Hataitai Beach. Again

 Hi there

Huffing and puffing, struggling and cursing, and banging my head twice, I cleaned everything out from my car's boot ('trunk', if you're American).  I did a magnificent job, and hopefully I never have to do it again for another ten years.

I decided, to go to the beach. I grabbed my bag, and a towel, counted off the three things I definitely have to take with me - wallet, keys, and phone - and shot off to Hataitai Beach.

Oh, no, I'd forgotten the most important item when going for a swim -

my swimsuit...

Not to worry, there was a!ways my 'emergency swimming bag' in the car's boot ... Oh, no!

My beach friends were sort of sympathetic. " Sorry about that", they said.  And "There'll be another day" .  And "Haha, you were stupid ".

But my four readers of this blog may remember a few years back when I was in the same situation?  I came up with an idea...  

So I just may be able to recreate that idea on this day, providing I had the right ingredients in my overly-stuffed beach bag. Most of the gear in my bag, had been in it the entire season, so I had high hopes.

I stepped into an upside-down lycra t-shirt, legs through the arm-holes.  I donned a hip-length lycra zip-up jacket...

And I had a great swim.

Smells, Odours, Scents

 Hi there

I was sitting in a bus during covid.  I started to cough.  And cough.  And cough.

"I have an intolerance to perfume," I hastily informed everyone sitting around me. This  was actually a fib.  My doctor called it an Old Person's Cough (how dare he?) But I wasn't going to reveal that.   Cough, cough.  "Sorry."

A young lady had got on the bus at the previous stop.  She reddened.  "Oh, that's my fault...  I'm wearing perfume."  She was so contrite...

"Um ... No, no, it's not you.  I was, um,  coughing before you got on the bus."

"Oh, right.  Good..."  The young lady was extremely relieved...

And it got me thinking about smells.  For instance, the smell that flows out of every New Zealand Subway store is horrible to my nose.  I can smell it, and identify the origin from a block away, without even knowing the location of any particular store.   

A few years back, I was on the Isle of Wight, off the English coast, and I had hardly stepped ashore more than a few minutes when I smelt that awful Subway odour.  (Again, I stress that the horrendous smell from Subway annoys me, but to other people it might be a delightful aroma.  Nothing so queer as folk, right?") 

 I had turned a corner and walked a little further along the road on the Isle of Wight when, bam!, I was standing right in front of a Subway store.  I couldn't believe that the identical Subway smell from New Zealand was also here on a small island off the coast of England.  

Hataitai Beach Today (Sunday NZ time)

 Hi there

I went to Hataitai Beach today.  My goodness, the deck outside the changing sheds was crowded.  And this is mid-April, well into Autumn.  I remember a time when people stopped swimming at end of February.  I think Covid has caused the later-than-usual seasonal swimming.  The country was shut down for a month or so when Covid first started.  We missed out on a lot of summer.  So, when everything opened again in, I think, March or April, starved swimmers rushed to the sea, regardless of the season.  And they've just kept going...

photos taken today, Sunday.

Easter

 Hi there

Happy Easter (it's Sunday here in NZ).

I belong to a Voice Arts class (for seniors) here in Wellington.  A little bit of drama (maybe 5 minutes a class), some improv, talking about the past, and a lot of fun...

Just as I was leaving for class last week, I had a quick glance at an incoming email.  Don't forget to wear an Easter hat today.

 Whoops...

I had 30 minutes to come up with something-

TYPIST-IN-CHARGE, Episode 14-

Regional Office Health Department, Wellington, 1972-1974

I enjoyed working as the typist in charge of three others in my regional health job.  Sometimes we didn't have much work - election times and Christmas times - and we would potter around typing personal letters, playing charades, or looking out the window.  Because we were typists and needed good lighting, government typing rooms were always situated in sunny areas.  This particular typing room faced the street.  Education House was in Upper Willis Street  (yes, yes, I know the building was Education House and I worked for a the Regional Health office, but go figure...).

We looked out of the window quite a lot.  Our building faced Lupp Motors, run by Sybil Lupp, who in her day had been one of the top car racers in New Zealand.  She now ran a workshop for high-end cars. She was fairly mature by this time but she still dressed classy going into her workshop before donning overalls.

Every Friday, I typed a list of Wellington people who were drug-addicts, allowed to stay drug addicts, and who picked up their drugs from certain chemist shops in the capital.   Most of them were elderly Chinese, addicted to opium. 

A staff meeting was called and all staff were told we were moving buildings.  From Educaton House we were going to the Bowen State Building in Bowen Street.  The building stood next to Broadcasting House which was an ultra-modern build with several floors underground where members of Parliament and other high-end people could use as a bunker if there was some sort of disaster.  I used to think Broadcasting House was fabulous to look at.  Maybe nowadays it would be termed as mid-century modern, and quite average to look at, but at the time it was so unusual.  This building, despite lots of protests from the general public, was torn down. Shame.

