April 2008 Archives

Eggy-weggy-schmeggy

on April 30, 2008 8:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Yes, our newest residents are doing their bit and laying eggs hand over fist and wing over claw - the current record to beat is Saturday's, with a grand total of 26 out of a possible 30.

Of course, with all those eggs we've had to put our thinking chef-caps on and come up with eggy recipes. So far we've had a couple of sponge cakes, omelettes, frittata, bacon and egg pie, fish pie (with chopped-up boiled eggs in it) as well as the usual poached, fried and scrambled methods.

I've also managed to secure two permanent weekly orders for a dozen eggs each for some workmates.

But...that still leaves quite a few eggs left over.

Care to share your most eggiest recipe? Or sign up for your very own finest Kiwifruit Homestead and Gaming Emporium Cackleberries, an absolute bargain at $4.00 (NZ) a dozen plus handling, sorting, packing and postage ($10.00 NZ).

In the Company of Football-Loving Channel-Surfers...

on April 29, 2008 8:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

So this week we'll be bunking down in the lounge on our mattress due to our bedroom being overhauled by my father with brand-new paint (a silver grey-green for above the dado rail; a fresh coat of white for the window frames) and wallpaper (for below the dado rail - a pale grey-green background with a large, paler graphic floral pattern on it).

As Dad does this sort of thing professionally for a living it should be well finished by the weekend but already I'm missing my nightly snuggle-up-reading-in-bed sesh. I usually slope off to bed around 9.30ish and have a good hour's worth with my current reads - at the moment it's Marian Keyes' latest, A Charming Man and The Company of Cheerful Ladies by Alexander McCall Smith. I always have two books on the go and sometimes even three, much to the bewilderment of the Other Harf, but as I pointed out to him he can watch the Premier League highlights for an hour, then flick over to watch Property Ladder, so what's the difference?

Anyway, I did manage to flick through a magazine last night while the Other Harf channel-surfed to his heart's content but by the last page I was firmly of the opinion that reading something and actually enjoying reading something are two different kettles of fish, especially when you have a 45-year old man bleating in your left ear how there's absolutely nothing on the telly.

Yep, roll on the weekend and taking up residence in our new, much improved bedroom....

My first niche in the temple of fame

on April 27, 2008 5:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

This afternoon I've been out and about snapping some more flower macros for a collection I'm taking into work tomorrow on CD-R. You see, a work colleague has noticed my PC's wallpapers and screen-savers and wondered if she could take a look at some more of my photos with a view to getting two or three of them enlarged and printed onto canvas for her living-room wall.

Secretly thrilled at the idea of someone outside the immediate family having one of my photos on their wall, I readily agreed.

Of course, I left out the macros and close-ups of Rodney and our new chooks. I just took 'em because I felt like it.

Bless 'em.

Anzac Day 2008

on April 25, 2008 5:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

Sure as eggs

on April 22, 2008 8:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

Today we did a very worthy thing and saved 24 battery chickens from certain doom.

By certain doom, I mean all their heads would by now be chopped off, and they would all be incinerated. Not even one last moment of glory featuring in a can of Pedigree Chum for these ladies.

For quite a while we've been looking for extra chooks to add to our meagre flock of six (not including the good-for-nuthin' Fabio, who we are convinced is the only Gay Rooster in the Village) and when Mum heard about the annual cull at a local battery farm, she put her hand up and volunteered to take on as many as a) would fit in the back of Bruvinlaw's van and b) would be adequately accommodated in our chicken coop/run. I say chicken coop euphemistically as it's really a chicken-meshed section of the old stockyards, still waiting to be pulled down from back in the Olden Days when this place used to be a sheep station.

They've already proved themselves by more than doubling the usual daily output of eggs (ten today, instead of three or four) even though at the age of one year old these chooks are considered past their "best" - their laying reduces from 90% to 80% from now on and drops off fairly sharply as they get older. Sadly not economical for the average battery chicken farmer and therefore general egg-buying public.

When I got home from work this evening I poked my head over the stall in the shearing shed where they're currently in quarantine (ie, away from Fabio and his harem) and was greeted by a choir of bok-bok-bokking - happy hens, with a life in front of them serving the egg-hungry residents of the Kiwifruit Homestead & Gaming Emporium.

It felt very cool, very cool indeed.

Let the cockle-warming commence...

on April 21, 2008 5:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

It's a clear, cold day here in Northland, and regrettably most of my winter clothes are still in a suitcase in the attic, so until I can persuade the Other Harf to lug all 100 kilos of it down two flights of stairs I am having to make do with lots and lots of layers.

It's been very sudden, this cold snap, and all the ex-pat Aussies in our office (most of whom hail from the winterless Gold Coast) are all sporting woollies and scarfs, grizzling about it being absolutely freezing and how they've had to build fires by rubbing two sticks together or dig out ancient, rusting, highly dangerous bar heaters over the weekend.

