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Sunday 2/1/00 (Banks Penisula) It rained. Phoned families through with news of our engagement. C's side were already cracking open the champagne (her sister decided to get married the morning after us, too). Stayed at the prophetically-named Honeymoon Cottage in the Banks Penisula where it rained and we cooked penne pasta with some weird-looking fried yellow vegetables, and, later, steak. (Note to self: be sure to mention how our other main source of sustenance on holiday is honey sandwiches, no butter.) It rained. (Or have I mentioned that already). Lit wood fire in corner, more out of a sense of romance than need. Reminded me of the time when girl in metallic trousers came over to spend the night with me at New Cross squat back in '80. She was nicknamed 'heavy metal' and drummed. She was probably impressed with street-cred surroundings - like all students always are, as long as it doesn't get too real' - but I never took advantage. The fire there would've been lit with old clothes found on street, and wooden pallets stolen from local supermarket. Plus the odd wardrobe. Anyway. It also reminded me of my youth, growing up in Rothesay Avenue where the only time our bedroom would ever be heated would be in the winter when one of the four boys who shared the room got ill. Then, the fire would send flickering shadows to haunt our dreams. Otherwise, I would regularly record below zero temperatures on my mail-order thermometer at six am before I rose to do my paper round. Played nostalgia CD thoughtfully left in corner, for mood. Watched brain-numbingly tedious NZ television when the Time magazines became too conservative even for new age me. I'm sure that the Banks Penisula looks wonderful under the right circumstances. World hasn't ended yet. |
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