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.

Europe beckons

If truth be told, it's a strange kind of feeling when you're flying to Europe for a break, rather than returning ''home''. Of course, to us, Holland and England will always hold a special place in our hearts, ahhhh, but for the time being, anyway, Auckland and New Zealand are home. So, after nearly 15 months on the road, we readied ourselves for a tail-chasing fortnight, catching up with family and friends, the likes of which we'd never undertaken before.

First off, Holland. A great few days with the Halls and Robens in Lekkum, Friesland, home of Ina and Bernard. Zoe and Mark, fresh from their Christmas engagement, tagged along for the ride, eager to taste England's North Sea neighbour for the first time. As you'd imagine, it was an emotional time. Yet, not once did the past intervene, for all it seemed as though we'd never been away. Oh, and how good was it to tuck into bitterballen, Heineken and boerenkool met worst - all resoundly missed during our many months away.

It was fantastic to see everyone, and for the Halls to visit Leeuwaarden for the first time. Ina and Bernard, as always, were super hosts, Jane, at times, lost when told to sit down and relax. Time was spread evenly over meals out and in, wine glasses over-flowed and beer bottled were drained. Joreen and Martijn hooked up for a few days, adding further fun to a great break for all. It was such a shame it had to come to an end, as is always the case when you're running amock abroad.

Bernard couldn't wait to dust off his Land Rover, piling us all in the back for a trip to windy Harlingen, a small fishing town where we got stuck into raw Herring and came face-to-face with the ''lucky'' little lad who, before English slang ruined the fabel, saved Holland from flooding by sticking his finger in the dyke. It's where we bid farewell to Zo and Mark who, eager to sample the delights on offer in Amsterdam, disappeared into the sunset with Joreen and Martijn.

It's raining wine!

We'd heard all about this festival, aptly described by one mate as ''my Christmas Day''. He ain't wrong about that. In it's 19th year, North Shore's premier gathering, in Devonport, is everything a wine, food and music festival should be - wine, food and music!

It's difficult to know where to turn next, the beautiful beaches and parks home to 20-odd wineries from all over New Zealand flouting their best vintages. The booze is supplemented by some cracking bites: everything from locally caught seafood to delicious danishes and spicy Indian dishes. Of course, as is always the case when one armed with a glass and the option of 300+ wines, food comes second to sampling as many of the vines as is humanly possible!

The day started with an ''am'' beer on the balcony before we ambled down to the pier and jumped one of Fullers' crammed boats - everyone with the same idea: get there as early as poss, find a piece of shade and drink yourself into oblivion. By mid-afternoon, even the wine buffs could be seen teetering about on their haunches, trying desperately to get one over on gravity!

We teamed up with Lee and Serena for our day in the sun. The $40 entry fee wiped thanks to Kris' ability to score press passes in advance, despite openly informing the organisers he had ''no plans whatsoever'' to follow-up the event with published copy. After all, when are you going to get a chance to interview someone when you're brief the day is to drink your way around the south island's vineyards!? So, press passes in hand, we ambled through the gate and set about finding that shady spot from which to attack the grapes!


Some of New Zealand's finest vineyards were there for the taking, namely Three Miners and Rockburn, both from Central Otagao (south of the south island), which boast some fantastic whites and reds. Rockburn boasts some wonderful Pinot Noirs, while Three Miners produce, as far as we're concerned, some of the country's finest Gewürztraminer - a German grape that seems to flourish here. Boundary wines, too, should be proud of their Pinot's, carrying the taste of strawberry, cherry and rasberry. Hmmm.

Then, as was always going to be the case, things got a little crazy. Tastings (well, you get a 300ml glass and it's filled every time) from Hawkes Bay, Malborough, Waiheke Island, Kumeu and West
Auckland were all thrown back like they were going out of fashion.
Soon the legs started to wobble, the palate became dry and every vino started tasting the same. Kris tried to sober himself by stripping off and running into the sea, Marit meanwhile joined the girls for a spot of Sangria, a decision they all regreted Sunday morning!

Beautiful Northland

Kiwi generosity is probably best typified, for us, by an afternoon jaunt up the side of an impregnable peak. No name, just a big challenge. Managed to flag down a boatie after a few minutes of frantic waving. The short five minute trip across the estuary ended with our stand-in captain off-loading bottles of Corona for us – and we’d asked for the lift?!

We left them to cool in a trickling stream and started our ascent through the bush – tramping, the kiwis like to call this. Not so much hard as pain-staking. Every few steps we were forced to stop and rethink the route.

