An accent by any other name

Think for a moment of the world’s easiest names to pronounce. I’m guessing that Tim features somewhere on your list. Well, let me tell you about an exchange I had in a shoe shop recently. The young go-getter assistant who seemed so eager to help that I was a little unsettled, asked me my name.
‘It’s Tim’ I replied.
‘Itseim… hmmm… is that middle eastern?’ he queried,
‘No mate, my name’s Tim’ I corrected.
‘Teem?’ Assistant now looking slightly puzzled.
‘No, it’s Tim’ I said, taking more care than would’ve seemed necessary to pronounce the all important vowel.
‘Sorry, I’m still not getting it…’ At this point, wondering whether I was actually in an English speaking country, I spelled my three-letter, one syllable name. ‘Oh Tum. I was just having trouble with your funny accent.’ My expression at this point could only be truly appreciated by another Australian. This would be funnier if it didn’t seem to happen everyday and it’s for this reason I no longer answer the phone at our house.

I also had another interesting conversation in a hardware store in Silverdale. Silverdale is a little town north of Auckland with a disproportionate number of lingerie stores – I counted eight out of the total of fifteen shops having ladies intimate apparel hung in the windows. I was not there to buy lingerie but a tool set (spot the gender stereotype). Knowing that I would be leaving in six months and therefore piffing the tools when I left, I had in my hand the cheapest set of tools in the store that looked like they would last at least until I got them home. I was carefully checking the price when I noticed not a small number of very young kids wandering about the store, some with ominous looking tools in their hands. At this point a quietly spoken young fella approached me with a baby on his arm appearing to want to help me find what I was looking for. Being the new dad that I am I asked whether the baby was his.
‘Oh no, this is my nephew,’ he continued, ‘most of these kids are either my brothers and sisters or their kids.’ Stunned by the number of kids in the store who obviously weren’t there to buy tools or gaffer tape, I replied:
‘Must have a pretty big family?’
‘Yeah, I’ve got eight sisters and seven brothers’ he responded casually. I paused,
‘From the same parents?’ I asked, forgetting that this might be a bit of an intrusive question.
‘Oh yeah,’ he replied like someone who probably has this conversation every day, ‘most people think it’s pretty strange but it’s not that out of the ordinary.’ The casualness of the last remark did not match the dumbfounded look on my face. Being Olympics time I mentioned China’s One Child Policy by way of a stunning contrast, ‘Oh they’re crazy over there,’ he replied. Crazy indeed, I thought.

As I wandered back to the car, passed windows full of frilly knickers and lacy bras, I contemplated the potential for disaster in hardware stores come childcare centres and the role that lingerie might play in the creation of what can only be described as the uber-families of Silverdale. I love this place.

Liv promises to add to this blog soon and save it from being the shamelessy self-indulgent Tum show,

Big love,

Tim + Liv + Lucy

Ps. Here's a photo of Lucy to demonstrate how she's getting cuter by the minute. Liv's seems rather certain that, despite our proximity to Silverdale, Lucy is not the first of sixteen.

Falling water

Here are some photos and videos of Whangarei and Hururu Falls. Both are fine examples of the sort of magical places Aotearoa has to offer but believe it or not both have road bridges just over the top of them! I mean these are the sorts of places that in other countries would attract trendy eco-tourism companies or at least world heritage status – not in New Zealand – here they are nothing more than inconveniences for highway engineers.

Here's Lucy looking powerful cute then snug in jackets in our happy little family.

If you're wondering what we're thinking in these photos it went something like ' how great are waterfalls?'

In other news we’ve found a great local pub that sells tasty beers and all manner of deep-fried seafood. The guy behind the bar appears to wear shorts in all weather – which is quite impressive given the extremes we have over here. To give you an idea of this the other day I spent the morning in the sun on our veranda eating my breakfast, next minute sheets, quilts even, of rain descended on the country. Two hours later, the sun was back and the bad weather almost forgotten until that night when it was reported that a place around the bay had received 500mm of rain – FIVE HUNDRED MILLIMETRES! To give the Adelaideans back home a bit of perspective that’s 55mm less than our average annual rainfall – 30mm more than we received for the whole of 2007 – in two hours! Needless to say this is a very strange place and any publican who has obviously made a personal commitment to the wearing of shorts regardless is deserving of at least a little respect.

Check this Kiwi confectionery:





How perky you ask? Mighty perky.

You can see more photos by clicking this sentence if you're keen.

Big pacific love,

Tim, Liv and Lucy.

Sweet penguin and the 'Hell Hole of the Pacific'

The Bay of Islands is one of those places found throughout the Antipodes with a conveniently descriptive name. You have some idea of what to expect before you round the final bend to be met by a glassy seascape punctured with numerous beautiful isles large and small.

We awoke in the coastal town of Paihia (sunrise pictured right) and trundled along the esplanade to the wharf where we boarded a ferry to the sleepy town across the bay with a rather curious history. After pushing our pram up along the main street and through winter morning sun we found our way to the local museum. This was full of lots of interesting stuff like the jaws of a seven metre shark, a one fifth scale model of Captain Cook’s Endeavour and an impressive array of instruments intended for inflicting harm on others but the story behind the naming of the town did lead me to break the stuffy silence with a cheeky giggle.

Legend has it that a chief, wounded in battle, asked for penguin and after drinking some of the broth, murmured, “Ka reka te korora”, meaning how sweet is the penguin? Now I’m sure that only those present at this post-battle recoup could tell us whether the chief was being rhetorical or not but his question must have begged an answer that went something like ‘pretty sweet’ because the town was named Kororareka meaning sweet penguin. Another name given to this town in the early 19th century was ‘Hell hole of the Pacific’, apparently due to the general sense of lawlessness and debauchery that ensued soon after the arrival of Euros with their deserting seamen, runaway convicts, grog sellers, settlers, pimps and prostitutes. Stranger still is the fact that this ‘Tortuga’ of the pacific became the nation’s capital in 1840 but was moved elsewhere less than a year later. A few years later someone must have named the place after a mate down the pub as the town has now gone by the name of Russell for the last 150 years (jetty pictured left).

Leaving the museum with a sense of historical accomplishment we wandered around New Zealand’s oldest church, went up to the lookout (this highlighting again our mutual lack of physical fitness as a married couple) and enjoyed the truly stunning panorama of aforementioned islands from a new vantage point. This picture obviously does said view little justice.


As we watched the Hell hole of the Pacific retreat behind the wake of the mid-afternoon ferry Liv and I agreed that this was the sort of town we would not be ashamed to call home and I was struck with the thought that when Kiwis say ‘sweet as…’ perhaps they are abbreviating the full ancient saying ‘sweet as that penguin at Russell’.