What an evening that was! John and Amie arrived soon after six and my first thought was to get some grub down them before the festivities really got underway. Oh the trials, tribulations and frustrations of being 'mother'! John had been to a business lunch at the Bulcott Street Bistro with his boss JP and some other colleagues (the top brass) and so wasn't hungry at all, and Amie wasn't overkeen on the proposed menu (probably no great surprise). So time for a quick rethink by the chef. John was happy to persue a liquid diet (although he did have a chip butty later in the evening - real gourmet stuff) and Amie opted for scrambled egg on toast which I just about managed. Undeterred I carried on with the omelette which was reasonable (5/10) although the cheapo frying pan I used was pretty disastrous as it isn't flat on the bottom (are any of us dearie?) and so the omelette singed (sang?) a bit in the middle whilst the edges were a bit uber-baveuse. (Sorry no umlaut, but a brilliant euromot what!). There is a weekend sale on at Briscoes so I think I'll look for some better ones.
Amie and John disappeared off at 0745 after their breakfast so that Amie could go to ballet. She insists that it's ballet with a rising last syllable rather than Grandpa's rather more prosaic ballay. After that she was off to a birthday party with her mate Sun Sun (so good they named her tlice) at Jungleland which is a padded cell for lunatic pre-schoolers or a 'soft play centre' to satisfy the Social Services.
I girded my lions and nipped into the market. Enjoyed looking around but didn't buy much other than a couple of pears and the inevitable burger with home-made relish. All is much as usual at the market, although the garage sale types seem to be holding off until the summer weather arrives. After that I nipped into The Warehouse (after visiting half a dozen other outlets for comparison) and bought a new cell phone since the old one is a) hiding, and b) knackered battery-wise. I also got some decent cast iron frying pans in Briscoes, $80 reduced to $25 which was great value. I quite enjoyed a bit of peace and quiet in the afternoon and generally blobbed whilst watching the footie on the box. Four matches in a row today; I need to pace myself so it's a strict 'no booze before 5 o'clock' regime. J & A arrived just after I'd cracked open my first Export Gold. Amie was a bit knackered after her party, but remained in good spirits as long as she was fed with chippies and Anzac biscuits. In the interval between the early evening and night games we managed to have some supper. They had pasta and I had cold chicken and salad. The chicken was good and I made a valiant effort at the salad which was trendy leaves and shite (John had got it in) and basically tasted like grazing the lawn. Amie went off to bed like a good un and J and I settled down to Watch England play Argentina. The jet lag kicked in during the second half, or it may have been the sheer tedium of watching Ingerland who were dire, so at the final whistle John woke me up and I shuffled off to bed, feeling rather excited about the following day.
The Match Day started at 0630 with Amie coming through to wake me. After general ablutions we went off for a walk and coffee.
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| Proud Grandpa and Amie |
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| Welsh Coach (or Warren Gatland as he is known) |
I realise that the above may qualify in the top ten of sad photographs ever taken, but it seemed appropriate at the time. On then to Te Papa which was hosting a Welsh Day put on by the Welly Welsh Society and was marvellous.
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| Te Papa goes red for the day |
Amie had a dragon painted on her cheek and coloured in a dragon which was made into a badge for her and we all waved our Welsh flags with pride.There were loads of Welsh fans and families there and it was a smashing start to a long day. We ended up by going to a Kapa Haka show which was fascinating, I even got to learn how to do the All Blacks' Haka which was great fun. Mel picked up Amie from the foyer at about 1400 and John and I exited stage left to Mac's Brewery for a couple of pints of Sassy Red to start the day's imbibing. Showing a marked degree of restraint, we then went back to John's apartment to watch the afternoon match. Tragedy nearly struck when J discovered that he didn't have any beer in (poor demented boy) but a trip to the dairy soon sorted that out. At about 1630 we felt fortified for the fray and got a taxi into town. First stop was a kebab house (we never did work out which country the owners were from, but it was called The Sahara and camels featured strongly in the decor, and possibly on the menu). With food-based ballast on board we then went off to the Fanzone which was getting very lively but as it was starting to rain we decided on Health and Safety grounds to seek cover in licensed premises and adjourned to Mac's once more. Here John's local knowledge came in handy as he was able to plot a route to the stadium which a) kept us under cover mostly, and b) necessitated a large number of bar visits. At one stage we were dancing towards The Cake Tin behind a South African mariachi band in full action which seemed rather bizarre. We arrived at the Stadium about 3/4 hour before kick off and the organisation and welcome was superb (well done Wellington, a bloody sight better than the cock-up that the Jaffas produced on the opening night!). Our seats were superb (though they should have been at $350 a pop!), first row of the undercover seats and level with the 10 metre line. We were just behind the area where disabled spectators were accommodated, and I feel duty bound to say that John's shouts of 'Stand up if you hate the Boks, stand up' could possibly have been taken as a tad politically incorrect!
I won't go on about the match, as that is recorded in other parts of the media (pretentious, moi?) but it was superb, the best of the tournament so far. Wales could, and perhaps should, have won even without the Barnes' Bog Up but they played really well against the reigning World Champions and must surely get to the Quarter Finals (I typed that with my fingers crossed, which takes some doing I assure you). We kept ourselves going with copious cans of Heineken and a fish and chip supper which at $7.50 was good value, being the same price as a can of the Dutch piss. At the final whistle we couldn't believe that the evening was over. The thronged supporters shuffled from the stadium amidst yet more banter and, again showing great maturity, I headed straight for the train to Ppm. I walked home from the station in a vain attempt to clear my head and created a new world record for the 'open door, urinate, drop kecks, dive into bed' event which Usain Bolt will never approach.
A wonderful, wonderful day. Shame about the result, but thanks so much to John for organising it and to Mary for being so wonderfully understanding in letting an old man fulfil his fantasy! (Well, one of them, but this is a family blog.)
The Day after the Night Before
Monday passed quietly. It had to.........
I did some general house-keeping chores in the morning and after lunch nipped up to the golf club to pay my dues. They were very welcoming as usual, and I had a good chat about the match with the woman who runs the Pro-shop who had also been there. The evening consisted of supper, the remains of the chicken with mashed potatoes, and then I happened to hear a talk-in on the radio and so decided to put my six pennorth in. The Ballingall words of wisdom can be found about 15 minutes into here and it was good fun pontificating, even if it was probably bullshit. I seem to have used the word 'bloody' on air, which was bloody inexcusable!
So to bed, accompanied by my new hot water bottle which for the duration must take the role of Mary's bum, although it does appear to be deficient to the count of one in the cheeks department.
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