The past weekend proved to be a turning point in Nelson's life. It was a coming of age, a time when he pushed the boundaries, tested his new found independence, shook off the ties that had bound and confined him to a narrow, controlled environment. Nelson 'proved' that he 'could' and when the chips where down he was the dog for the job....yeah right!
The weekend started like any other. Nelson was invited out with Miss Essex and myself to help shift Laurie the Painter and Jill the Agent and Ziggy the collie into their new home. Helping out was Doug the Great and Scud the bitser. Nelson had never met Ziggy but is old mates with Scud (Buddy to his mates). Scud has seen better days. Two operations on his hips has slowed him down somewhat but in play time with Nelson, Scud has used that old maxim, might has right. Nelson being young and boisterous, runs rings around Scud right up until the moment that Scud decides he has had enough, when he promptly sits on Nelson thus precluding Nelson from participating in any further shenanigans.
Scud tolerates Nelson like you tolerate your nephew or your grandchild. It's nice to see them but when they leave.....
So when we arrive at the Painters place, Scud, who up until then had been enjoying a quiet time in the mid-morning sunshine, took himself directly in the back of our van and hid. Nelson, having a natural aversion to the back of our van, didn't bother to look there and anyway, he had met an equally effervescent friend, Ziggy.
The two of them ran and jumped and generally had a good time for hours. When they tried to involve Scud, he dismissed them both like an older brother dismisses his preteen sibling. By the end of the day the two young dogs were buggered. Nelson gratefully retired to the relative safety of his sheepskin rug, licked his testicles for good luck and nodded off. Little did he realise that his day was going to get even better, for he was on his way to see the Shadow.
Luckenbach is the home of Mike and V, Miss Poaka, 24 chickens and the Shadow. The Shadow is young and dumb, the type of dog who wants to lick and be licked. Happy, bubbly and dumb. And a bitch! From their first meeting, Nelson and Shadow have been inseparable and insufferable. They can run and tumble for 8-hours at a time. They run themselves into the ground, taking days to recover. Their first meeting was followed by Nelson spending two days sleeping on his sheepskin in the sunshine only waking for a pee, food and the occasional testicle cleansing.
On Saturday evening we went over to Luckenbach to help Mike level a hole. He has got himself a digger. Quotes to dig holes on his property for water tanks, dams etc where wholly unacceptable. 'Holy cow', he was heard saying which is strange because at the time of him saying this there were no cows at Luckenbach. Anyway, he decided to buy a digger and has now set out relocating his entire 48 acres of dirt. He appears to be set upon moving all the dirt from it original position, one that it has held for years, to a new and entirely more suitable one. In the process he wants to dig gardens, build dams and make holes for water tanks and it was one of these that we were there to level with him.
Miss Essex is not the most tolerant participant in anything that requires excessive planning and demanding levels of accuracy. Given her chosen profession, this surprises me somewhat. She assures me that it is because of the excessive planning and demanding levels of accuracy of her chosen profession that she fails to see the importance of ensuring accuracy in hole preparation. Mike and I, being of engineering backgrounds, are often accused of excessive engineering, accusation that we entirely refute. Miss Essex seemed to lose patients with Mike and I when we started demanding accuracy down to a few millimeters, a difficult enough task when using a 5 tonne digger let alone when you have an Essex bird chirping away in your ear.
Nelson, (who had had a very disturbed nights sleep made worse by the fact that he had been tossed outside and chained to a drainpipe at 4am for whining too loud,) and Shadow were let off their chains at 7.30am and immediately started their ritual game of tag. It goes something like this. First Nelson smells Shadows bum, then Shadow smells Nelsons bum. They both run around for 5-mins. They stop and repeat step 1 but with a twist. Nelson takes a bit longer in sniffing the bum and explores a few other bits and pieces. (Note: Shadow is not 'entire'. As a good friend once said to me, she is a point 5...point 5 bitch, point 5 not a bitch, therefore safe for reproduction lessons.) None of this Nelson has figured out.
Nelson is young. In human terms he is probably 10-13 years old. He is learning about his body, its reaction to stimulae, what bits do, what happens if, the sort of things we all went through. Luckily, we all had parents, friends, books and magazines to help us through. Nelson has trial and error. (Well OK, some of us had trial and error too) So to see this young dog trying his hardest to consummate his relationship with Shadow, to have his own Mrs Robinson experience, was, as a pack leader, touching. (And bloody funny). Nelson hadn't quite got the hang of where his body should be and what it should be doing while it was there which led to a touching image of him on all fours, doing his best hip thrusting, while Shadow, some 2-metres away, concentrated on a bowl of water. Poor boy. He looked at us and appeared embarrassed and frustrated. This may go someway to explaining what happened next.
They disappeared. Vanished. Both of them. Gone. Now we are in the middle of sheep country and the rules out here are very explicit. Stay dogs are shot on sight. Neither Nelson or Shadow were aware of this but we were.
We searched the farm from top to bottom. We searched the road for a couple of KM in both directions to no avail. Looking for 2 dogs in this country can be a daunting task. Tree clad hills and scrub covered ditches can give cover to many things and provide hiding places for those not wanting to be found.
Miss Essex had her sensible hat on, saying very early in the piece that if left alone they would come home dragging their tails behind them. Mike and I weren't so sure.
We spotted them from a hilltop when they were about 1.5km away. On another farm walking nonchalantly along a cattle race without a care in the world. From the brief glimpse I had it looked like Nelson was following Shadow but Mike seems to think that Shadow was leading Nelson home after he had led them astray.
Well, they proved Miss Essex right about an hour later, disheveled, dirty and downcast. They had slinked home while we weren't there and appeared very contrite when we did return. However, like all good pack leaders, we promptly chained them to their respective posts but in light of the new rules, they weren't beaten, they were just ignored.
Now this is where it gets strange. You see, today it seems we have a different dog. Nelson the deaf left us that sunny Sunday morning and Nelson the all hearing most obedient animal in the world has taken his place. We have put it down to the fact that no one was there when he got back and he thought that he had been deserted. We figure he learnt that his bread was indeed buttered and he had recognised exactly on which side the butter had been applied. We figure he figured out that his independence did have a boundary and he had run smack into the fence. You see at home his area is marked very clearly and his limits are set and he knows where these are. It was when the limits where removed and the area became undefined that his trouble started.
You can't help but wonder what would have happened all those years ago if one night when I had got home, Mum and Dad weren't there. It also makes you wonder if the imposition of boundaries and controls is a good thing and not an erosion of personal freedom or an attempt at ruining your childhood. I don't know if I am reading too much into this or whether it truly is an allegory. Jumping Jehoshaphat. Maybe Dad was right. Bugger it!

