Auckland Central Backpackers - lounge

I love the directness of the advertising on that TV!

Puppet Radio

Spent an enjoyable afternoon doing what I love – putting on silly voices.

I’ve been a part of Joy Puppet Theatre before – when we took a Christian show around Auckland schools last Easter. Today however I was fulfilling a very long-standing promise to record a soundtrack for them.

Hence, Jasher and I found ourselves standing in front of Tim Harrison’s microphone, with a couple of puppets, taping the vocals for a puppet version of The Good Samaritan.

What we didn’t have was a horse. (of course) Having made 26 episodes of The Awesome Budgie-Man back in the UK however, I was keen to improvise, so fishing around outside I found a pair of flowerpots thatwhoa back up there a second – we were recording the soundtrack? With the puppets there? What – so that the puppets could talk into the microphone?

No, no, no, of course not, we could never be that silly.


Oh stuff it, why did I post that there?

Oh all right, the thing is, when the soundtrack is played at a performance, the speed that Jasher and I have spoken the dialogue at will govern how quickly the puppeteers will open and close the puppets’ mouths. If we deliver the lines too quickly now, then at the performance the puppeteers may not be able to keep up.

The solution is for us to also operate the puppets at the time of recording their dialogue, so that the puppet governs the speed of our delivery.

That’s right – so once again it is the puppets who govern what we do.

It’s what they call a puppet government.

Spot The Difference

Above are two photos.

One of them is of a 30-year-old Telephone Marketing Executive, in London in 2001.

The other one is of a 34-year-old guy, serving God in Auckland, today.

So, which is which, and why?

Tiger Man

You know who your friends are. You also know who your friends were. But how do you know who your friends are going to be?

Only God knows that. And he isn’t telling. And just to make sure, he picks the most unlikely people. That way it must be His doing, and not ours, right?


Last August, on my first day in housekeeping, I was introduced to a Korean guy calling himself Tiger, after one of his favourite singers. Tiger had arrived in Auckland around the same time that I had, and also for a year. We folded sheets, quite unaware that we would spend a great deal of the next 9 months doing this together.

Some weeks later we were going to attend a backpacking survey, for which we would receive, quite literally, all the pizza we could eat.

“Sixth floor!” declared Tiger beforehand in his breathy Korean accent. “Come on! We go together!”

In England you can’t really use the phrase “we go together” without immediately distancing yourself from whoever you had hoped to go together with, but Tiger had no such inhibitions. As we headed for the lift, I felt a bit like I was 6 years old again. Back then your friends were whoever was in the room.

Somewhere along the line, Tiger invited myself and Japanese travellers Kazu, Wei and Darren along to the Korean language service at his church – the Salvation Army on Queen Street. After the service there was a meal, and extensive games with completely nonsensical instructions. I realised that I was totally and utterly outside of my culture, yet a whole year on I’m still attending.

I guess in some way that fish-out-of-water syndrome gave us some common ground, especially since we’d both left home to arrive in Auckland the same week. As the weeks became months, and ten of thousands of transient travellers tramped through my life, Tiger became a rare constant. Just as in England Herschel and I had regularly greeted each other in the style of The Matrix’s Agent Smith, so Tiger and I would boom down corridors at each other “Misterrrrrrrr Goblllllle!” “Misterrrrrrr Kimmmmmmmmm!” (TOGETHER) “It is…inevitabllllllllllle!!!”

He read the Bible, he also read Sherlock Holmes, he stuck stickers from the hostel’s quilts on his baseball cap like a burger uniform to read “BUNK KING”, he won a competition, he begged me for my free drinks vouchers, he asked me for more of them, I lied to him that I had none, I apologised to him for lying to him, he gave up drinking, then he went touring with other backpackers and hated it because they all drank so much. The everyday legends of the Tiger became legion.

Finally, as my year down under approaches its conclusion, so necessarily must Tiger’s. Osaka beckons, and with it comes 3 years of the Tiger learning Japanese.

On 6/28/05, Tiger wrote:
>I'm home misterrrrr gobleeeeee
> mister goble, i'm home now. it was long boring flight, really tired, i'm in
> my room now, something's changed..11months..take care and keep in touch,
> tiger

Tiger's blog: http://blog.naver.com/kimpdizm.do

Bus Off - Parts 1 & 2

Part 1:

Today I needed to get across town to Excel Christian School Of Performing Arts in New Lynn to cheer one of my friends on at her practical singing exam.

Unfortunately I had organised my journey about as well as the BBC organises its TV schedules. No real concrete plan, so anything could happen at any time. Good luck. By the way here's some snooker.

So having set out in the rain without even checking the bus times, I found myself waiting at a bus stop on a motorway, late, with no idea whether I was on the right side of the road, let alone whether I was even on the right road in the first place. Even the bus stop itself had no information whatsoever on display. I, rather recklessly, just had this vague sort of hope that a bus would come and take me to where I was headed. God job David had lent me his umbrella that morning.

So I waited, and sure enough a bus quickly came along on the opposite side of the road. So just after I'd missed it I crossed over. Then, as surely as night must follow day, one came by back on the original side of the road, so I missed that too. I'd say that things weren't going as planned, except that of course I really had no plan. Yet as the rain continued to drive (no pun intended, inferred or even in existence) down, I had this deep conviction that God was somehow going to get me there, even though I couldn't see any evidence of it. I didn't even really know where I was, let alone in what direction I was going. And you can take that sentence as geographically and/or philosophically as you wish.