We typists trooped into Bowen State Building to await the arrival of our furniture.  The room was a bit dusty in the corners as it had been empty for a little while, but it had a pleasant outlook over Bowen Street and the sun streamed in.  The rotor blades of a helicopter could be heard overhead and we all rushed to the window, oooh-ing and ahh-ing.  Helicopters were a rare sight indeed.  

above: Bowen State Building, Bowen Street

above:  Broadcasting House, Bowen Street. The 'Beehive" (Parliament) in background.

Two days after we moved into the typing room, it was discovered there was a nest of fleas in a corner.

"Yeeeeh, I'm off."  Roxy shot out the door.  We others ran out after her, at only an ever-so-slightly slower pace.  We got the afternoon off while the flea-killing folk cleaned the room.

But ... unfortunately the biggest and only flea I had ever met followed me home via my clothes.  I was too squeamish to kill it and the thing transferred itself from clothing to bed-sheets to shower and back to clothing and bed-sheets again.   I itched and scrubbed and rubbed and squealed and saw that big fat flea multiple times over the next two days and nights.  I was haunted by the creature.  It was getting huge on my blood.  

Finally on the third night, I could stand it no more.  I killed it.  Blood (my blood) squeeched out from its body over my bed sheets, and I wasn't sorry one bit.

My working time in the building was a few years before dehumidifers became really popular.  One of the doctors overheard us talking about them -

"A saucer of water on the window-sill works just as good," he said.  We tried it ....  It worked for us (psychological, maybe?)

But I was sweeping an eye over every PSOC (Public Service Official Circular) that came out on  Thursdays.  Much as I liked working at Health Regional Office, nothing was going to stop me from getting to my goal of Supervising Typist-in-Charge, Education Head Office.  Only about five more grades to go, yay!

And then came a position I was suitable for...  Typist-in-Charge, Education Head Office.  It wasn't Mrs Rowley's job but a lower graded one. In charge of six typists, and one step higher than I was at Health Regional Office.  I would once more be under the tutoring of Mrs Rowley. It would be like returning home.

I got the job. 

More Traumatic experiences on holiday

 Hi there

I've just come back from a holiday.  I went to Mount Maunganui and Lake Taupo.

I caught Duckage (Swimmers' Itch) yet again.  This time, swimming in Lake Taupo.  Only a few big  blotches on my torso compared to my February swimming in Lake Wanaka.   As I was swimming this time, seven swans all in line, followed by a little ugly duckling, all paddled along right in front of me; I figured there was no hope for me after meeting them.  Swanage, anyone?

When I reached Mt Maunganui area I decided to climb to the very tippy-top of Mount Maunganui.  A Bucket List cross-off for me.  My goodness, it was tough.  I think the mountain is about 2300 metres high, straight up.  Young people bounded past me like mountain goats, older people not so much. It took me two days to recover from the hike that only lasted a couple of hours.  Felt like it lasted for months.

me, top of The Mount.

above:  just to prove I've reached the top of Mt Maunganui

On my way back to Wellington from The Mount, I stopped off again for a few nights in Taupo. 

I went to the newly gentrified Spa Park.  I sat on an under-water rock and let the warm thermal water from the hot spring run over me.  It was like being in a spa pool.  I hated it.  So, I went for a swim in the cold river instead.   Ahhh, much better..  

In the Taupo rental holiday home there was a very narrow driveway to the side of a very narrow doorless garage.  I scraped my car against the side frame of the garage.

Oops.  I went backward to try to get out of the situation - cruuuuuunnncchh...

I drove forward - cruuuunnnnccchh...

There were big gouges to the side of my car!

I rang my insurance company.  I sat on the front steps of the holiday rental and sobbed my eyes out.  I worried about those gouges all night.

The next morning I decided to go for a swim at the thermally-heated swimming pool.  All I took with me was a debit card, my holiday rental key, a towel, and my bathing suit. 

However ....

when I returned to my holiday rental, I put the key in the door, and it didn't work!  What?  Huh?  Oh no, I'd brought out with me the wrong key.  The proper key must be inside on the kitchen bench, along with my phone and four other keys that I never did find out what they were all supposed to open.

I sat on the front steps, and burst into tears.  My second bawling session in two days.

A lady from next door looked over the fence.  She called out "Have you locked yourself out, dear?  But don't worry, I have a key".  She waved it.

I forgave her for calling me "Dear".  I could have kissed her.  I did hug her. She said people had locked themselves out before, hence she had the keys to all three units.

On my way back to Wellington the next day I vowed never to travel again (Oh, yeah, really?" three cynical friends said to me next day).  As usual on the journey home, I tried not to drive over Transmission Gulley with its huge hills and also, as usual, I went around all the wrong turnings and ended going up Transmission Gulley after all.

Those 'gouges' on the side of my car?  I remembered I had some handy-dandy rubbing compound for cars.   The gouges disappeared as if by magic.  All that was left was a teeny spot about a quarter of an inch in diameter which I can daub over.  I tried ringing my insurance company to tell them but each time I rang, a disembodied voice told me there was at least a two hour wait, so I gave up.  Let them ring me....