Today Trouble is 21. Happy Birthday.

It is amazing what 3-years and 13,000miles can do to change the options and horizons for people. Three years ago we lived in a 2 bedroom house in a crowded town in the southeast of England. Transport was crowded, the roads were crowded, the shops were crowded, the house was crowded, the town was dirty, some of the people were dirty, and the trains were dirty. But we were happy!

Prospects for a young person out of school with limited opportunities were bleak. Most youngsters around the neighbourhood were treated like inconveniences and with suspicion. Jobs were hard to come by as there was a lot of competition and the ones that were there were for labouring, part-time, hard and dirty work or you could get a job in a bank!

Our decision was made in 2004 to, for me, come back to New Zealand. England had lost its shine and I had been away from my family for 15-years. Miss Essex was easy to convince that the move was beneficial, but Trouble was very reluctant.

With hindsight it is easy to see why. He was faced with the prospect of losing everything he knew and had grown up with. From grandparents to great mates, from rapped studios to the Festival Leisure Park, club nights out with the boys, drink, and the odd female companion (not all), the prospect of losing it all must have been very daunting.

So, the ‘only’ decision that could be made was made and Trouble was staying behind to further his career as a ‘rap’ star, roofer and international lover and playboy while Miss Essex and I scheduled our departure and made our plans.

Trouble’s plans started to unravel when potential flat mates had second thoughts, accommodation arrangements went awry and career opportunities dried up. His plans underwent a radical and extensive review and at a very late stage in our plans he made the decision to follow us down to God’s Zone. And boy, what a result for him.

Trouble has blossomed in character and in personality. He was given, and grabbed with both hands, an opportunity to fulfil his dream. His presence in the community is positive and he enters in to every social situation with ease and confidence. He is respected by his peers and colleagues. His prospects are now unlimited, he is a success.