Which brings me to a question I ponder often:

Jesus had perfect faith in God's future. Let's be clear about this - Jesus would frequently come out with the most barking mad predictions regarding what was just about to happen.

Imagine if your best friend, someone who you considered sane enough to trust, suddenly came out with any of the following delusional statements:

30"Go to the village across from you. As soon as you enter, you'll find a colt tethered, one that has never been ridden. Untie it and bring it. 31If anyone says anything, asks, "What are you doing?' say, "His Master needs him.'"

- Luke 19:30-31. MSG

27But so we don't upset them needlessly, go down to the lake, cast a hook, and pull in the first fish that bites. Open its mouth and you'll find a coin. Take it and give it to the tax men. It will be enough for both of us."

- Matthew 17:27 MSG

"Go into the city, and a man carrying a jar of water will meet you. Follow him. 14Say to the owner of the house he enters, 'The Teacher asks: Where is my guest room, where I may eat the Passover with my disciples?' 15He will show you a large upper room, furnished and ready. Make preparations for us there."

- Mark 14:13-15 MSG

30"I tell you the truth," Jesus answered, "today—yes, tonight—before the rooster crows twice you yourself will disown me three times."

- Mark 14:30 MSG (Some early manuscripts do not have twice.)

(getting madder...)

6Having said this, he spit on the ground, made some mud with the saliva, and put it on the man's eyes. 7"Go," he told him, "wash in the Pool of Siloam"

- John 9:6-7 MSG

And of course, my personal "I don't have any fear of upsetting anyone" favourite:

This girl isn't dead. She's sleeping."

- Matthew 9:24 MSG

Yes, thankyou Michael Palin.

So the question that fascinates me so is this:

Did Jesus know in advance that these things would happen, or did they happen because He said so in faith?

If the first is true, then He was simply repeating what He had heard from God. (I tend to shy away from the "He knew everything because He was God" reasoning as it flaws His example to us of how to live.)

If the second is true, then Jesus could just make up any old thing, speak/believe it in faith and it would happen.

"Yes, and welcome back to National Lottery Live. Mystic Meg's on holiday, so Jesus - what are the winning numbers that our machine will randomly select tonight?"

"Well Dale, if you head outside into the BBC corridor you'll pass a dalek who's been filming Doctor Who in the next studio. Follow the dalek into whatever office it enters, and there'll be 2 internal telephones in there. Keeping clear of its gun-stalk, put the two 5-digit extension numbers together in ascending order and those will be tonight's winning lottery numbers. And then a giant egg is going to engulf Torquay and Manchester."

"Ha ha, riiiiight. Well we've actually tricked you Jesus because it's Saturday and you're not allowed to do any work."

As I stood at the bus stop, I decided to go for making something up, speaking it and doing something about it in faith.

"Okay God," I shouted above the thundering motorway traffic, "I am going to cross back over this road and go back to that bus stop over there. When I get there I am going to count to 10. When I reach 10 a bus will arrive which will take me to where I am going, even if it isn't on their route."

Pretty clever huh? I'd shouted it out loud, built in something that I had to do in faith, and even avoided shying faithlessly away from asking for the impossible. Probably the most disturbing thing is that, on some level, I actually believed it.

So upon a gap in the traffic, I crossed. I headed back through the rain to the first deserted bus stop. As I arrived, I was disappointed to spot a guy approaching who was about to walk past. If I delayed my counting until he'd passed-by, I would have been being ashamed of my faith, so I started loudly counting, dismissing the hope that I'd be done by the time he reached me. I also deliberately looked away from the direction that the bus would approach from, so as to avoid hoping for it.

"One!"

"Two!"

"Three!"

"Four!"

"Five!"

"Six!"

"Seven!"

"Eight!"

"Nine!"

"Ten!"



More tomorrow.

posted by Steve @ 2:30 PM

2 comments:

At 2:52 AM, E said...

Oh man that is so mean!! What happened?!?!?!!!?! You've definately got me in suspense....

At 7:38 PM, Steve said...

As indeed you have me, "E"...:)

Part 2:

On ten, reaching in my pocket for my Auckland Discovery Pass, I turned around trying very hard to expect my bus to simultaneously pull-up.

At that exact instant, on the stroke of ten, the aforementioned passer-by arrived and sat wordlessly down.

There was no bus. Just this guy. Who wasn't a bus. I could tell he wasn't a bus because he was much smaller, wasn't demanding exact change and didn't appear to be carrying 15 people with him.

And he was quieter. There was a silence between us that I seemed to be contributing to.

Unable to ignore his exact timing (further proof of his non-bus-like credentials) I asked him if he knew how to get to New Lynn. He didn't. I asked him if I was going in the right direction. He didn't know that either. He suggested I phone Rideline and ask. I asked if he had a mobile. He didn't.

Terrific. This guy was as much help as I was.

"Why don't you ask at a petrol station?" he kept suggesting.

"Well I would, but there aren't any around here," I explained, looking around to confirm what I had already checked. I was at a bus stop on a motorway and there was no petrol station, or even a payphone, anywhere in sight.

"What about that Mobil?" he suggested, just as the entire said gas station and convenience store apparently materialised next to us. So by faithfully speaking those 4 words this guy had successfully out-Jesused me.

So I entered the Mobil station, lowered my umbrella and looked all around for a payphone.

None.