It seemed we were the first to undertake this foolish stunt, though on summiting, an hour or so later, we discovered a handful had beaten us to it, their names scrawled on a large plaque marking the top.

The long stretch south west to Bayley’s Beach – NZ’s longest drivable stretch of sand, some 80ks – was one of the most enjoyable drives we’ve ever experienced.

Host to so little traffic, Northland’s roads afford the driver the rare opportunity to experience everything, from towering tree topped forests to slow winding streams.

The landscapes are majestic. 90 mile beach – actually it’s nearer 56 miles – is a wonderful sight, laced with dunes so offering sanctuary from the strong Tasman breeze. Silence is punctured, every now and then, by gas guzzling coaches, fitted with industrial strength tyres, filled to bursting point with package tourists – big shame.










One of Northland’s largest townships is Kaitaia, a dusty mismatch of flat-packed builds and fast food outlets. For some reason kiwis seem to live for KFC, especially the Pacific Islanders, and Maccy Ds. All that wonderful red meat and fresh seafood, and yet, queues of vastly over-weight natives spill out onto the street. Stopped long enough to top up on supplies and quickly got the hell out. After all, where’s the attraction in watching a load of obese islanders wipe mayonnaise from their greasy chops?

A few beach pit-stops broke up the beautiful trip south to Opononi, where the road turns inland and weaves through the majestic Waipoua Forest and hugs the Kauri coastline, home to Tane Mahuta, 1250 years old still stands and grows, the country’s oldest, not to mention widest, tree. Worth a stop and a picture, of course, but at the end of the day it’s a tree, albeit a big one. We’ve never seen roads like these, so driver friendly, yet so few cars. In a seven hour stretch we passed less than a dozen fellow motorists – imagine that in England or Holland?

Never happen. Steaming along at 120kph, you get to throw your car into bends with little thought for oncoming traffic. After all, there is none! The only obstacles are sleepy lambs, obviously bearing some kind of death wish, but with 60 million of the woolly fuckers the fields aren’t going to miss one or two.

North to the Cape

North of the Bay of Islands everything gets quieter as few tourists make it this far. Next up was Doubtless Bay, named so by Captain Cook who, in 1769, sailed by and wrote: ‘’doubtless, a bay’’. Clever guy that Cook! On Marit’s suggestion, wait for it, we stopped in picturesque Mangonui for fish n’ chips. Never thought it would happen, the pair of us sharing newspaper wrapped Hoki and chips. Another stop in Cable Bay – terminus of the 1902 trans-Pacific cable - where we kicked back in the sunshine and swam in the turquoise water.
Jutting out east into the Pacific is the Karikari Peninsula, a crooked arm of unspoiled white sand beaches with barely a soul on them. This place is fantastic, just a case of pull over and pick your spot. After several stops we opted for the aptly named Karikari Peninsula Estate, the country’s most northern vineyard. Here we endured a timeless hour tasting Syrahs, Pinots and Cab Savs, was the sun called it a day over the distant Tasman. Surely there are few vineyards in the world that afford such amazing views – the wine ain’t bad either!

With a bottle of the excellent 06 Syrah tucked under my arm we hit the road for one final push north, to Houhora, a fishing village (if you can even call it that) in Great Exhibition Bay, half way up 90 Mile Beach, on the opposite side. Read about this place in a booklet and carefully played the guilt card when trying to secure a spot of land for a few nights – from where we planned to hit Cape Reinga.

Pitched camp, yards from the Pacific, cracked open the vino and cooked up a feast of venison sausages and steaks before gate-crashing locals for a spot of late night, Corona induced, revelry, the likes of which we’re damn good at these days!

Up early and on the road for the final 100ks leg north to the Cape (Te Rerenga Wairua: the ‘’leaping place of the spirits’’.) Unfortunately the drive offers little insight into what to expect, weaving low through the hills and dunes, before riding high to reveal awesome seascapes where the two seas meet.

Some 60ks north, out in the ocean, sits Three Kings Islands, named by Dutch explorer Abel Tasman, who first came upon them on the eve of Epiphany 1643. Sandwiched between Reinga and Cape Maria van Diemen is a bustling swell, the only indication that the two seas meet. Pretty spectacular.

Mind you, nothing beats the final 20km drive, where the Tarmac becomes loose gravel and the real fun begins. Little did we know our old Honda was four wheel drive. The moment this was pointed out the style of driving changed, almost as dramatically as the scenery. That was until, nearing 100kph, I lost control, skidded this way, then that, and came to a grinding halt in a nearby ditch. Bugger! Not to worry, no harm done. Still alive and the motor still works!