10-11 July 2004
This was one of those weekends where you make a decision that something has to give, in this instance between end of month pressure for the probligo and "social commitments" for SWMBO".
The weather forecasts were dire to say the least. Rain starting Friday night and continuing as showers through Saturday with Southeasters up to 40 knots.
So, there was the first decision. We drive up on Saturday morning. After all, what is the sense in hurrying if all that is going to happen is that you end up mowing the lawn in pouring rain and screaming gale.
Friday night there was not a peep of rain. Didn't hear the wind (or
anything else) until 5 when the radio turned itself on. By 6 we were out the door into one of those dawns that come so very rarely.The drive north was uneventful, very little traffic about. Breakfast in Dargaville as usual. They recognise us now in the Cafe there. Bacon, scambled egg, hashies. The drive through the forest was horrendous. Driving with full brilliant sun on the windscreen, and the road disappearing into deep shadow is extreme to say the least.
Full brilliant sun? Clear, absolutely cloudless blue sky? Where was the weather forecast?
So, instead of working in pouring rain and howling gale, we spent a most enjoyable three or so hours doing all of the obvious things that we had planned, with a nice 15 or so to keep us cool. Then having got the worst of that out of the way, it was snooze and slumber time through the afternoon.
Then to the Opo hotel for dinner and to watch the ABs vs Pacific Islanders on Sky. A very most enjoyable evening and all round good company.
Sunday morning was a repeat of Saturday, despite there being a bit of a wind during the night. So we pottered in the garden for another hour or so, took rubbish to the tip. Tidied house. Packed the car and drove south.
Mentioning the tip - it is not your conventional "tip site", but two
shipping containers with the tops cut out. The council empties them once a week or so. There have been various people who supervise and collect the tipping fees. The last couple of times has been Jim, a maori gent of about the same age as the probligo - mid to late 50s. I must get a photo of him at some stage, there is so much life written into his face there is no room for anything else.
Jim is a "returned local". He left home (probably at 16 or so) and ended up working on the wharves in Auckland for about 30 years. He arrived at work one morning to be told that if he wished he could apply for voluntary redundancy. He could, he did, and he went home.
Like so many things in this world, there are first degree connections as well. I mentioned that we had bought a place in Opo, and the obvious question is "Whose?"
As soon as I told him "Old Mrs Poole's place" he said "Oh you want to get under the house there and drain that concrete pad.
He is absolutely right, under the house there is a concrete pad with a lip about 75mm high which has no apparent purpose other than "just being there". One of these days I will. I need to borrow a large sledge and earn myself a few blisters. Not this time.
How did Jim know about it? He had been under there many a time to pump it out for the Pooles. He used to live "just up the hill". He has moved, I think he said up to Rawene way, but that could mean anywhere between as well.
The weather forecasts were dire to say the least. Rain starting Friday night and continuing as showers through Saturday with Southeasters up to 40 knots.
So, there was the first decision. We drive up on Saturday morning. After all, what is the sense in hurrying if all that is going to happen is that you end up mowing the lawn in pouring rain and screaming gale.
Friday night there was not a peep of rain. Didn't hear the wind (or
anything else) until 5 when the radio turned itself on. By 6 we were out the door into one of those dawns that come so very rarely.The drive north was uneventful, very little traffic about. Breakfast in Dargaville as usual. They recognise us now in the Cafe there. Bacon, scambled egg, hashies. The drive through the forest was horrendous. Driving with full brilliant sun on the windscreen, and the road disappearing into deep shadow is extreme to say the least.
Full brilliant sun? Clear, absolutely cloudless blue sky? Where was the weather forecast?
So, instead of working in pouring rain and howling gale, we spent a most enjoyable three or so hours doing all of the obvious things that we had planned, with a nice 15 or so to keep us cool. Then having got the worst of that out of the way, it was snooze and slumber time through the afternoon.
Then to the Opo hotel for dinner and to watch the ABs vs Pacific Islanders on Sky. A very most enjoyable evening and all round good company.
Sunday morning was a repeat of Saturday, despite there being a bit of a wind during the night. So we pottered in the garden for another hour or so, took rubbish to the tip. Tidied house. Packed the car and drove south.
Mentioning the tip - it is not your conventional "tip site", but two
shipping containers with the tops cut out. The council empties them once a week or so. There have been various people who supervise and collect the tipping fees. The last couple of times has been Jim, a maori gent of about the same age as the probligo - mid to late 50s. I must get a photo of him at some stage, there is so much life written into his face there is no room for anything else.
Jim is a "returned local". He left home (probably at 16 or so) and ended up working on the wharves in Auckland for about 30 years. He arrived at work one morning to be told that if he wished he could apply for voluntary redundancy. He could, he did, and he went home.
Like so many things in this world, there are first degree connections as well. I mentioned that we had bought a place in Opo, and the obvious question is "Whose?"
As soon as I told him "Old Mrs Poole's place" he said "Oh you want to get under the house there and drain that concrete pad.
He is absolutely right, under the house there is a concrete pad with a lip about 75mm high which has no apparent purpose other than "just being there". One of these days I will. I need to borrow a large sledge and earn myself a few blisters. Not this time.
How did Jim know about it? He had been under there many a time to pump it out for the Pooles. He used to live "just up the hill". He has moved, I think he said up to Rawene way, but that could mean anywhere between as well.