Falling into a pattern, I asked the shop-assistant a similar set of questions, to which he, with admirable respect for procedure, gave me pretty well the same answers. He didn't know anything about buses. He didn't know how to get to New Lynn. Why didn't I call Rideline?

"Do you know where there's a payphone around here?" I asked authoritatively.

"It's behind you."

It was all getting a bit pantomime by this stage. Twice now other people had managed to accurately speak into existence things that I had been convinced did not actually exist. I on the other hand had confidently declared "Ahhh - here's my bus now!" only to get a quiet guy who knew nothing.

This brings me to another theory I'm developing. I think sometimes God hides things from our minds. I think this is how we sometimes miss the blatantly obvious. We think we're making a decision, when in actual fact God is narrowing the choices we can see to the ones He's chosen to work with. And I think He may include some bad options in there to teach and test us with. I have no idea if this theory holds any water, but it would explain how so many people get jobs that they are clearly completely incapable of doing. Whilst we in Human Resources try to employ the person who will be best at the job, surely God knows that the more eternally important issue is to employ the one who will learn and grow in it.

"Thankyou for calling Maxx. Maxx is the new name for Rideline. New name - same service. We've spent tens of thousands of dollars changing the name from an instantly understandable one to one that could mean absolutely anything, and even better reads like a mis-spelt pet. Here's another sentence to delay your call from being answered for a little longer."

I shouldn't criticise. Whoever made that rather embarrassing decision clearly needs to learn.

Conversely, the callcentre lady I got put through to was obviously ready to move on - she was perfect. With all the precise instructions she gave me about where to go, which bus to get, what to look out for through the window, which direction to walk back in at the other end and so on, I felt like a combination of Anneka Rice and Neo.

Her instructions were spot-on, and although when I arrived at Excel I had missed my friend's performance, she was clearly pleased that I had come at all.

And that was really the point. Fantastic singing voice that she has, (she gave me a CD to play on my radio show tonight) I hadn't really been going to listen to her. I had been going to support and encourage her.

Ironically I'd received quite a bit of support and encouragement myself in just getting there.

Just What is the Deal with Comedy?

"I plugged my video-camera into my television set so now I get 24-hour reality TV. Everytime I get up something happens." - Jamie

It was another great night of comedy at The Irish Society, courtesy of Edge Church's youth division Momentum.


Unlike at the Comedy Club last month, all 5 of these guys really hit the mark, particularly American Dave Wiggins (above), the one hosting the whole thing. His final bit was to compare doing a comedy show with performing at a rock concert, particularly noting how rock artists are actually expected to repeat old material.

Amongst these geniuses were 2 old friends - Hiroshi and Jamie.


Hiroshi: "I get asked alot Hiroshi - are you from Hiroshima?"


Jamie: "I like that warning on the start of Gran Turismo that says In real life players are advised to always drive carefully and signal all turns. I think it should read In real life players are advised not to go into a hairpin bend at 300kph."

But for me the best punchline came from Sasha on the ticket desk.

Me: "How much is it to get in?"

Sasha: "2 dollars."

Me: "I haven't done a day's paid work for over a year now. Can you let me in free?"

Sasha: "Ohhh, I'm sorry. I can't."

BEAT. A NOTE OF REALISATION ENTERS SASHA'S VOICE.

Sasha: "Actually, someone's already paid."

Yes! As Jamie would say, give the glory to God.

Later...with Steve Goble

Not for the first time, I awoke this morning unsure where I would be sleeping tonight.

Consequently, a moment later I was praying for God's will over it.

Consequently one minute after saying "Amen" the phone rang.

Consequently one hour later I talking to David, a Christian friend of a friend with a spare room.

Consequently 4 hours later I was meeting him at Starbucks in Botany for a white hot chocolate.

Consequently 4-and-a-half hours later we were carrying my gear into my new room at his place in Howick. It's slightly bigger, has 2 cupboards instead of one, has longer quilts (which with my height I love) and even contains a running machine and hand weights!

Consequently I gave thanks.

Consequently...?

No Change There Then

In New Zealand, sadly trousers are called pants.

Also sandals are called jandals, swimwear is togs, dents are called dings, rucksacks backpacks, www is "dub-dub-dub" and Lloyds Bank is called The National Bank.

They also don't have any coinage below 5c.

I mention this simply because tonight I withdrew $20 from an ATM at The National Bank. I needed to get the last bus home after all.

Stuffing the 2 blue 10 dollars bills into my pocket, I stopped off at the Smile Mart to buy the Korea family a small goodbye gift for $7. This left me with 13 dollars from the ATM, plus whatever other change was on me.

I then passed an army surplus store that had a naked dummy in the window. I then realised that it was in fact fully dressed, but I hadn't noticed because it was wearing camoflage clothes.

Passing the long line of bus stops along Symonds Street, I spotted a 5c coin under a bench, and put it in my pocket with the 5c coin I'd found by the bus stop in New Windsor last night.

At the 68 bus stop, I put down my bag from the Smile Mart with my backpack, and took off my coat.

A smoking girl came up to me and quietly asked if she could have some fare for her last bus home. She said she needed $4.60. I asked how much she already had. She said she had $1.67. So I gave her $3 and she left.

After she'd gone, I considered whether I should have suggested that a more long-term solution to her problem might have been to quit smoking. That way she would have had enough money for the bus, right? Then the proverbial penny (all right cent) dropped. $1.67? 67??? In a country where no coin is worth less than 5c, she had clearly just made this up.

