Sh*te At The Museum 3: Nick Griffin Must Die

We went to the Auckland Domain last week to visit the museum. When the wife heard it was a war memorial museum, there was much rolling of eyes, gnashing of teeth and general complaints about man’s inhumanity to man. When she heard there was a Holocaust section she soon perked up though.
She’s a strange, strange woman.
Anyway, here are some highlights and lowlights…

Highlights-
The museum itself is stunning well built and sits on a hill overlooking the city, which is a fine testament to those who have fought and died for this beautiful nation.
The memorial inside is spectacular and there is a library section where you can search the electronic database for names and get their entire service records as well as available bios and photos. It’s sombre reading.
The Maori history section is likewise excellent and contains a Marae, a massive Waka and an in depth section on the frankly mental Maori Wars. It also has a huge section on early colonial history and development which I found very informative for the 3.5 seconds the wife allowed me to view it.

South Auckland's sole unstolen VCR, preserved here for posterity.

The Volcano experience is a lounge area you go into with a TV and couches and a bay window (which is actually just a screen projection) overlooking Rangitoto. The TV eventually fires up and after a short faux news clip about earthquakes, the water in the bay starts to boil, the earth shakes and the volcano goes off like Cheryl Tweedy on a nightclub toilet attendant.
The aftermath is one of a devastated buildings, destroyed vegetation and the sun barely peeking through a sky still raining ash. To be honest, it looked a lot like the pictures I’d seen of modern day Christchurch.

Lowlights-
The section on Pacific history left me a bit cold. Maybe it’s the European in me but history should be exciting and full of murder, religious intolerance, genocide and horses becoming Senators. The Pacific history was all about war canoes, tribal skirmishes and thrilling tales of fishing or mango collecting. Which is fine if you are into that stuff, but really dull if you have lived in the same country as Prince Philip.

Nazis. To quote Dr Henry Jones Jr "I hate these guys". So, every time I see Nazi memorabilia it makes my blood boil. Despite the fact that I was in a museum with a large WW2 section I still had the first pangs of disgust when I turned the corner to find a large V1 bomb strung up over the stairs. I needn't have worried, though as the actual dedicated Nazi section was quite small, comprising of a corner of the exhibit and featuring a large swastika flag, a hundred or so Nazi party badges and a dagger. There’s probably a larger display in Nick Griffin’s living room (and sadly, not shoved up his arse along with some rusty razor wire and a rabid jackal).

Growing up there was always a stereotype about Japanese tourists with cameras. I never fully understood this until a bus pulled up outside of the museum and about 30 Japanese tourists piled off, each holding a camera. One bloke even had three cameras on him. One huge SLR slung over one arm, a video camera over the other and a small digital one. As all were probably digital, why would he need all three? His wife just had a small digital and they were both taking pictures of the same thing.
Maybe Japanese foetuses are given small cameras to film the birth on their way out of the womb. It would certainly give a whole new meaning to the "Box Brownie".
Anyway, once they were let loose they were snapping everything in sight, which meant I was in their way. A lot. One even tutted at me at he tried to take his twenty seventh picture of propaganda poster.
Now, I’m not having a go at the Japanese here but like many nations the people who choose to be tourists are sometimes not the best ambassadors for their home nation. I can think of a few Brits I have known who only wish to order egg and chips while abroad. Very loudly.
But, the shutterbug remains as an enduring image of the Japanese, much like the Kamikaze pilot and tentacle porn.