So in closing this tribute to a fine young man, in general Trouble was never a troublesome kid, at times he was a bit of a terror but I have come to think that there is a bit of terror in all of us. Respect!

Welcome to our newest member Paul from Christchurch. Paul and his madame (B) hail from the old country. Called to New Zealand by the promise of a better life, they bravely uprooted lock stock and two 'smokin' kids (well young adults really, though it is hard to shake the handle of kids when they have been known by the author almost since birth and only one of them smokes. S, GIVE IT UP) and transplanted successfully although somewhat puzzlingly (new word) on the Mainland.

Now I have nothing against mainlanders (they make very nice cheese) but to settle in flat land capital of the world when they could have been in the Glorious North left me somewhat puzzled.

I lived in the UK for sixteen years and knew Paul and the family all that time (from day one). In that time I don't think a day went by without me singing the virtues of God's Own country (that is North of the Bombays). I positively bombarded them with only positive things about the greatest city in the world, it's beautiful harbour, vibrant economy, fantastic people, its proximity to the Glorious North. Not to mention the beaches, the shopping, the road North and arguably the best school in the country, Kelston Boys High.

However, all that said the family are doing well down there. They seem to have settled in, made friends, found jobs and recently brought a house. So I guess that means that they like the Mainland.

Bugger it! That means that I may have to go and see them and find out what is so attractive about the place. God, me on the Mainland. What next, quiche?

PS Can you get duty free on flights from Auckland to Christchurch and do I still need a visa? Also, can someone tell me what shots I need as well.

I have just come in from killing some grass. You cows out there, please forgive me nut it had to be done. You see we are going to be doing this herbal ley thing. Planting all types of herbs and the like (see Mike for the complete list). The idea apparently is that it helps look after the 30-year old mandarin trees and replacing them with fine young specimens is apparently not an option.

The trees have been here longer than us, they still fruit (abundantly), they support us, the Tui's, the borer, the ants, Willow and his missus, the odd plumber, (sorry shouldn't call him that), the electrician, Lee, Nicky and numerous other birds. So they stay.

We have planted new fig, olive, tree tomato trees to go with the rest of the food. We have banana (lovely muffins), apples (great snack as I mow the lawn), feijoa's (twilight feed after dinner), persimmon (not the mouth watering type), guava (pick-as-you-pass), macadamia, peach (not cold enough!), lemon, lime, nectarine (sort of).

The feijoa needs a prune and the guavas smell when they drop, the rats get the macadamia, the birds the persimmon. Ah , paradise!

Crikey, who'd have thought it. Little Miss Essex has a garden. Not just any garden, a great big garden with trees and plants and vegetables and fruit and the like.

The pleasure you get watching someone you love having a great time in their garden is immeasurable. It makes you want to sing or at least hum. She had a problem with onion weed. Solution: take all the soil, onion weed included and give it to someone with a mower. Find some good soil, mixed with some good poo, a poly-tunnel, some sticks and string and one very keen Essex girl.

Now, when you mix them all together and what do you get. Tomatoes, peas, lettuce, spring onions (sort of) and all sorts of seedlings. The garden is also teaching us a bit about what is possible in the food growing area. You see with the right friends, the right soil, the right know-how, anything is possible.

We are soon to be killing the grass around the trees in preparation for planting the herbal ley!! Now, up until last week I wouldn't have had any idea what I was talking about. Now I do. You see my mate Mike and his long suffering missus 'V' have been sharing their knowledge with us. They have a huge project underway near Kaikohe . Plans are finally being finalised which means that a certain amount of turfiside will be occurring over there soon.

Their friend who have been in the business of living for a number years have started Mike and V's ball rolling now. It's good to see. The plan makes sense.

Anyway, Miss Essex grew a courgette about the size of Australia. She is very proud of it but it has been a financial burden. We have had to employ a couple of bearers to bring the said vege from the garden to the kitchen and also have had to invest in an over-sized pan to cook it in. Courgette is on the menu for the foreseeable future. Bugger it!!

Just when 'life' and all that there is about it seem to be going just right, you know your ducks are in a line, you have all your marbles and your eggs aren't all in one basket, 'life' (bugger it) comes along and gives you a great big Charlie on your arse.

Who would have thought that all the best laid plans of mice and men could be cast into disarray so quickly and effortlessly by 'life'.