Nonetheless a moment later I saw her bus pull-up to her stop, and she got on and started to pay the driver. However, there was clearly some problem. Maybe her fare was more than she had realised? I was torn between approaching the bus and checking that everything was okay, or staying with all my gear that I'd put down. (I wasn't alone)

Fortunately, after about a minute and a half, her bus pulled away with her safely on it.

Shortly afterwards my 68 pulled-up, so I got on, and, here's the thing, I couldn't find my tenner. Anywhere.

Tissues, yes. A scarily high number of them. But a small blue piece of paper with Kate Sheppard and a couple of ducks on it, no.

"Errr...I had it a minute ago," I stammered to the driver. "I...just got...the ATM..."

He must have believed this, that I actually did have an ATM machine in the right-hand pocket of my jeans, but whatever the reason he wordlessly pulled away as I continued to fumble through my tissues and tried to remain standing. I might not find an ATM machine, but he was still expecting to be paid.

This wasn't good. This was the last bus of the night, and I really didn't think that even I could convincingly take the entire 30 minutes to search through my, albethem many, pockets. Still, I had a go, but I found that I was very quickly onto rechecking the same pockets a second time. Why does one do that? Is it humility, desperation or denial?

I'd obviously lost my second tenner. I should have put it in my wallet like normal, instead of shoving it in loose. I checked my spare change. $2.40. I needed $5.40.

I needed that girl's 3 dollars back.

Drawing on all my resources, next to my right thigh I rediscovered the 10c that I'd found in the street. I also had an Auckland Cash Handling System token that I'd found months ago. And in my 2004 diary I still had 20 UK pounds that my mum had given me when I'd left home, but somehow I didn't think the driver would accept them as legal tender. Especially not since Freakazoid had recently drawn an early klingon-esque beard on the Queen.

So to cut an increasingly trivial story short, he accepted the $2.50, soon after which I found a spare $10 note I'd forgotten about! Rather predictably it was in a tissue.

The nice thing was, without knowing about the girl I'd given my last 3 dollars to, the driver refused to accept the 3 dollars I now owed him.

Fare enough.

When You're Alone and Life is Making You Lonely, You Can Always Go...Down Town

It was the same tough call as always.

I was sitting on the 68 bus heading to Downtown (when you've got worries, all the noise and the hurry seems to help, I know) (Downtown) to find somewhere to move to tomorrow, holding a bun that Mrs Korea had given me just before leaving. Should I eat it and the apple now, and have nothing left for later? Only one choice, to have faith, so down it went. After all, I'd be dropping into the hostel later, and there'd likely be some grub up for grabs on the Free Food shelf.

"It's a ghost town," eulogised Donald, looking despondently over at the completely empty shelf. Indeed, the Free Food shelf had looked pretty blank for quite a while after I'd first moved in last July. Then I'd decided to trust in God to provide and it had become abundant. Since I'd left it had returned to its original condition. It's a good job that I was relying on God, and not just on some old shelf.

Just idly dropping back into the hostel is not as easy as it sounds. Everyone who I recognise, I have to stop and talk to. Freakazoid, Michelle, Lionel, Leo, Tiger, Donald, Old Carlos, Sue - these are just some of the people who today I either spoke to or slightly hurried past. Inevitably I get asked the question "Are you coming back?" and today I had to admit that it rather looked that way.

"I'll see if Kate has any vacancies in housekeeping tomorrow," I answered.

"Kate has left." Leo replied.

What??? Apparently she walked out last Thursday. All of a sudden I found I really wished that I'd taken a photo of her.

Sue was perfectly accomodating though (no pun intended), promising "If you want to come back, we'll make a place for you." Michelle duly reserved a bed for me tomorrow night, should I need it.

I slouched around the noticeboard looking at all the adverts for flatmates. They all looked fairly reasonable, but I just couldn't be bothered. I'd had an offer of a free place with friends, but I was still waiting to hear confirmation. There were so many options in my head, and I just didn't want to deal with any of them.

I didn't want to return to the hostel because it felt like such a step backwards. Life's a journey - you don't go back unless you give up on your destination. But on the other hand, maybe God wanted me there. Increasingly though I felt that God wanted me wherever whichever path I chose took me.

Having looked at the board for too long without phoning anyone, I decided I had better do something instead of nothing, and determined to walk over to Freeman's House - a Christian boarding house that Kyle had stayed at until his return to America last Christmas.

Trudging up Queen Street, I realised I had learnt 2 things about myself:

1. I cannot ever make a decision without any deciding factors. I always need a reason.
2. I couldn't recall the way to Freeman's House. It had been 6 months after all.

I sat on a bench and prayed.

The end of my year on the other side of the world was in sight. I was looking forward to going home, but I didn't want to stay there. The thing was that although I love New Zealand, I didn't want to carry on living like this. No job, no Work Permit, no home. Forever living in the present with no past that I could touch, and no evidence of my great promised future. Having faith is a great way to make God one's anchor, but if that faith only results in having to have more faith, then that faith hasn't really been delivered upon. If trust results in nothing, then logically one should not trust in that person any more. Where is the God who rattles on about how He always keeps His great promises for our future?

Numbers 11(MSG): 11Moses said to GOD, "Why are you treating me this way? What did I ever do to you to deserve this? Did I conceive them? Was I their mother? So why dump the responsibility of this people on me? 12Why tell me to carry them around like a nursing mother, carry them all the way to the land you promised to their ancestors? 13Where am I supposed to get meat for all these people who are whining to me, "Give us meat; we want meat.' 14I can't do this by myself--it's too much, all these people. 15If this is how you intend to treat me, do me a favour and kill me. I've seen enough; I've had enough. Let me out of here."

