My bubble bath

 Hi there

Today I walked halfway around the Miramar Peninsula.  I got back home sweaty and worn out.  

 "A bath!  All I want is a bath -"

 

I put in the plug, turned on the taps, splashed in some bubble bath, and went away...

I returned about ten minutes later to turn off the taps.

 "wha-!"

 I couldn't turn the cold tap off. No matter how hard I tried.

 "No,no,noooooo."

 I pulled out The plug.   The water was pouring furiously into the bath, pouring in faster than it was pouring out.

I helplessly watched the bubbles rising.  And rising.   I had memories of a few months back when I couldn't get the bath's hot tap to turn off.

I raced outside in my foxy-patterned socks, and my ancient only-wear-around-the-house dress.  I pounded on my neighbour's door.  "Please, please, have you got a spanner?  Or a strong husband?"

 Thanks, husband.  He saved the day but not before the bubbles had  reached halfway up my bathroom wall.  I thought for a moment I was in a "Carry On"movie.

Sigh.  I better call the plumber.  Yet again.

Other Car Drivers

 Hi there

I look upon myself as an average motorist, but the weird thing is that lots of other drivers think I'm as brilliant in driving as they are!

I know this because ...

when a driver jettisons from the fast lane into my slower lane on the motorway and doesn't use an indicator, I have to - with alacrity - rein in my car to allow their car to fit in line.  Wow, that hotshot must trust my driving implicitly to pull such a stunt: they think I'm a champion behind the engine?  I'm not.

There's only so many times I can screech to a halt when a car barrels out from nowhere at a crossroads. Obviously the official mantra of "The Top of the 'T' goes before me" doesn't rate a second thought by the motorist who knows everything. They are one hundred percent certain that I truly am as brilliant a driver as they are, that I can stop on a dime to protect their life.

My  three-point turns are steady but I'm learning fast that some courier drivers can't wait for me to finish the turn as they squeeze around my car. I appreciate their paranormal powers in knowing that I will be able to finish the turn before their front wheels so much as kiss my tyres but, honestly, I'm not psychic myself;  I'm no good at predicting where they're coming from as they shoot around me from nowhere.

So come on you drivers who think you're Bert Munro on four wheels ...  could you bring in your elbow from the side window please,  stop looking at your phone at the Himatangi turn-off, and don't suddenly double park in front of me just as the lights turn green.  I'm flattered you think that I, too, am brilliant at driving in all situations but ... truth be told, I don't think I am.  You're over-estimating my driving talents, and next time I might not be so quick at picking up what you're recklessly trying to do on that dangerous corner or motorway...

Ohope Beach Again

Hi there

I've recovered from my Transmission Gully traverse, but have just spent nearly two hours trying to get photos to transfer from my phone to my computer.  Grrrrhhh.  And I used to be expert in new technology (in the old days).

above: Port Ohope

above: George, Whakatane, where I had the best fish and chips.  Whakatane is about five minutes drive from Ohope

                                                above: Port Ohope.

Ohope Beach

 Hi there

I suddenly decided, one day before it happened, to take off for a two week holiday at Ohope Beach (a five minute drive from Whakatane).  And I've just returned.  Photos will be included at some point.

Because I'm a wimp I was worried about getting home yesterday to Wellington before dark.  From go to whoa, it took me nine and a half hours.  Blame the one-hour-longer-than-usual-time on my stopping for brunch for the best chips ever at Robert Harris in Taupo, and then ooh-ing and and ahh-ing over the brooches at my favourite cheap and cheerful knick-knack shop in the little township of Bulls.

Coming home, my car's boot ('trunk ' in American-ese) was crammed full of heavy luggage.  It never ceases to amaze me that when I fly I can happily take 7 kg of bag with me, yet when travelling by land I have to take everything barring the kitchen sink.  Even my bag for the beach weighs more than Air New Zealand's 7 kg carry-on luggage restriction.

Because my car is ancient  - but I love her to bits and will never get rid of her -  I decided to not return to Wellington over the newly opened Transmission Gully road with its really really high hills. I turned off at a notice pointing to Paraparaumu.  I circled a roundabout thingee, and followed another notice saying 'Wellington'.  Whoops, I was in Transmission Gully, with a nearly-completed sunset to the west, a heavy car boot behind me, and the biggest hill I would ever have driven looming up to the front.

I don't know how I survived the anxiety...