I was trying to finish a story about a recent trip to India, despite all the noise and commotion around the corner from where I was staying. Eventually, I gave in and went for a look-see ... and this is what I discovered... The biggest Maori cultural event in Hawke's Bay, the 2018 Ngati Kahungunu Kapa HakaFestival, held in Wairoa.
The regional competition is a qualifying event to see who will perform at the 2019 Te Matatini National Kapa Haka Festival for the Kahungunu region.
Because they never listen.
"Yeah, whatever large man, I'm tired."
"Come on Bagel. Walkies!"
"Yeah whatever, I ain't movin'"
This episode of scandalous canine defiance occurred at one of Sydney's iconic seaside suburbs, Bondi Beach.
I ended up carrying the stubborn pooch.
Once again, it seemed like a great idea at the time ... happy days ...
At least it was warm and toasty
Come to the party they said.
Never one to give up the opportunity to slip into a costume, the obvious choice to attend a Sound of Music party was to go dressed as bread and jam.
It all went swimmingly until the neighbours, on account of a particularly raucous chorus of 'My Favourite Things,' called the cops. It was spectacular.
The police constables were less enthused.
But when I answered the door thusly attired they were powerless to reprimand me and instead advised us to party hard.
We obliged.
And continued with our tribute to Julie Andrews and the iconic 60's movie.
This happened while I was in Sydney but it doesn't matter where you are travelling around the world, party hard and dance like no one is watching, even if you can hardly move because you're trapped in a huge slice of glittered bread.
Go hard.
It's a truth universally acknowledged that if you ask someone not to do something, chances are they're likely to do exactly that which you forbade.
Don't touch the costume cupboard .... sorry I can't hear you.
Such was the request and subsequent naughty defiance during a vacation to Byron Bay.
A theatre group had once rented the property and a substantial costume collection remained.
Red flag.
Bull.
The door to the costume room was locked but no match for a Phillips head and few gentle taps.
Honestly, what did you expect?
Costume parties are fun. At home. While travelling, sometimes less so.
When all logic abandons you and colouring your hair with white house paint seems reasonable.
Back home, outfits are well-planned, thoughtfully executed and usually shed before the witching hour.
Costumes on the run, when you are travelling, are more complicated.
What to wear?
Such was my quandary when visiting a friend in Sydney.
The taxi was fast approaching and 'Plan A' to spray my hair with temporary white colour had resulted in my having a consumptive, sickly appearance covered in what looked like dead skin.
Drastic action was required.
I disappeared into the workshop and came back with a more permanent solution.
Logic said no.
But the six dirty martinis screamed yes.
I bent over a drop sheet and painted my head white.
And then just for good measure, sprinkled a small fortune in glitter all over my head.
The next day it did not seem like such a good idea.
Three weeks later, even less so.
I am not a fan of glands.
A rodeo in Hawke's Bay where the fruits of labour swing like a mighty bag of onions
My flatmate used to have a dog that had a particularly pendulous sack of gonads, which it insisted on draping all over my soft furnishings.
Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was a a perverse sense of revenge but twice on my travels I've dined on bull's testicles and twice I've thrown up the entire contents of my stomach.
Once in Cambodia.
Once in Montana.