And just 23 verses later we get:

3Now the man Moses was a quietly humble man, more so than
anyone living on Earth.

It sounds as those Moses' outburst was in fact a perfectly okay and right thing for him to do. Moses placed enough importance on his relationship with God to tell Him honestly how he felt. Anything less would have been less than honest. He was angry, but he wasn't trying to hurt God's feelings.

I've had many other upset prayers since coming here, but this one was different. Anger usually involves trying to inflict emotional hurt, (which is why I refuse to ever get angry with anyone) but not in this prayer. Just honest anger.

I guess I'm making a very subtle distinction here between anger and hurtful anger.

Resuming my search for Freeman's House, I tried to find the shop Party On as a marker, but I eventually gave up and decided to return to the hostel. Then I spotted a vaguely familiar road and tried it. Then I remembered the McDonald's' offices, and then another vaguely familiar corner.

Before I knew it I was on the other side of the motorway and there: Freeman's House - Auckland's Christian boarding house. It looked, as it always has done, just like an ordinary house. Was it still open? Had it closed after Kyle had left? Grimly I wondered just how life had brought me to the stage where I was prepared to knock on strangers' doors and ask if I could stay there.

A girl I'd passed earlier came up to me and, noticing my body language, asked if I was looking for Freeman's House. Her name was Danielle, and she was staying there. She invited me in.

It turned out that there was, unusually, a party just starting, with a few people who I knew, the obligatory stranger who turned out to have previously met me, and a huge spread of hot food on offer. Result!

What a shame it was a closing down party.

Later, after alot of food, music and silliness ("What's the worst conversation-stopper you can think of?") I was crossing town back to the bus stop again.

Moses' task hadn't been changed after his outburst, but God did do something to lighten his spirits.

Nothing had changed for me either - I still had only the hostel to definitely rely on tomorrow, and no tangible evidence of my future, yet as I approached an ATM on Karanghape Road to get my fare out, I certainly felt my spirits had been lifted.

Just listen to the music of the traffic in the city,
Linger on the sidewalk where the neon signs are pretty,
How can you lose?

The lights are much brighter there,
You can forget all your troubles, forget all your cares,
So go dowwwntowwwn, things'll be great when you're,
Dowwwntowwwn - no finer place, for sure,
Dowwwntowwwn - everything's waiting for you.

ㅙㅔㄷ 챠쇼 ㄲㅁ야ㅐ 106.7 르

I'm moving house again this Sunday.

No idea yet where I'll be moving to, but I know that God will provide somewhere. He doesn't half have a habit of coming through at the last moment though.

Tonight was therefore my final chance to invite my Korean housemate Won ki to join me in the studio for That Friday Feeling on Hope City Radio 106.7 FM. Won ki's a great guy, and he seems to accept all the opportunities that life gives him - learning to drive, attending Bible school, learning English. Patrick seemed in good spirits tonight too. He has 2 more transmitters almost ready to go up!


Stay awake.

Fins Can Only Get Better

Went swimming today at Lloyd Elsmore Park Leisure Centre's free swimming pool in Pakuranga.

I told Won jin (English name: Alan) how, until I was 22, I had only been able to swim about 25 metres. So each week for a year I had gone swimming regularly at Teddington Pools on the way home from work. This and running certainly did good things for my general health and fitness that year. So by the end of those 12 months, just how far do you think I could swim?

That's right - 25 metres.

I just couldn't understand it. I especially couldn't understand the people who'd come breaststroking past me 50-odd times, casually chatting about mad cow disease, Princess Diana's hairstyle and how unbearable it was to be comfy enough in life to go swimming regularly.

The point I'm trying to make is that when it came to swimming, I was still dead in the water.

I mean HOW? After a whole year, something must have been drastically wrong with my technique. I obviously needed lessons. No, of course I never took them.

Today? 25 metres. About 1 length.

"I will take lessons," I positive-mindedly declared to Won jin, before leaving him behind to wade across to a clear stretch to have another go.

As I did, I overheard some guy tutoring someone. I stopped, made eye-contact, smiled and made it clear that I too was taking notes.

Next thing I knew this 75-year-old ex-lifeguard was watching me swim, giving feedback and advising me to breathe every other stroke, instead of between each one.

"You need to bring your legs up level with the water, and reach your hands across to the middle each time, because you're out here at the moment, because you've got such wide shoulders."

Excellent - Roy was just what I needed. I didn't do a great deal more swimming, but my triceps ached and I was exhausted when I got out, so I must have been doing something differently.

The guy Roy was already tutoring beamed with pleasure when I told him how good he was too.

Next stop - the coastline of New Zealand!

[Doctor Who] Dalek 'kidnappers' demand Doctor

-----Original Message-----
From: KlownKrusty (herschel.krustofski@klownkollege.ac.uk]
Sent: 10 June 2005 21:09
To: Goble
Subject: FW: [Doctor Who] Dalek 'kidnappers' demand Doctor

'Kidnappers' who stole a Dalek from a Somerset tourist attraction have sent its owners a ransom note - and the robot's amputated plunger.

The 5ft model, believed to be an original from the cult BBC Dr Who series, was taken from Wookey Hole Caves near Wells on Monday.

