Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay

Friday 23rd September

 

Picking Amie up from Pre-School this evening, so decided to have a day in the capital. The drive down SH1 was a pleasure in itself in the bright Spring sunshine. I stopped off in Mana to have a look at the Pauatahanui Inlet which I've always considered something special. No Bros jumping off the bridge unfortunately - the natives must be going soft. Down the Gorge and into Wellington - that must be the prettiest entry to a capital city in the world. Parked up in our usual spot just past Te Papa. It was one of those rarities in Welly, a day with no wind. The harbour was as flat as a pancake and a delight to walk along. My first port of call was to Te Papa for a cup of coffee and a complimentary copy of the Dominion Post (saving $1.60 - every little bit helps). Then it was on to the New Zealand Academy of Fine Arts to have a look at their exhibition 'A Game of Two Halves; The Art of the Cliche'. This proved most interesting; there were some excellent bronzes of rugby scenes by Brett McKay and some interesting portraits of noted rugby players in toast. Yes folks, toast!





 

Maurice Bennett - The Toastman (for it is he!)

I liked the Richie McCaw, but felt the Gareth Edwards was not the greatest likeness, but who am I to comment as an afficionado of art made from bread-based breakfast products?

Another exhibit that caught the eye and carried on the theme of blasphemy that seems to infest RWC was a painting of a Gilbert RWC 2011 rugby ball on the cross! Unfortunately dear reader, I can't find a picture of this on the Internettywebbything, but the painting was entitled 'It's all a matter of faith' and was painted by someone called Barb Battensby. Now the artist may have been trying to show a sense of irony about the Kiwi obsession with rugby, but basically it was so politically incorrect and in such poor taste that I would happily have it hanging in my lounge.

But for me the piece de resistance of the exhibition was nothing to do with rugby. It was a mixed media piece entitled 'Munted' by Bryan Clarke and was a haunting depiction of the destruction caused by this year's earthquake in Christchurch. I do so wish I could show you a photograph, but I didn't have my camera with me. Let me explain that 'munted' is a word used over here to mean pissed or wrecked, but in the context of the Christchurch quake it was used as a polite way of saying 'completely f***ed'. The Mayor of ChCh Bob Parker had to explain the word to Prince William when he visited the devastation.

The work was a framed picture of a house that had been partially demolished by an earthquake, the twist being that it hung as if it itself had suffered earthquake damage, glass smashed and shards falling to the ground, the frame in pieces. The discontinuity in time represented in the piece was intriguing and it was a poignant reminder of thehurt which hit The Garden City last time we were in New Zealand.

Feeling rather moved, I nipped off up Cuba Street to our favourite Malaysian restaurant for lunch; Beef Rendang which was great tucker, and at $10 a great bargain. After lunch I returned to the waterfront for a walk in the sun and ended up in the Museum of Wellington City & Sea. This is one of my favourite museums at any time, but for RWC it had an exhibition of photographs by Peter Bush called Hard on the Heels. The exhibition features over 100 images of great All Black moments, games and players over a 60-year period.

The amazingly hard Sid Going emerges from the mist

NZ vs East Glamorgan, Wales 1972/7

From there it was off to the Fan Zone via the Civic Square where they had an astroturf  mini rugby pitch laid out, complete with posts for local primary schools to play tag rugby. Radio station More FM had laid on a free sausage sizzle and well, it would have been rude not too!

After this it was back to the car via the Black Boots Legends Gallery on the waterfront. Let me quote from their website;-

The Black Boot Legends Gallery will display a selection of New Zealand rugby images from the non-professional, pre-1995 era when our rugby men only wore black boots.

Many of these iconic images will be on public display for the first time.

The Black Boot Legends Gallery is a collection of rugby legends who have paved New Zealand's international rugby reputation.

This free exhibition, located outdoors on Wellington's beautiful waterfront area provides an opportunity for international visitors and Kiwis alike to admire the grassroots culture of New Zealand rugby through a selection of images chosen from renowned New Zealand rugby photographers.

What it doesn't say is that the  huge photos were set into the deck of the quay over a length of a few hundred metres.

One shot is shown here;-

The picture shows Ian Kirkpatrick leading out the ABs v Ulster in their tour in 1972. The ABs look serious, and well they might be for this was at the height of the 'troubles' in Northern Island. What is not shown here, but was shown in the exhibition, was that to the left of the players were British troops with loaded rifles to defend the ABs should there be an attack. Luckily the threat did not materialise and the ABs received a standing ovation after their win. A moment of rugby sanity in very troubled times.

Anyway, after immersing myself in rugby nostalgia, it was back to reality and picking up Amie from Pre-School. She was as high as a kite when I arrived (that boded well - NOT!) and it took some time to get her dressed ready for the trip back to the beachhouse during which she made a serious attempt on the New Zealand All Comers' Record for non-stop chattering (under 5 division). She was cracking company for the evening, totally refused the proposed tea - "We always have fish and chips from the shop on Fridays" so being a pragmatist rather than a good Grandpa I gave in and hied off to Big Gav's. An unfortunate lack of communication between the Gavmeister and myself resulted in Amie getting a brown sausage, rather than a pink thing on a stick which goes by the name of Frankfurter. I thus had to eat that but Amie whacked into the frites like there was no tomorrow, insisting that we ate on the floor in front of the telly, and straight out of the paper. I must have a word with John about his parenting skills but must admit that it was lovely.

Amie seemed to run out of steam a bit at that stage (thank heavens) and went off to kip at about 8 p.m. without too much resistance. I tidied up, watched Australia v USA on the box and retired early to my pit, a very happy Grandpa.