So all I can say is bugger it, what ever is needed you've got, what ever help you need just ask, we are both with you and support you in every way.

'Life' is for the living.

Could someone please invent magic paint that does not require 6 hours of undercoating after god only knows how many hours of preparation and an unestimateable number of hours to finish.

Bring on plastic houses!

What the hell has happened to dependability? I said once a week and it has turned out to be once a month. Hey ho!

Do you remember telling your mother that you were leaving home...me neither. But I must have because I don't live with my mother now and can't remember the last time I actually wanted to. Can you imagine at my age being at home with mum...no not really.

When is the right time to go? Is it when you are asked to go or when you have had enough of being told what to do? Or when you get married or when you want to bring a date home for some nookie? When your diet doesn't match the food shopping or when your car takes up the spare parking space needed for visitors. Or when your parents change the locks!?

I suppose that history dictates the trend. Back when men were men, you got out when you got married. Then later (1970's) women left when they discovered boys, parties and fun, boys left when they couldn't put up with the nagging about hair, pot, broken cars or fast girls.

Nothing really changed in the 80's but all changed in the 90's. Money became the trigger. If you had it you left if you didn't you stayed. Simple for everyone...except the parents.

How do they plan their lives? What do they take into consideration when making decisions? Do they put off recarpeting because some teenage slob wants to eat off their knees? Do they extend their parenting role for an undefined period of time? I don't mean 'Do you stop loving them when they leave or because they have left?' I mean how long do you provide for them, pick up after them, makes excuses for them. Should there be some legislation that clearly defines the time when off-spring should be cast out? Birds do it, bees do it, even educated fleas do it, lets kick them out!

If a political party was to promise to introduce the necessary bills into parliament they would have my vote in spades.

But I must ask, what is wrong with just asking them to bugger off?

My good friend Mike has done this for me. It seems that as you get older, not only does your bladder start working overtime and the need to pass wind becomes more frequent, you also develop desires to kick every last one of you in the bollocks.

I think this is called old age. Phew, said it. I am now a grumpy old bastard or GOB. My missus is a contankerous old woman! She will be contributing in kind. Namely I will be complaining about her, the dog (Nelson), my work, politics, your politics, your driving habits, the way you dress, your music (if you can call it that), your cell phone habits, your language, your manners, your accent, your inability to agree with my point of view, your lack of direction and of coarse your continual complaints about my lack of basic english skills.

Still I offically no longer care. I am now a grandad twice over and have earned the right to my moods. I have been married twice and therefore with my 2 ex's and their mothers, my mother, my 5 sisters, 2 daughters, 3 nieces, current and last partner and her mother, I have the opinion of 17 (no 18, forgot the grand-daughter) experts to draw on. One of them is always right!

So be warned, this may be sporadic but that will be only because one of the women in my life hasn't given me my opinion for the week. Don't blame me.

Sod off!

One of my sisters was born today 50-odd years ago. The second of 6, she's married with 3 boys and a girl. She's happy and lives a full life. Her husband is a great guy who supports his family with hard work and loads of affection. Happy birthday Denis!

The family live in a small New Zealand town and have done so since the mid-70's. Like most places in this world, time and money have slowly dissolved the old beach-side-town feeling and replaced it with a rather strange mixture of change and new.

The town can no longer cater for the small family beach holiday in a camping ground as they have all been sold and built over. Money you see. And, of course, progress. Still it is inevitable, isn't it.

But at least this small town is not alone in the change. Many towns in the New Zealand countryside have changed and all for the better. By-passes now move traffic away from the central business areas to free up space for pedestrians and one-way systems keep the traffic flowing. Businesses are booming, aren't they.

Along with the traffic calming and control measures, councils have also tried to help by increasing residential and business rates to raise the necessary finance to pay for their expansion projects. It seems that new commercial areas are needed to support the residential zones that are built around the by-passes. New roads, services and utility development is needed as well as council amenities such as rubbish dumps and recycling plants, pounds or death camps for un-chipped dogs, administration blocks for the new administrators, the odd library and perhaps, if the budgets are managed well enough the odd community project (tree planting or kerb realignment).

Still, all things considered and everything being equal and as the prophet Wogan of Togsville once said 'Mustn't grumble'.