On Thursday, staff found the plunger arm and a ransom note on a doorstep.

The note read: "We are holding the Dalek captive. We demand further instructions from the Doctor."


The group, signing themselves Guardians of the Planet Earth,
added: "For the safety of the human race we have disarmed and removed its destructive mechanism."

A police spokeswoman said: "The owners reported this morning thay had found what they are calling a ransom note, along with part of the Dalek.

"If it is a stunt there is an issue of wasting police time."

Wookey Hole manager Daniel Medley told BBC News: "The arm has been removed quite carefully, it hasn't been ripped off, there's no torture involved.

"So if we get the rest of the Dalek back, we should be able to put it back together like a jigsaw.

"The police think it was probably taken by kids or students, but there is also the idea that it could be heading to Edinburgh for the G8 protests."

The Dalek had been on display at the Bath and West Show and was in temporary storage at the Wookey Hole site when it was taken.

It is believed to be worth thousands of pounds, and Wookey Hole's owners have offered a £500 reward for the model's return.

Former Dr Who actor Colin Baker has been in touch with staff at the attraction, and may be asked to send a message to the kidnappers.

Source: http://news.bbc.co.uk

Provision: IMPOSSIBLE

I used to be so rich.

Back at the youth hostel that I gave up 9 months to serve God in, I learnt to rely wholly on God for food, and as a result it became a growing concern for me just where I was going to store it all. God had supplied me so abundantly that I found I literally couldn't even give it all away.

One afternoon I invited a penniless guy up to my room to offer him as much grub as he wanted. I really, really wish I'd photographed him. The expression on his face, the sheer joy in his eyes, he was almost crying. Yes, he actually was. "Look at me - I'm almost crying." he'd said. "I haven't eaten for a fortnight." Okay, that was probably an exaggeration. None the less, an hour later I was sitting in the internet cafe when he came up to me with a delicious bowl of hot mixed pasta that he'd made to give back to me. It was good to see the universe functioning properly, as it was designed to.

Time and again I'd tried to analyse God's provision - to turn it into an equasion that one could follow. A way of getting whatever one wanted out of Him. I'd come up with the following:

1. Pray.
2. Go without it. e.g. miss a few meals.
3. When it arrives, say thanks, and tell people.
4. Give it away to whoever else wants it.
5. Use it. NOW. Don't store it up for later fearing that you won't get more to replace it. Continue to have faith.

There's really only one thing that bothers me about these criteria. It's turning God into a science, isn't it? Science is all about the universe repeating itself. God never repeats Himself. He doesn't need to - He's infinite. Look at all the clouds. And the snowflakes. And the petals. And us. And all the days. (etc.)

When I eventually moved out of the hostel, I took a few items with me, but left most of my food mountain behind for the others in my room. I was relying on God, I certainly didn't need to fret about carrying it around with me everywhere. God would provide for me wherever I was.

After I'd left, room-mate #3 was under orders to clean up the room after me. He invited some of our friends in to take whatever food they wanted. Afterwards, he filled 3 entire rubbish sacks with food and chucked it all out. He told me this was easier than taking it downstairs to the Free Food shelf in the kitchen for the other 500 guests to benefit from.

Room-mate #3 is a great guy and a friend, but I felt disappointed by this. There was stuff in there that I'd been looking forward to, but had left behind for someone else to enjoy instead. Why was it easier to take those 3 sacks down to the rubbish, instead of taking them down to the Free Food shelf in the kitchen?

This morning, at the house that I'm now staying at, the milk ran out when my bowl of Weet-Bix, Just Right and Milo cereal was only halfway full. There was no more milk, and I had finished the powdered stuff that I had bought with me from ACB. It was time to turn the clock back and compensate with tap water again. This disappointed me too. Maybe it was a portent.

I had another problem. I was heading out to do some unpaid work today, and I would need some lunch. From where? God was everywhere, He would provide for me, wouldn't He? I had a long day ahead. After pitching-in on this project during the day, I would be heading straight onto New Windsor to do my voluntary radio show. Potentially, I might go the whole day without eating anything. So I found myself actually breaking-into the few items that I'd brought with me so long ago from the hostel. A packet of noodles and a Cup-A-Soup, plus an apple (given to me by Sam last Wednesday), and packed them away into my bag. If God didn't provide, I had a backup. Well, it wasn't really a backup, He'd just given me most of these things months ago. That, I reasoned, was his provision.

As I left, Mrs Korea thrust a plastic box of fried rice/vegetable mix into my hand, with a fork, for my lunch.

Extremely pleased about this, I got in the car. The place where I was going to just happened to be on Mr Korea's daily route. Handy.

At lunchtime, therefore, I now had a choice. The noodles that I'd been keeping since my departure from the hostel a month ago, or Mrs Korea's nice fresh mix. Well, no contest really. Except that it was. "Steve - listen - I brought some food in with me for your lunch."

Later I was sitting on the 487 bus to Downtown, when I suddenly realised that, as I'd got on, I'd accidentally bought a ticket.

"Stuff it," I thought, "I've wasted $3.60. After this bus I have to get 3 more. It would have been cheaper to have bought a Discovery Pass for 12 dollars." Well all right, I probably didn't think those exact words, but for the purposes of this incident's exposition, let's just pretend that I did.

I told the driver that I wanted to get a refund and buy the, from his perspective, more expensive Discovery Pass instead. He said he couldn't issue refunds. I sat back down again, disappointed in myself. Then a guy came up to me and gave me a pass.

