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25/12/99 Lake Tekapo Christmas in New Zealand. It rained. Bought a fluorescent jigsaw puzzle of the Southern Hemisphere Night Sky, and made it over twice in two nights. Photographed mountains through bunches of multicoloured lupins and, yes, the occasional cloud. Watched aghast at Ricky Martin's libidinous hip-swivelling on the Top Of The Pops Special. (I'm was a virgin to the Martin madness. No longer. I feel deflowered.) Created a Christmas lunch special, of which only one Blade Steak was green. Took great comfort in stoking wood fire, like I was an outcast on Seattle's Bainbridge Island or something. (Long story. Suffice to say, we all have dreams of being a selective commuter.) Presented Charlotte with a jade green yacht (small) because 1) she doesn't like jade, and 2) as a keep-sake conversational piece of the yacht rides we took in the Bay Of Islands, where we caught -and later ate - deeply poisonous Simpsons-style fish. Took a misjudged four-hour car ride to nowhere. Marvelled at the blueness of our lake: a luminescent blueness to match the brilliance of the sky when it finally appeared. We were warned not to attempt Kayaking too far into its center, lest we fell in and suffered badly. (Ten minutes, tops, they reckoned, in these temperatures.) The advice turned out to needless, as it transpired. Kayaking on lakes filled with wankers jet-skiing as loudly and stupidly as possible, in their attempts to shatter the peace, is not my idea of pleasure. Stayed close by the wood fire, and hugged. It does all folk good to be sentimental on some of the appropriate occasions. |
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