As a South Australian I genuinely enjoy the novelty of buying alcohol from the supermarket in New Zealand, but I have to say that what I enjoy the most is the actual checkout transaction involving said alcohol. As I approach the counter clutching, among other things, a bottle of ridiculously underpriced red wine from my homeland I am greeted by a relatively bright uniformed year 9 with whom I gather I will be completing my transaction. He is cheery at first, if not a little pimply. We chat about the recent endeavours of Kiwi sports teams against Australia as he scans a box of washing powder, a carton of milk and a four pack of toothbrushes, but as we approach the Peter Leahman Shiraz his demeanour changes dramatically. He effortlessly goes from ill-proportioned teen to suspicious, sleuth-like detective. Shifting his head to get a proper view of mine he suddenly looks very stern. Unsure whether he’s going to call the cops or divulge the secrets of the universe I ask tentatively if there’s a problem, to which he responds by asking me for some I.D. Fumbling through my wallet I retrieve my South Australian driver’s licence. He pores over this before calling for what I assume can only be backup. He stares blankly, if not a little accusingly, as I gently rock my 6-month-old daughter back and forth in her pram as we wait for the manager. When he arrives, appearing to have only recently completed year 10, our man glances at the card before asking for another document that might more adequately verify my age. By some strange twist of fate I reach for my back pocket and find my passport (see previous blog). This appears to just scrape in as the proof they need to sell me liquor. Smirking rather cheekily as I swipe my credit card I ask whether comprehensively bearded 17 year olds with young children, fraudulent South Australian driver’s licences and a taste for wine from the Barossa are a common problem in Orewa. He replies that stranger things have happened - this only serves to heighten my intrigue at what I have already found to be a fascinating country.
In other news:
A few months ago we moved into a house that has to be an exact replica of the house that Phil Collins wrote ‘Easy Lover’ in, complete with retro brass décor and oversized light switches. Those attuned to New Zealand folklore will be impressed by the fact that this house was once owned by Mr Asia, an infamous drug tycoon for whom the aforementioned décor must have been contemporary. Whilst living in his past dominion I have wandered what sort of stunts you have to pull to get nicknamed after a whole continent.
Unfortunately for us and our would-be Skype friends we don’t have broadband at our new house. At our previous house, which was only 100 metres up the street, we had more broadband internet than we needed, but after a month long debacle involving the less than highly efficient NZ telecommunications bureaucracy they concluded that our new house is three kilometres out of range for the broadband service. With the only reasonable explanation being that there is a tear in the very fabric of the space-time continuum somewhere between our front gate and no. 23 Oceanview Road we have resigned ourselves to the waiting game that is dialup.
Lucy, apart from helping me to pose as an underage drinker, is making all sorts of new sounds, rolling around on the floor and waking in the middle of the night with the giggles.
The ocean is getting swum in despite it not really being warm enough (the entire nation seems to take to the sea to cool off when it hits 24 degrees). We call it ‘sympathy swimming’.
Our pohutakawas are turning red – which to the Australians out there may sound quite rude until they google pohutakawa.
Festive love and peace,
Tim, Liv and Lucy
Lucy, apart from helping me to pose as an underage drinker, is making all sorts of new sounds, rolling around on the floor and waking in the middle of the night with the giggles.
Our pohutakawas are turning red – which to the Australians out there may sound quite rude until they google pohutakawa.
1 comment:
haha! i love the alcohol purchase story. so funny. through our recent travels i have discovered that perhaps australia is the only country not to sell alcohol at the supermarkets.
your next mission in that strange country has to be finding out what the young year 9 chap was talking about when he referred to "stranger things" that had happened in his workplace, and whether or not these occurences are confined to the workplace.
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