"But you say that your girlfriend bought this pass, surely they're non-transferable," I protested. He insisted it was okay, as indeed did my next 2 bus drivers when I explained all of this to them.

My last bus driver worked for a different bus company, on which it wasn't valid after 7pm, but my conscience was clear.

And for dinner? I'd dropped back into the hostel and heated up the noodles that I'd got there last month, mixing in some bits and pieces that I found there today.

That Free Food shelf used to be bare when I first arrived last July. After I'd asked God, it, among other sources, had kept me in clover. Now that I'd left it was usually pretty well empty again.

Unlike me of course.

This morning I thought I was stuffed. Tonight I am.

Remento

"Memory can change the shape of a car or the colour of a room."

Yep, that's definitely what he said. :)

Whilst on my way to my church cel-group meeting this evening, through the window of the 273 bus, on Mount Eden Road, I suddenly recognised... a kebab shop.

And then suddenly it all came back to me.

This was the place where, one night in March last year, Anna-Lisa, Rose, myself and probably others had waited 10 minutes to be served one evening. I'd spent some of that time in the convenience (all right dairy) store next door.

So I looked across and, yes, there next to it was just such a shop! I'd gone in there. I'd picked-up a packet of Milo, read the ingredients, and learnt that it was no ordinary hot chocolate after all. In fact its constituents seemed to remind me of chocolate Horlicks back home.

But to solidify my memory's accuracy I needed something more. I needed a third marker.

Whilst the bus still dawdled, I tried to recall what I'd seen on the other side of the road that night. I checked what was there now, but nothing rang any bells.

And then I saw it.

Next door to the kebab shop, on the opposite side to the convenience store, was a restaurant called "Sitar."

This I remembered, and suddenly a short movie replayed in my head.

A car had pulled up outside. An Asian guy had got out and entered the restaurant. I even remembered the numberplate on his car.

"SITAR 1"

Or maybe the 1 was a 2. I remember thinking that in this tiny populus of just 4 million people, having your business' name on your numberplate really wasn't such a big deal after all.

As the 273 bus carried me away again, I was convinced that I had not recalled that guy once in the 15 months since I had seen him that night.

I subsequently said a very quick prayer for him, because he'll never know, and I like such a tenuous connection to him to result in some good. I sometimes pray for people in old photographs too.

After all, if God can see all time - past, present and future - what are memories if not visions of the past?

Star Wars Babies (Special Edition)

What if they sacked the cast of Star Wars and replaced them all with kids?

Many would argue that this has already happened. You know the movies to which I am referring.

The motion I am proposing today however, is that this had also happened in the Star Wars books.

At about 1am this morning, thanks to BookCrossing.com, (see also here) I finished reading "Star Wars: Young Jedi Knights - Shards Of Alderaan" by Kevin J Anderson and Rebecca Moesta.


And it pretty well starts like this:

(music please)

Star Wars Babies, we make our dreams come true
Star Wars Babies may the force be with you
(Baby Luke)When your homeworld looks kind of weird and you wish that you weren't there
(Baby Ben)Just close your eyes and use the force, and you can be anywhere
(Junior Moff Tarkin)(in baby-socks)I like horror
(Baby Leia)I like romance
(Yoda Bear)(in spotty bow-tie)Aaaa I love great jokes
(Baby Binks)Jar Jar dance!

CHEWIE OPENS A CARTOON DOOR BEHIND WHICH IS FILM OF AN ATTACKING SHIP LIFTED FROM THE MOVIE MUPPETS FROM SPACE.

(Baby C3PO)Why I'm a computer
(Baby Fett)I'm differently-lit
(Jabba the pup)I don't like salt
(Baby Leia)I look like a whale in this outfit.
(Young Zurg)Me, I invent things
(Baby Artoo)Breep, Breep, zort, fweeeeeeeeeeeb!
(Baby C3PO)Look Artoo - it's a little you!

(Auntie Skywalker)(seen from the waist down wearing green striped socks)Is everyone alright in here?
(Babies) Yeees, Auntie!

Star Wars Babies, eat-up all our baby-food
Star Wars Babies will use the force for good

Star Wars, Star Wars, Star Wars, Star Wars
Babies, Babies, Babies, Babies
Your dreams will come true

Tag-line: (Baby Han) You other babies are all like family to me.

Alright, so it actually starts with "To Marina Fitch and Mark Budz - colleagues, fellow dreamers, and friends", but I think my above piece is a fair extrapolation.

Basically Star Wars: Young Jedi Knights is a successful series of novels chronicling the adventures of Han and Leia's children - Jacen and Jaina - as they train to become Jedis at Luke Skywalker's Academy. Maybe I should have gone for a Tiny Toons angle above...

I have almost every episode of Doctor Who, Star Trek, VR5, Dark Skies and The HitchHiker's Guide To The Galaxy on tape, but when it comes to Star Wars, I've never even seen Empire.

Yup, you read that right. For me it was the original 1977 movie, The Star Wars Holiday Special, and that was it. (I never saw E.T. either)(or Lord Of The Rings)

It's not that I have anything against George Lucas' work (I liked THX 1147), I'm simply waiting for him to finish them all first.

What's that you say? He has? Shyeah right, dream on. Lucas won't have finished making Star Wars until he's dead, and even then he'll probably leave instructions for someone to CGI his body and programme it to keep issuing an infinite number of re-editing orders. Forever.

