Weekend in Auckland

We went to Auckland this weekend so Spaz could compete in the National Age Group Duathlon Championships. He ran and cycled his way to a silver medal, of which we're very proud. All the Wellington athletes did well and it was a grand day out.

Auckland's not too bad either. She's scrubbed up okay, since the America's Cup. The Viaduct Basin actually looks quite nice these days; a lot finer than the impression it left when we first arrived nearly twelve years ago.

We went down to the waterfront to look at the boats - what is it about boys and boats, no matter what age they are? What fun it is to imagine yourself aboard one of these floating gin palaces, cruising around the harbours and the islands in fine weather with the sun glistening off the water. Of course it wouldn't be so appealing in a howling gale when you haven't seen land for days, but this is just a dream, remember.






So which one would you have?

Final night

Well, The Devils is over and I feel slightly bereft. I keep getting a strange feeling approaching panic as I think that I should be somewhere, doing something, and then I remember that it is all over - for now.

I met so many great people and renewed some old friendships. I just love theatre people and doing shows is so much fun - all these people come together from different backgrounds and combine to produce an ephemeral work of art that means so much to the peole involved and can never be duplicated. I hope to stay in touch with as many of these folk as possible - you know who you are!

I learned so much from my fellow cast and crew members, led by Phil Mann who was a colossus of a director and one of the best I have ever worked with. Many thanks to all involved, and to all the audience who came to see it. I am now going to attempt to catch up on my sleep and empty my mind of some of those weird lines. Croak!

Ballet costumes

Last month the very beautiful and very talented Kate Venables (pictured front, rehearsing Banderillero - photo by Maarten Holl) took us on a tour of the Royal New Zealand Ballet (RNZB) headquarters at St James Theatre in Wellington.

When I was a little girl I used to want to be a dancer, despite the fact that I was clearly never going to have the grace, poise and slender strength of these amazing athletes – my father reinforced this by calling me ‘the sugar plum elephant’ each time I not-so-nimbly pirouetted down the stairs.

It’s partly the costumes that attract me. They’re so beautiful and so practical, having to withstand the rigours of vigorous activity while looking simply exquisite. I thought this was a perfect opportunity to get a peek behind the scenes, and I spied upon an entire room for making costumes, where materials, threads, and silent sewing machines wait on stand-by ready to spring into action.

Kate showed us that dress from Cinderella – the white satin tutu designed by Tracy Grant Lord studded with about 60,000 small, sparkling Swarovski crystals in a delicate rose design. It is shown here worn by Katie Hurst-Saxon in a photo by Rob Kitchin.

Kate also showed us a jacket and explained that there are three settings of hooks and eyes so that it will fit whichever principal is dancing the role. Sometimes the part doesn’t necessarily go to the ‘best’ dancer, but the one who fits the costume, although this isn’t too much of an issue as many of the dancers are equally talented, and equally tiny!

The costumes for Romeo and Juliet are being worked on at the moment. The costume budget for a major show is about $70,000, so it pays to be able to reuse things. The RNZB owns the performance rights to certain shows – like Romeo and Juliet, and Swan Lake – that they put on periodically; by the third time they might actually make money on one.

Kate also showed us the shoe cupboard and explained how dancers try all sorts of methods to soften the pointes of their ballet shoes. These are made from layers upon layers of cardboard, and the dancers bend them back and forth, whack them with hammers, soak them in water – anything to mould them to their feet and attempt to make them more comfortable. Dancers have a limited number of shoes, so when they have got them the way they want them; they write their name on the pair they have individually customised.

The shoes hurt and pinch when they dance. Many dancers get foot infections – the fiery red fungus creeps between their toes and can spread up their legs. When they finish a show their shoes can be full of blood and pus, and all the while they smile and look pretty. It is such a tortuous art form!

Despite all the back-stage horrors, the façade that gets presented to the public is magnificent and beautiful. I see that the RNZB are auctioning off some of their costumes from Queen’s Wharf in the last weekend of June. Even if you’re not interested in buying anything, I recommend you get down and have a look, inviting a little make-believe and glamour into your life.

Rhubarb crumble

Last night we had a rare night in, so we curled up on the sofa with the cat and a bottle of pinot noir, watching cheesy dramas (Robin Hood and Desperate Housewives) while the wind and rain howled and hurled outside.

On the menu was Lancashire hotpot and rhubarb crumble. I love rhubarb crumble, and it is my husband’s favourite dish. Okay, so I know that to some people rhubarb is ‘war food’ but I admire its honest simplicity and its ubiquitous durability. My husband laughs that he had never eaten ‘posh people’s food’ – avocados; olives; cherry tomatoes; guavas – until he met me. But he had always eaten rhubarb.

