Queenstown, New Zealand

Hi there

I didn't really do much in Queenstown because of my bad knee but being in Queenstown looking out my ceiling to floor windows at a magnificent view had to be better than sitting at home in Wellington and feeling sorry for myself.

There was this fab food delivery service called FastFatChef - i could pick types of cuisine from diferent menus, ie, Indian, Chinese, etc, and it was delivered within half an hour.

In the seven days i was away, i only got three times out of the holiday home that I'd rented.  I went up the gondola (it was even slowed down to let me board) to a nice buffet lunch.  The below pic is taken from restaurant area.

As to now, almost three weeks after my fall?  I am relying on my hiking stick to get around, hoping that folk will think i am a jaunty walker rather than a limping invalid.  But i dont think it's working.  In the hospital carpark yesterday, after I'd accidentally slammed the door across my face, I rested my head across my arms, leaned down on the steering wheel, and sobbed.

Still, with a bit of an effort, i can reach down to the floor now to pick up things - I can give the loaned pick-up tongs back to my friend, J;  she  presented them to me when i got in a temper tantrum.

Queenstown New Zealand

Hi there

What a panic week.  Right up until the last minute I wasn't sure whether I would be able to go on my week's holiday to Queenstown.  It was either sitting on my own sofa with my injured leg up on a stool and looking at my back fence for a week or ... sitting on a sofa in Queenstown looking at the beautiful scenery for a week. 

I went to Queenstown.  But what a kerfuffle.  I had to get on the plane in Wellington by way of a lift.  I was so embarrassed.  Though I could manage to hobble with the aid of my hiking stick (the hospital told me I had to take my crutches, but I refused) on a flat surface through the airport I couldn't get up the stairs to the small plane. Nope, there was no air tunnel, passengers had to walk across the tarmac.

As I stood in the lift that slowly rose up to the height of the plane door, I thought of Grizabella, the sad beautiful cat in the musical show "Cats" as she ascended to kitty heaven.  I could hear "Memories" blaring out in my mind.  Prior to leaving home my friend, J, had said that she'd get everybody from the gym to line my progress around the airport, all throwing streamers and confetti. I would have died ...

The lift was a bit like the one in the below photo.  'My' lift had a roof, it fitted both me and a ground hostess, it went vertical, and when the lift reached the height of the plane door, a steel plank with railings was stretched out from the plane and I hobbled across that.  The plank truly did remind me of 'walking the plank' on a pirate ship - Arghhh!.

  I got my groceries delivered by Countdown Supermarket and had a couple of meals delivered.  I managed to taxi out to three lunches.

More later ...

Noah's Ark?

Hi there

A friend and I got to thinking about Noah's Ark.

"How come," mused my friend, "that whenever there's a depiction of Noah's Ark, there are always a couple of giraffes sticking their necks out from the roof?  There are no giraffes in the middle east."

There might have been in those days," I said.  I mused for a bit.  "The giraffes would get really wet heads."

"And wouldn't the rain get into the Ark through the open hatch?  The Ark would get flooded.  Noah wouldn't be able to call a plumber."

"He would call on God,"  I said.

"God's Irish,"  My friend was pretty sure on this point. She referenced the magnificent tale 'The Unicorn" as sung by The Irish Rovers -

"Now God seen some sinnin' and it caused him pain
And he said 'Stand back, I'm going to make it rain.'
And he said, 'Hey Brother Noah, I'll tell you what to do -
Build me a floating zoo'."

As my friend joyfully warbled away on an exact recreation of the song, the accent she put on was so thick it could be cut with a knife.

And that, of course, settles the age-old question;  God is definitely Irish ...

TV Reality Shows

Hi there

I'm either stuck in bed or on the sofa, with my leg propped up, and the stupid crutches continually beside me.  To me, the crutches are like the proverbial albatross that's around the sailor's neck in the famous poem.  He could never get rid of his albatross, and I feel the same about my crutches.  And I want to be free!

Whilst a sofa prisoner, I've been watching tv programmes that I have never watched before.   Cooking, singing, décor, fashion, modelling and  dancing contests have an eerie fascination for me.  I can't look away from them.

One thing in common all the shows have is that contestants always blather on about it being their 'dream' to be the world's next greatest singer, or fashion designer, or chef, or what-have-you.  Apparently, they have clutched this dream to their bosoms since they were practically babes in arms.

So ...  why haven't they already done something about getting to their dream?  Why haven't they been busking on street corners?  Or starting off on the lowest rung in kitchens by washing dishes and thereby working their way up the cooking ladder?  Or they could have been singing in honky tonk bars?  Or selling hand-made clothes and trinkets at weekend markets?  Or traipsing around talent agencies?

I've noticed that most contestants on reality shows never seem to have done so much as warble a note in public, or approached a local café for a job.  Or had doors slammed in their faces by uncaring agents.

I say to these contestants, dreams don't happen when one is just standing there and, well ... dreaming.  Move!

  

walking on crutches

Hi there

Just call me a sloth; I am moving at about the same pace.  I truly dislike these hospital-issued crutches.  I can't handle them and at the same time carry much of anything else.  I finally got the lunch table set yesterday, but it was practically in time for dinner.  I'm carrying a bag around my neck with my phone in it and other important stuff.  It resembles a horse's nosebag.  Trouble is, I can't shove a dinner plate of food into my bag to carry across the room to the table; the interior of the bag would end up a mucky roast-dinner mess.  Maybe I really should use it as a nosebag?

I have painful exercises that I am forcing myself to complete every half hour or so.  I am ice-packing my knee so often that I'm thinking it would be easier for me to be transported daily to Countdown and sit in their deli freezer.  It took me twenty minutes to crawl out of the car outside the physiotherapist's premises because i couldnt bend my leg. And, now, my bedroom lighting -along with my temper - has just blown a fuse!?!**!

Here's a pic of my intrepid hiking buddies - my friend, J, and her personal paparazzo - taken on Saturday just before my fall from hiking glory. I was the photographer -

A (small) walk in the woods

Hi there

Well ...

Where to start?  On Saturday, my swimming friend J, J's personal paparazzo, and myself went on a short hike up a hill behind Days Bay Beach.  But - my fault - this fearless leader missed the turn-off to the short track and we ended up clambering, crawling, hiking our hearts out on what we could only term as a mountain akin to Everest.  Instead of about a half-an-hour or so, the trek took four hours and we missed the ferry back to Seatoun Beach.  And, please remember that we three are pensioners of different ages, one of us in the eighties.. 

Now - wait for it! - I had a fall! I  tripped over a root.   Naturally, I pretended I was okay and leapt up like a spring chicken, but inwardly screaming through the pain in my knee.  Five hours later, when  I got home, I was in agony.   I couldn't walk.

Conclusion?:  I have ended up with two crutches, a leg splint, a handful of pain tablets, an appointment with a physiotherapist and the fate of  my upcoming holiday in Queenstown hanging precariously in the balance.

Worse still, no swimming (yikes, no-no-no-no!!!).  It's not that I won't be able to swim.  It's that I won't be able to get in or out of the sea.  My friend, J and myself, have hashed over all the ways I could get into the water, from an electronically-controlled sling to hiring some nice muscular boy toy to carry me across the beach.

Sighhhhhh......

PS:  I really like the idea of the muscular boy toy.

Happy snoopy-like dog

Hi there

I was at New World supermarket in Miramar the other day and saw this pretty little dog tied up outside. .The wee animal danced and yipped excitedly, spying it's mistress as she came out of the supermarket door. Quite a merry little show.  Reminded me a lot of Snoopy doing his happy dance.



So cute -