Anyway, I liked Star Wars and I liked this book too.

It was a pretty good one to come in on. The story was sub-Voyager in it's simplicity, and several of the characters, including Jaina, I really never got a handle on. Jacen, Raynar and Zekk were interesting, and Em-Teedee was obviously C3PO with a different name. Just to rub it in, they have actually named Chewie's nephew "Lowbacca"!

Boba Fett obviously wears that helmet out of shame though, at what an embarrassingly poor bounty-hunter he is. The following sentence is a spoiler, so skip to the next paragraph if you don't want to read it. He's outsmarted by a group of kids who only succeed by being rescued. Honestly, I reckon he hides a copy of Bounty Hunting For Dummies somewhere about that armour of his.

The high point would have to be seeing Luke, Han and the others in their brief cameo appearances. What a shame they were all in their Holiday Special personas.

In fact, if I'm completely honest, I enjoyed this book really because, like The Holiday Special, I enjoyed forgiving it. I know it's aimed at teens, but so were the many Target Doctor Who books, and those stories were rather fuller, and more inventive.

8/10.

Finally, I'm actually going to end by quoting the very end of the book. Look away now if you don't want to know the scores.

Leia raised a cup of juri juice. "To family," she said.

Han lifted his cup to touch hers. "And to appreciating what we've got - while we've got it."

"To family," echoed Jacen, Jaina, Anakin, Tenel Ka, and two enthusiastic Wookies.

Happy Life-Day everyone!

Brighton Revisited

It was England, and it was almost 100° Celsius.

It was also 2003.

Scottish Dave, Fionnuala, Steve King and myself all met-up with a guy called Nigel and somehow squeezed, with thousands of other flattened travellers, into a large metal tube called a train. It was our positive-minded hope that if we stood pressed-between all these similarly-hopeful strangers for a little over an hour, then we would all get to the south coast and enjoy a fun Saturday out.

The plan worked!

Falling-out of the sliding-doors at Brighton station, we made our way down the main road to the beach, where I led everyone along the front to a spot I knew just beyond what was left of the multi-arsoned West Pier.

In fact it was so hot, that I hadn’t bothered to bring a towel with me. Or a bag. In fact I hadn’t even troubled myself with any swimming-gear. No, I wasn’t on that beach, in fact I was doing both the geographical and philosophical opposite.

Wearing the same clothes that I’d travelled down in, I walked into the sea, threw a frisby about with Dave, Fio and Steve for 45 minutes, and then returned to Nigel on the beach to quickly dry-off in the sun. I’ve always been quite pleased about this. I hate having to carry a bag on a day out.

Afterwards we all got some fish and chips, bought some real junk food on the pier, and went on a few rollercoaster and dodgem rides.


By now it was dark, so I led everyone through the town to see Brighton’s famous lanes. Quite why I was leading the group is a mystery to me today. My knowledge of Brighton is hardly extensive, but I guess someone had to pretend that they knew.

At around midnight, with less than ten minutes before the last train back to London was due to pull-out, the convenience store outside the station looked as though it had been looted. Food, drink and magazines lay strewn all over the shop floor as everyone clamoured for goods for the journey. I managed, somehow, to both fill-up and pay for 2 large Slush-Puppies (squishies), which on the train back were exactly what I needed.

Back in London, as we all went our separate ways, it had been a truly great day out. For me it was the defining day of the summer.

The following day Brighton would break the 100° barrier and make Monday’s front pages, but the story of that day belongs to other people’s blogs.

I remained good friends with Scottish Dave, Fionnuala and Steve King, but I never saw Nigel again.

Until today.

Nigel, it transpired last weekend, was a kiwi. Scottish Dave emailed me from Sydney to say that Nigel would be traveling home to Palmerston North this week, and would I like to catch up with him here in Auckland?

Now I’m not much good at recognising people at the best of times. It’s a daily occurrence now for me to ask people about themselves, only to learn that I’ve met them previously. So would I spend the entire evening unintentionally reminiscing with a complete stranger?

I was supposed to meet Nigel in the coffee-shop at Borders on Queen Street, but as I approached the main entrance on the corner, I saw a figure outside who looked, for all the world, as though he were waiting for someone.

Then something about the corners of his eyes reminded me of a photo I'd taken that day.

“Nigel!”

I suppose the next 3 hours would normally have involved “catching-up” or “chewing over old times”, but with only one old time to chew over, we barely even mentioned it.

One of Nigel's reasons for returning now is to watch the British Lions thrash the New Zealand All-Blacks at rugger next weekend. Once again, and not for the first time in this country, I found myself justifying my 29 non-rugby-going years back in Twickenham.

(These days, it seems that being into sport is usually all about how long you can watch TV for) (Ahh! - there's a comments button down the bottom)

It was great to make friends again though, enjoy a Starbucks, compare notes regarding Scottish Dave’s hospitality, (Dave - so there’s a bed under that mattress now?) and especially to see someone from back home.

The list of people I have seen here who I knew prior to my arrival in July has now broken double-figures: Melanie, Bill, Karen (literally on my doorstep), Suze (albeit on a live-action pop-up ad on MSN), Sioni, Scottish Dave, Fionnuala Armstrong, Kevin, Anna-Lisa Barbour, 610 and now Nigel Murray. That’s 10½. (sorry Suze)

But I like to aim high, so I personally am still holding out for the entire cast of Transmission: Impossible to show up wanting to do some more filming.