My granddad used to grow it in the garden. We would ‘help’ him to dig over the vegetable patch when we were children. I was easily distracted by the worms and the archaeological finds I made. I was convinced I had discovered treasure once when I slammed a spade into one of my brother’s toy soldiers, buried during some long-forgotten military campaign.

And crumble – well, it’s just edible perfection, really isn’t it? It has to be made with butter and the texture as you roll it between your fingers is satisfying to the soul before you even eat it. I’ve never been fond of pastry – it’s too fiddlesome and sticks to things when it shouldn’t. My hands are never the right temperature to mould it and then roll it out, and it just never looks right. But crumble – well, any fool can make that!

Rhubarb with strawberries or ginger or coconut or orange peel – but rhubarb every time. And then the addition of cream (preferably double) or icecream (Kapiti gingernut is a current favourite). I’m not a crème brulee or a tiramisu girl. I’m not interested in pavlova or pannecotta – but I’ll take the rhubarb crumble for an effortlessly sincere taste of home.

I used a recipe from the BBC Food website, and the above image is from the kitchen gardens website.

My newest favourite thing: Kingfishers

When I went for a bike ride last week, I was whirring round the bays when I saw a flash of brilliant blue. At first I thought it was a metallic crisp packet, it was so shiny, but then it took off and flew into a tree. I put on my brakes, pulled my feet out of my clips and admired the radiance of the kingfisher.

This is such a gorgeous, dazzling bird. It looks as though it is adorned with jewellery, and not the cheap stuff either. I carried on my ride, more aware now of the variable oystercatchers (I have visions of them being good at times and fair to middling at others), terns, petrels, and shags (we call them cormorants – it saves the giggling). Apparently sea birds sneeze excess salt out of their bodies. I think that’s fascinating!

I never thought as myself as a bird-watcher although I do remember as a child that my mother used to call me to the window to point out the blue tits, woodpeckers, nuthatches, robins and chaffinches. Not starlings – she didn’t like starlings.

She used to hang out a little bag full of nuts and scraps and bread crusts suspended from the rose trellis. The squirrels used to shin up the wooden joists and grab the bag in their greedy little paws. As they nibbled the goodies, they would be dive-bombed by twittering sparrows who wanted their turn.

When I first came to New Zealand, I realised the birds were different. Your kingfishers don’t look like our kingfishers. The herons, robins and magpies are all different. I bought a book to identify them and, in lieu of any native mammals to study, I got quite adept at naming the feathered companions to our walks.

If I didn’t know what a tweeting species was, I would invariably just give it a name at random – my husband was never any the wiser. Rifleman was my favourite. I’m still not sure that I’ve ever seen one, but it’s a cool name.

The fantails used to freak me out – they don’t behave in the way that I expected birds to. Rather than streaking off, they flitter about your head and feet, swooping in to catch the tasty morsels you disturb. Now I know what they’re doing, I’m quite happy to share my world with them. And what a rich, beautiful world it can be at times.

Robbery alert!

A report in this week’s Southland Times reveals that a couple of British tourists made a false claim to police about being robbed of their possessions, intending to conduct an insurance scam.

An eagle-eyed off-duty policeman spotted them using a supposedly stolen wallet in a supermarket and their scheme was well and truly rumbled.

Regardless of the foolishness of doing this in such a small town where word gets around, I would have thought it was impossible that their story could have stood up to close scrutiny.

Apparently the men described their assailants as eight ‘well dressed’ men at 11.50pm on Saturday night. I lived in Queenstown for seven and a half years and I never saw eight well-dressed men in all that time, let alone all on one night!

Opening Night

I am in a play that opens tonight. The play is The Devils by John Whiting, and it is on at the Gryphon on Ghuznee, presented by Stagecraft.

For the next two weeks there will be late nights (I’m unlikely to be home before midnight), spotty skin (I don’t usually wear make-up, but you have to on stage or your face disappears under the lights), cramped dressing rooms (27 cast members in about a 4x3m room with low ceilings), smelly costumes (I play a nun with a hunchback and I do a lot of writhing on stage – those things are not made of sweat-free fabric), and poor nutrition as eating habits (no pun, or indeed po nun, intended) become erratic at best.

My housework will remain undone, my exercise regime will suffer and my husband and cat will feel sorely neglected. So why do I do it? Because I love it! I love that opening night feeling; the buzz of excitement and nervous energy backstage. I love the feeling that so many people have worked together to put on a production that will entertain and provoke.

And I love acting – playing different characters and throwing myself into roles. I get to wear costumes, pull expression, speak words and vent feelings I would never do in my own life. I am a voyeuristic magpie, borrowing from the experiences of others and presenting them back to them.

I want to make people laugh and cry, gasp with horror and smile with understanding. I want to make them think. Above all, I want them to leave the theatre with a greater understanding of something – anything. I know it works for me. I just want to share that feeling.

If you’re in Wellington between now and 31st May, come and share it with me.