Hataitai Beach Mid-winter Swim, Sunday, 18 June 2023, 11 30 am

 

Sunday, 18 June, 11 30 am, Hataitai Beach, Wellington.

Oops, me and dogs....

 Hi there

When I was four or five years old, I was in a dairy with my mother (for my American reader, a 'dairy' is a neighbourhood store, selling staples, ice cream, and essentials).  A guy entered with a big German Shepherd dog.

Now, I was terribly scared of dogs, but in my little four year old mind, I was determined to be brave.  It was time to stand up to my fears -

I reached over to pat the dog.  "N-nice... doggie..."

The dog bit me on my nose!

I screamed blue murder. 

And that's all I remember about the incident.  What happened to the dog?  It's master?  The shop assistant?  My nose?  Did my mother leap to attack the attack dog to avenge my bleeding nose?  Did I go to a doctor, the hospital.  I never did find out.

One thing though, I became even more scared of dogs.

Until ... about ten years ago, a friend asked me to walk her little dog one day a week.  And, at last, I was getting over my fraidy-cat fears; little Coco was adorable.  I would talk to dog owners as I was out and about.  I even asked if I could pat their pets. Success!

Then last week ...  it was dark, and I was just outside my front door putting some recycling stuff in the bin.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a sudden blur of white racing up to me.  How adorable, I thought.  It was a cat.

No!  A dog!  

A pit bull? *

The dog bounced around me, jumped up at me.

I screamed, and thrust my hands over my eyes.  I obviously had the theory that what I couldn't see, didn't exist.  I burst into loud shaking sobs.

A neighbour raced towards me, apologising, apologising, apologising over and over and over again about this dog that I'd never known she had (we're not allowed animals in my street; I was stopped getting a new cat).  She called for the dog, rushed it away.  However, this lady was back within about ten seconds, dog-less, and re-apologising.  I was still shaking, still crying.

I rushed inside my house.  She knocked on my door, apologising again.   How could I explain to this woman that this one dog of hers had brought me back to being terrified of the animals; I couldn't find the words.  I shut the door on her.

...back to Square 1.

*The following day a friend said that from my two second viewing of the dog, the animal sounded more like a Staffie than a pitbull.  

 

Movie: 'How to Marry a Millionaire' - Easter Eggs

 Hi there

On Sundays, there are old movies often shown at the Roxy Theatre in Miramar, Wellington.  Yesterday, my friend and I saw the 1950's movie, "How to Marry a Millionaire", starring Betty Grable, Marilyn Monroe, and Lauren Bacall.

left to right: Monroe, Grable, Bacall

The theatre was crowded, with both young and old. I had seen this movie a few times before, both at theatres and via the computer.  Catch it, if you can.  The ending is hilarious

I loved movies when I was a kid.  And movie stars.  Also ... at this session, I was sitting next to a friend who is perhaps the most devoted Betty Grable fan ever.  Not only does he have a ton of Grable memorabelia but also an original old-fashioned movie reel of "How to Marry a Millionaire".  Between us, we are very aware of Hollywood 'doings'.

But I hadn't realised that old Hollywood hid away easter eggs in their movies.  A movie easter egg is when something pops up in a film that really shouldnt be there, doesnt fit into the plot, is pointing out something that fans in the know are aware of, but others may not be.  Movie easter eggs are said to have originated with the 'Star Wars' franchise.

However, I spotted two in 'How to Marry a Millionaire' -

Someone switched on a radio to a big band tune, and Grable, in character, mentioned she liked music from Harry James.  Well, I nearly fell off my seat because I knew that Grable had been married to Harry James.

The second easter egg was when Lauren Bacall, also in character, and during a conversation, said something about 'that actor in 'African Queen".  In real life, she had been married to Humphry Bogart, the star of 'African Queen'.

I wonder if Marilyn Monroe, too, had an easter egg in "How to Marry a Millionaire'?  An egg that I hadn't spotted....

More Swimming at Hataitai Beach

 Hi there

I went swimming over the weekend.  The sea was cold, and I thought "Oh do I really want to winter swim for a fourteenth year?"  My original swimmer friend, Jay, had to give up winter swimming about  the ten year mark, and because of work and shifting house, The Young One had to leave Hataitai Beach at the ten year mark as well.

To not feel frozen in the winter water, a person has to go swimming fairly continuously, otherwise they feel the cold terribly.  And even if they adore the sea,  they really should get out at the ten minute mark because they will probably be sitting shivering over a heater for the next couple of hours, curising that they ever went swimming in the first place.

 I think the happy glossy euphoric feeling of doing the thing - winter swimming - has sort of left me.  I see all the newcomers getting into the water with joy on their faces and that joy has all but gone from me now. It's not an adventure anymore.  

The changing shed at Hataitai Beach in winter would be like standing in an igloo.   Or on an iceberg.   It's hard to get into clothes when one has frozen fingers that refuse to do up buttons and zips, or tug on a bra, or pull up socks.  In winter, I ended up in big clunky mittens, a thick woollen scarf, pom-pom knitted hat, the fleeciest trousers and sweater that I could find at Millers, and a jacket so heavy that I feared I might drop to the changing shed floor under all the weight. I often kept a thermos cup of hot soup in my car; my shivering fingers could hardly hold the cup.

Two years ago I purchased a full-length towelling top, with a hood.  This enabled me to go straight from sea to car to home to shower, all within about 7 minutes.  Better...

Do I want to winter swim for a 14th year?  I didn't want to end on 13 years - it's an unlucky number - but I don't know if I can continue being so cold for another winter season.

Last year I dropped my swims down to a couple of times a week.  If I go this year, it might be once a week, which means I will, no doubt, feel the deep cold as I get into the sea because of the length of time between swims.

I don't know what to do....

New Plymouth Again

Hi there

Last week I went to New Plymouth for five days.  It's about five hours drive away from Wellington.  I went up there to walk the Coastal Walkway.  I intended to walk it every day...

It rained every day. 

The first day it rained lightly, so I walked a few kms in the rain, umbrella up.  And there was no wind.  So eerie, I'm used to windy weather; I live in Wellington, after all.

The next day I managed to cram half of the walkway into the few hours where the sky was cloudy but there was no rain. The very next day I finished the walkway.  In the rain, again.

The next day .... under the orange rain alert, I stayed in the hotel.  I tried to leave.  Twice.  Once in my car, but my little blue baby wouldnt start.  She'd gulped down too much rain, I figured.

So, I donned my rain jacket, and my hiking shoes, grabbed my umbrella and set out the two blocks from the Devon Hotel to the town shops.

I didn't even make it the one block.  Every driveway had turned into a waterfall.  My shoes were saturated before I even exited the hotel's premises.  I was soaaked.

I gave up.  And spent the day in the hotel, eating Weight Watcher apple crumble bars and watching tv.

The good thing about the Devon Hotel is they have breakfast and evening (magnificent) buffets, and a pretty good room service menu.  Oh, and a swimming pool.

above:  on the coastal walkway.

***

I belong to a Voice Arts class for seniors.  Impromptu stuff, talking about the past, having fun. Our instructor is Hilary Norris.  At present she is playing one of the three elderly witches in "The Coven on Grey Street", at Circa Theatre, here in Wellington.  I went on Sunday, with a bunch from our class.  What a lovely, funny, enjoyable play.

above: Hilary is the actress on the left in the poster outside Circa Theatre, Wellington.

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.