benefits, education and the right to a fair hearing by an unbiased-decision maker? All of these civic rights are paid for by the tax-payer, who votes to give the government a mandate on how to distribute those taxes.

I am playing devil's advocate somewhat here; I will always vote to protect the vulnerable, which I feel is my moral duty not just as a citizen but as a human being. Those who don't vote should be ashamed of themselves. That used to carry some weight. For the selfish individuals who care nothing about their fellow man or woman, they will probably just smile and shrug. Who am I kidding; with an attitude like that, they would probably only have voted National anyway. 

Friday Five: Vegetables

This week, the Quick Quintet is back by popular demand (well, a couple of people asked why I'd stopped). Posting every day proved to be quite exhausting so I cheated a little here and there. I have decided to make the Quick Quintet a once-a-week thing: hence, the Friday Five - catchy, huh?

A while ago some friends and I had a heated debate over what was the Devil's vegetable - we ended up sort of roughly divided between turnips and beetroot. I didn't realise root vegetables could be so emotive.

 For the purposes of this post, we are avoiding salad vegetables (the tomato: fruit or vegetable argument can thus be neatly sidestepped) and although avocados are lush, they are equally excluded. In a singular high-handed fashion I have also decided to remove fungi from consideration, although fresh field mushrooms sauteed in butter and served on sour dough bread with a sprinkling of tarragon and chives is one of the delights of breakfast.

5 Favourite Vegetables

1. Potatoes - is any vegetable as versatile as the humble spud? No, is the answer to that, and I should know: I lived off them for six months as a student when my grant ran out
2. Asparagus - for the two weeks in season you can get them, they are almost all I live on - and I don't care if they turn my wee green
3. Courgettes - I like them crunchy (they make great crudites as well) and they are fabulous creamed in soups, in quiches, salads, ratatoille or simply as side with crushed almonds to accompany a nice piece of steak, or perhaps trout
4. Aubergines - love the colour; love the texture; love the taste. Some people have claimed to found religious iconography inside; they are probably bonkers. Incidentally, we went to Amisfield for dinner one evening, and the lovely waiter was thrilled that we were English so that he could offer us courgettes and aubergines rather than zucchini and eggplant
5. Onions - they are the base of almost any sauce - pasta; curry; soups; stew; tagine; etc. And spring onions are great in salads, and you don't even have to be Welsh to like leeks

Walking Dreams

In dreams I can walk on my hands.
Not a useful talent,
But a good party trick:
It entertains, and people smile.

I launch forward through my arms;
Lurching from side to side:
Chest pushed out; neck stretched;
Legs bent over like a question mark

Asking when will I fall,
And if it’s before I wake,
Will I die in my sleep?
Is that entertainment?

Look-i-like-i: Avram Grant/ Baron Greenback

I know I am not the only one to see the resemblance between former Portsmouth, Chelski and Happy Hammers manager, Avram Grant, and arch-villain and Dangermouse nemesis, Baron Greenback, but I feel it should be pointed out anyway.

Barefaced Cheek: My Two Weeks Without Makeup

Disclaimer: These are not my eyebrows. Nor, in fact, my eyes.

Before going on holiday I decided to have a massage. Because this is indulgent, I thought I would inflict some pain at the same time (I know, I’m not even Catholic!) so I had my eyebrows shaped. I’ve never had this done before. It sounds calming and gentle, but involves waxing, ripping, raw flesh and sweating.

The lovely beauty technician told me I had a good solid shape that just needed tidying up a bit. Bless her. I think she meant my eyebrows. So she ‘tidied them up a bit’. Apparently this opens up my eyes. I think it makes me look permanently startled. I’ve also realised that my eyelids are slightly crêpe-y. For the first time in my life I understand why people have ‘tucks’.

I could always disguise the fact by covering it with eyeshadow: I used to apply a base/wash colour and sort of blend it into my shaggy brow, but now this has receded halfway up my forehead I run the risk of looking like a clown. So I made a bold decision (for a 40-year-old). I would spend the next two weeks without makeup.

Day One
According to my reflection, I am still surprised by my decision/ my face/ my self. I go into town to purchase trekking clothes – trying them on in the changing room feels right without makeup: I won’t actually be wearing lipstick and blusher in the Malaysian rainforest anyway. I wonder how much effect makeup generally has on one’s ‘look’ in deliberating over outfits.

Friends come round in the evening to watch the rugby. My makeup ban does not extend to my toenails, which I have meticulously painted white with red crosses to display my patriotism. It took ages! If only the England players had shown as much dedication...

Day Two
Without makeup there is no way to conceal disappointment over national sporting loss, so the ‘brave face’ that I put on is entirely metaphorical. Thank God it wasn’t football!

After packing my bags I relax with a gin and tonic in the sun (well, actually in the garden – the sun would be too hot, obviously). Apparently there is quinine in tonic which helps to ward off malaria, so I am loading up on it in advance. Someone told me I could drink the tonic without adding the gin and it would work just as well. Clearly they don’t know me very well.

