Up North for a Shandy!

No rest for the wicked! A few hours north for Kris - 50 quid on Virgin trains from Northampton to Stoke, dirty robbin bar stewards - and a rendez-vous with the Keele crowd. Cracking night on the tiles in Leek - far too much beer, again, with the usual suspects; Jim, Cath, Dave, Sarah and Dyche. Even 'dirty nickaz' Shaz made it for the night. Not seen each other for years! We're an excitable bunch us Keele crowd. Didn't take long for the beer to take effect. Jimmy T was on hand with the bubbles and before we knew it the rounds were flying at a local Belgium bar (quite poignant, given Marit was probably doing the same!) Just like old times, a drunken night just got drunker, care of pints of Cobra in an excellent curry house. Best vindaloo I've had since Goa.

Red wine carried us over the finish line, but not before PC 999 Dyche has done his usual trick and pass out, clutching a drink, hands tucked in lap. Light weight! Not even the half dozen sugar coated doughnuts he'd munched mid-session were enough to keep the man going. Cue Sarah with a black marker pen! Why oh why is always Dyche that gets the graffiti treatment? Poor fella! Not!

Beer Festival

Historians theorize that humankind's fondness for beer and other alcoholic beverages was a factor in our evolution away from a society of nomadic hunters and gathers into an agrarian society that would settle down to grow crops (and apparently drink). The first product humans made from grain & water before learning to make bread was beer.

Some lay the blame firmly at the feet of French monks. Some say beer dates as far back as the Greeks and Romans. Whatever. The Kiwis love their beer as much as the next country. Fortunately for us, they also come together once a year to toast their best ales amid live bands, tasty grub and, well, more beer! Over 50 different ale houses and we had press tickets so we didn't once have to put our hands into our pockets. Nice!

The Great British Beer Festival, this ain't. What it is though is a riot. Grab a glass and make a choice, as young fit promo girls disappear with an empty glass and return with it full! When you feel like a stroll, disappear from the press tent and join the drunken masses for a boogie, burger and beer. Montieths 'Lager', great. Gisbone Gold, superb. Some real strong dark ones, not so good. Back to the press tent. And so t went on, and on, and on. Munted!

Course, the cops always know how to break up a good party. Mind you, these two were a good laugh. Only when we tried to take their hat did they say 'enough's enough'. 38,000 drinks were sold that day. Of the independent breweries, 18 sold out. And it peed it down all day long. Defo going next year.

Back across the ditch!

After a fantastic week with family and friends, I could no longer wait to make my way over to Belgium. Having spent the last year being 'cyber space' aunty, it was finally time to wrap my arms around the littl'uns again. Not two, but three by now since the latest arrival Tobias, nicknamed by me as Kikker.

Already feeling shattered from a week racing around, I prepared myself for some fun times with Lars, Maite and Tobias. Followed in the evenings by lots of talking, wine drinking and enjoying the company of Roliene and Michiel. And that's exactly what we did.

Day one let Lars and Maite into complete turmoil. Running wild because of course they knew they could get away with it on this special occassion. Little Tobias didn't know what hit him when I saw him for the first time and refused to leave him alone for 3 days.

Trips to the Zoo, special diners adopted by Lars as Christmas diner, and lots of other fun activities filled the next few days.

After three fantastic days in Belgium, Ina (mum) and I packed up the car, bundled Maite into the back seat and drove back to Lekkum. Maite had decided she wanted to go for a sleepover at Opa and Oma's. She said goodbye to her big and little brother and to her mum and like a brave little madam decided to make the most of her trip.

We went swimming, visited Opa at work and shared a bedroom, beore heading to chiphol airport for the last goodbyes. Roliene met up with us there, where Lars announced that 'mum would probably cry a little bit because aunty Marit is leaving again'.

Well Robens being Robens, you could pobably have filled a bath with our tears, but the good times and all the laughs easily made up for those tears. It was just great to see everyone again!

UK bound

So, after a whirlwind few days in Holland, sorry, the Netherlands, we head west, across the North Sea. An early start on the train was thwarted by fog in Southampton. The Halls bit their tongues as one hour's delay, already seatbelted in, turned into two, then three. Then our pilot tempted us with a ''I'll give it a go'' burst, and we sideled onto the runway. Smooth flight - no idea what all the fuss was about! Straight through scummers airport - first time for us - another Labour-led PFI job - public will be paying for that terminal for decades given the 15% interest government will be paying on it's payments.


Back on Hampshire land. Onto the M27 and half hour later we're all home. Easy as. First thing to gree us was a voicemail message for Kris; he got the job (business reporter, The Dominion Post). Cracking news. And so started another frantic few days in Pompey.

Great to see some familar faces: Holly and Mark, Zo and Mark, again, Simon, Amiee and Phoebe and Gran and Grandpa. Mum's four day break from the kitchen showed, she couldn't get enough of the oven! Good ol'27 Gilkicker tucker.






Clocked up plenty of miles with the dog. The smell of the Solent air always refreshing. Shame about the weather though. We'd swapped two of the best of weeks of Auckland summer for this! Shows commitment!

Dashed this way and that catching up with people. Once again, never enough time to see and do everything you mean to. Some good catch up time with the family, some great food and even a few jars down a local. Dad again impressed with the amount of Indian he can shift in one sitting - three curries, two breads, two sides, poppaz, and enough onion chutney to feed a third world city.


Typical. Just as you're relaxing into being home, it's time to move on. Another week-plus of reunions, this time with the old school - this was gonna be hard! First stop London. Opted for the coach given that it was a good mortgage payment less than the train, and only 20 minutes or so slower. Bundled onto the tube - we'd forgotten how much we hate the tube! Mind you, Auckland could do with some bloody public transport. It's a bloomin laff what options, or not, there are. Half hour later and we're spat out the other side of London; Highgate, home of Richy MacMahon.

If ever there's someone who's something of a dark horse, it's this man! Great to see him and his handbrake Sam. Couple of great nights in London. Even had time to scoff a crackin chinky in good ol' China Town. Couple of jars here and there before pitching up at The Porterhouse. What a boozer. Strange, come all that way and slurp cold kiwi beer! Julian, Noeileen, Gav, Tash, Al, Luke and Rich. Corking fun. Fannytastic. Course, no rest for the wicked. Another reunion the following day, this time around Tottenham Court Lane. Not before Marit had finished off an epic five hour's boozin with the Wycombe girls: Orla, Sally and Becks. Kris entertained the Professional Pension crowd, for five hours. Opps.



Once a late night of drunken digressing elapsed in The Chandos; another Sam Smith's gem. Even the ageing Swansea boys Bede and Rob made the trip, Al, Dom, Kev and Mike from Wycombe, Dukestar and Carrys, too. Very late night. Very sore heads the next day.

Weekends for most means slouching around in underwear till night falls and it's time to head out. For Marit, Saturday morning meant a run across London to Gatwick and a flight back across to Amsterdam ... for more partying.

Kris headed north to the midlands, care of Dom's generous offer of a lift - for a night with Molly and the Gaytons. Great to see everyone - Neil and Cheryl, especially for the cracking hosts you were.