Cora! Cora! Cora!

We took the plunge and finally headed to the Coromandel for a few days to stay in a yurt. For those of you that don't know a yurt is a circular portable tent once used on the Asian Steppes by an assortment of different groups including the Mongols and Kazakhs. Yeah, I know, that's reason enough to avoid it from the start, but these days the yurts are fitted out with several mod cons including power, furniture and an absence of scorpions (who now stay outside in specially made kennels). Our yurt, a 9 metre diameter monstrosity had 2 double beds, a fridge, TV, dvd player, a table and 4 chairs, a BBQ area and more cupboards and storage space than IKEA. Perfect for crushing your enemies and seeing them driven before you, etc...
The highlights of the Coromandel included:

• 45 minutes in the company of the most xenophobic man in Oceania. The spokesman for a local winery, he genuinely slagged off everybody with a number of stereotyping anecdotes worthy of The Two Ronnies.
• Spotting numerous honesty boxes by the roadside next to a pile of avocados. In Leeds they would have nicked your table, honesty box, avocados and still wet sign 30 seconds after you turn your back on it. And then flogged them at Cash Converters. And then returned for your car.
• The town of Thames, governed entirely by Sheep.
• The world's scariest ropebridge.
• The New Zealand's shortest ferry crossing being operated by the Chuckle Brother they don't like to talk about.
• A man sporting a rug so obvious that it couldn't have drawn any more attention if Aladdin was flying around his head on it.

In the news this week has been the plane crash that wiped out the Polish cabinet. There are quite a few Polish people here in Mordor, so it has really hit home, especially coming so soon after the 30th anniversary of the still controversial Mount Erebus disaster which remains NZ's worst air crash. The choice to throw so many members of a Government on one plane ranks as one of the worst airline decisions since Air Japan tried out their first commercial Kamikaze flights for that one day back in 1952. On the subject of which...

On Saturday we were getting ready to go to a baby shower (no, I have no idea either) when a series of thumps and bangs caught my attention. A few seconds later my heart was pounding as I realised that these thumps and bangs were the unmistakable sounds of explosions in what sounded like a heated military exchange. I genuinely began having palpitations and a fair few flashbacks to my combat zone exploits as my brain tried to understand what was happening. Had the disused gun emplacements (Auckland would have been the bridgehead for what seemed an inevitable Japanese invasion back in the height of WW2) above Mission Bay not been cleared of explosives? Was it a terrorist attack? Had the Dolphins finally developed land attack weapons to use against us?
My mind dismissed all of these possibilities when a Japanese attack plane screamed overhead with smoke pouring out of the tail. At this point, the skeleton crew that had been manning the sanity department in my brain decided it was time to switch off the lights and go home.
Before I had time to go completely apeshit, however, a further Japanese plane banked over the house being chased by a Kittyhawk fighter and it soon dawned on me that this was a re-enactment of some kind, complete with mock air defence batteries and fake wing-gun fire.
Apparently this mock dogfight was all to do with promoting Steven Spielberg's new series "The Pacific" which has just started here.
As I watched the last extra from Tora! Tora! Tora! disappear behind Rangitoto I pondered three things;
Firstly, I'm glad that I wasn't here when Spielberg released Schindler's List.

Secondly, if he makes a film about Hiroshima or Nagasaki then I'm heading back to the UK and out of the blast radius.

Thirdly, it has prompted me to send Steven the draft of my latest script in the hopes of getting it made into a feature film and having the promotion right on the doorstep. It's tentatively entitled "Sleeping With Cheryl After Beating The Ever Living Crap Out Of Ashley Cole With A Baseball Bat".
I think it's a winner.

Hack To The Future

One Tree Hill.
Sounds romantic, doesn't it? It inspired a Godawful Tv show and U2 (spits) even named a song after the damned thing.
It is a beautiful place though, don't get me wrong. Set amongst a 182 metre volcanic peak it has been a Maori Pa and now is home to the Stardome Observatory and Cornwall Park. The views from it on a clear day are quite simply stunning.
However, it has a history...
When Auckland was founded back in the 1800s, a lone native tree stood near the summit but one day a settler cut it down for either firewood or a laugh (depending on who you speak to) and some non native pines were planted to replace it. Amazingly, only two pines survived. That is until 1960 when one was hacked down for either firewood or run over by that Calvin Klein kid in the DeLorean (again depending on who you speak to).
Maori "activists" (possibly acting on behalf of Biff Tannen) attacked the remaining tree a couple of times before finally during the last attack in 2000 the pine was dealt a fatal blow. The chainsaw used in one of the attacks was shortly thereafter placed on Trade me (the local Ebay alternative) before being withdrawn after complaints.
The reason I mention all of this is that the locals, in their own inimitable style, refer to the place as None Tree Hill.
So there you have it, 200 years of racial tension and wanton dendrocide reduced to a pun. It's the Hobbit way.

Also this week I have finally understood the letters RTD that have been on display outside of the local hooch emporium. All this time I assumed it was a reference to Russell T Davies and was glad that since he has left Dr Who he has finally found an audience of people who will appreciate his "talent", but sadly it means "Ready To Drink".
Basically this involves mixing bourbon and cheap cola together to make an 8% proof recipe for disaster that would give Frosty Jack a run for its money.
18 capacity cases of Cody's or Woody's (advertising slogan..."It's OK for you mate's mum/girlfriend too give you a Woody") fly off the shelves for a mere 35 Hobbit dollars (16 quid in real money) and are guaranteed to give you a headache and/or a magistrate appearance.
Though it sounds cliched, drinking remains a popular recreational activity in Mordor and is now ingrained as an acceptable social tradition along with BBQs, bungy jumping and extra work in a fantasy blockbuster. Whether it be skulling beer in the local park or lying incontinent in one of the many Irish bars, drinking is commonly used to celebrate birthdays, acknowledge the past celebration of birthdays or simply mark the fact that one happens to be conscious.
The more a Kiwi male can drink without getting drunk or dying, the more respect he receives from his peers before they finally pass out or their medical condition is upgraded to "deceased".
Because of this, Mordor is the only nation on Earth to measure Gross National Drunkeness (GND) in lieu of GDP. As a result, Mordor hasn't posted a market gain since 1987 and Sauron is seriously starting to worry about his retirement portfolio. There is also a build up of empties in Christchurch harbour that represents a danger to shipping.