I have exposed hitherto hidden sections of my face to the sun. I may have burned my eyelids.

Day Three
We get up early to fly to Brunei. Not having to apply makeup gives me another five minutes in bed – that in itself makes the experiment worth-while.

Our flight is delayed so I have time to people-watch in Auckland airport. Every single adult woman (and many of the children) wears makeup to a varying extent. I feel exposed and invisible, which is both daunting and liberating.

When I go to the toilet I don’t have to check my reflection or touch up my lipstick. It’s one less thing to worry about and just feels easier.

On the flight to Brunei I watch a couple of sad/silly films (including The First Grader) and shed the odd tear with no fear of running mascara or smudged eyeshadow.

When we arrive at my brother and sister-in-law’s, we have a couple of glasses of wine while discussing matters of great importance – world politics and foreign intervention among the topics. I am exhausted and a bit tipsy and fall into bed without cleaning my face.

Day Four
No makeup on the pillow or halfway down my face – excellent. We go on an outing to temples, fish markets, the bank, and coffee in a hotel. I only feel out of place at the hotel. Everywhere else I am invisible, which is particularly helpful at the fish market where I take photos and get splashed by a still-live wriggling eel.

Not used to the heat, I am sweating a lot and bathing my face at every opportunity, which makeup would only hinder. Falling asleep for an afternoon siesta is so much easier without fear of drool and mascara stains.

Day Five
A run in the morning (in about 30° heat), wiping my face, doesn’t leave stains on my t-shirt. A massage also passes without having to redo the makeup after having the face squished through the hole.

We eat lunch at a local place in Miri – I am not bothered by the makeup absence and try to rely on smiling to illuminate my facial features instead.

Day Six
I realise that I am a little bored by my face and that usually I would slap on some green eyeshadow or purple lipstick to enliven things. Instead, I just avoid mirrors. It’s refreshing not to have to think about yourself and your image all the time.

‘A woman should not apply makeup only according to the physical features of her face, but she should put on makeup for the story she wants to tell and, somehow, for the message she wants to convey’ – Brigitte Reiss-Andersen, renowned makeup artist, Malaysia Airlines in-flight magazine

Day Seven
A two-hour walk in the rainforest (34° heat and 98% humidity), slathered in insect repellent and dripping with sweat – wiping my face on my drenched t-shirt every few minutes, makeup is the furthest thing from my mind. Later, drinking Pimms at the boat club, I know I am glowing with heat, sun, and the after-effects of healthy exertion. There is no need for blusher here.

Day Eight
At a night out in the hotspots of Miri, I feel old rather than un-made-up. No amount of face paint could make me look twenty years younger.

Day Nine - Eleven
Walking through the rainforest to the Niah caves, bathing in the hot pools at Poring Springs, walking high in the tree canopy, visiting the War Memorial, there is far too much to see and think about to worry about appearances.

Day Twelve and Thirteen
We climb Mt Kinabalu (4095m), the highest peak in South East Asia, getting up at 3am in order to reach the summit at sunrise – it is stunning. We share daft grins with the others up there – the park limits the number of people to 150 a day. One girl has perfect and painstakingly applied heavy eye makeup. For once, she seems to be the odd one out.

Day Fourteen and Fifteen
Trips include a boat excursion along the Kinabatangan River looking for wildlife, snorkelling off Libaran Island where the coastguard keep watch for pirates, a village walk where we are glared at with hostile resentment, viewing the laying of eggs and hatching of baby turtles as they flip-flop down to the sea, marvelling at the grace and agility of orang-utans as they come to be fed at a sanctuary, and weeping at the horrors evoked by a war memorial park. Nowhere do I feel the experience would have been improved with makeup.

Day Sixteen
A flight back to Kota Kinabalu brings us back into contact with plastic Americans injected with Botox and collagen. How much is too much, I wonder? Some have certainly gone too far and look as though Barbie has been left out in the sun until she melted.

We watch the rugby world cup final at an Irish bar in Kota Kinabalu. There is a lot of face-paint in evidence, but no one seems to care about the makeup or lack thereof.

Day Seventeen
We fly all day from KK to Brunei and from there to Auckland. In Malaysia, women in sequinned hot pants and tight, sloganned tops co-exist happily with women wearing full-body covering or embroidered headscarves. Anything goes and no one seems out of place. Bright colours rather than ubiquitous black replace the need for facial decoration. I have photographed colourful images of washing hung on picturesque porches – mine would look drab in comparison.

Day Eighteen
After four hours of sleep it’s time to head to the airport for the final leg of the journey home to Queenstown. The shuttle bus driver informs me he can tell I have been somewhere hot because it shows on my face, and what I need to do now is buy some face cream to tone down my colour. It’s early and I can’t be bothered to take issue with his unspeakable rudeness. It just confirms my return to the land of the long white conformity.