I had to point out to my colleague Ethel* (a Kiwi who's recently moved back home after seven years living in Sydney) that fires are one of the genuinely good things about the winter, which she had to agree with as she thawed out her semi-frozen fingers round a giant mug of tea. Luckily for her, her partner had already stockpiled firewood a few weeks back so she could toast herself in front of their fire last night.

Our stockpile, however, is more of a small lump than a pile, so this weekend (which has an extra day tagged on the front due it being Anzac Day this Friday) it's all hands on deck, chopping, splitting, hauling and stacking wood, as there will be three fires to keep stoked this winter, with the woodburner in the dining room and a fire place in both our lounge and our house-guests' one.

Yep, I'm definitely looking forward to our first fire; nothing beats lummoxing on the sofa in your daggiest sweatshirt, comfiest tracky pants and fluffiest fluffy slippers with a nice glass of top quality red wine, watching the flames crackle and dance and leap and just savouring the cosiness of it all.

But I think I might just wait a month or two yet...I reckon my blood's thick enough to take it.

*Not actual name; substituted completely made-up name to protect identity.

Sunday sunny Sunday

on April 20, 2008 4:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Today I've got an extremely sore wrist from all the stripping I did yesterday.

The Other Harf and I spent six hours in our bedroom with lots of soapy water, Classic Hits on for background music and all the windows open to stop us getting too sweaty.

All very exhausting, but fully worth it; the new wallpaper is going to look awesome.

Today the Other Harf is at work, as it's year end for his company, which translates as working every second Sunday and late in the evenings and getting not a lot of recognition for it. Actually I tell a wee porkie there; he actually got himself a nice big chunky pay-rise this week for his trouble, but personally I'd rather he earned less and was home more. Heh...but that's another story...

Miss 7.7 and the nieces have been out and about running round the paddocks, and Miss 7.7 is currently the odd one out as NOT being the one little girl to get zapped by the electric fence so far today. I had every sympathy as first Niece T came in wailing her head off, then three hours later Niece G, as I suffered a large zap in my left buttock negotiating an electric fence a couple of weeks after moving in to the Kiwifruit Homestead. It ain't nice. At all. As Niece G succinctly reported: "I feels like I got whacked in the heart".

Mum, Lil'Sis with Nephew T tagging along on an advisory basis have gone off to view an Open Home - it's an American barn house the same as Lil'Sis and Bruvinlaw are building, so she's wanting to get some ideas. Things are ticking along very slowly in that area as there's red tape for the red tape when building new dwellings - especially, it would seem, new dwellings on rural properties.

As for Bruvinlaw, he's spent three hours weed-eating and mowing the lawns, a task which used to be mostly up to me and which he's taken over since they've moved in with us, but I think he really just likes zooming up and down on Dad's John Deere ride-on mower - a big boy on a big toy.

Dad? He's transfixed to the inaugural Hamilton 400 V8 Supercars on the telly, watching grown men drive round in circles. Just what is it with motorsport that fascinates people?

And today, I've been mostly faffing round with my stylesheet. Five hours later, and as you can plainly see, unsuccessful, which sucks the big fat kumara really. I think I might extract my butt from in front of this PC, grab a cup of tea and go and loll on the beanbag on the verandah with some trashy mags before the sun slips behind the hills for good.

Home is where the blog is

on April 17, 2008 5:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

Argh, I can't stand the way it looks around here at the moment! It's like I've moved into a new apartment with somebody else's furniture and somebody's else's taste in decor. It's as if the telly's permanently tuned to lame sitcoms and WWF; there's no wine in the fridge and the loo-roll is quilted, scented and patterned with baby ducks.

It's just not home!

Now the reason it still looks like this after two and a half weeks is because the way MT4.1 works is quite a bit different to the way MT3.11 does and I've had to have some swift lessons (courtesy of Webmistress Deeleea) in order to understand how it all works - including stylesheets, which make the place look pretty.

And now that I do, I need a nice big chunk of Fi time to decorate it with stuff that is all about me. Flickr, a blogroll with all you lot on it, photos, fonts, colours that I've chosen. A header with a witty tagline that I've spent hours mulling over.

I really need to get on with it, because at the moment coming home is just not like it used to be - *sniff*

(P.S. - if there's anything you'd like to see more of or less of here at Kiwifruit, now's the opportunity!)

They came from far, far away...

on April 13, 2008 6:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

When we were visiting my Uncle and Aunty in Gisborne in January my Aunty (a mad keen gardener) foisted three passionfruit seedlings and four Swan plant seedlings on me and made me promise to look after them.

They made it all the way back to Whangarei via Napier and Taupo in the back of our stationwagon in the midsummer heat (a journey of over five hundred kilometres and hovering at the 28-30°C mark most days) and I'm pleased to report they are doing very well.

At least that's what the Monarch caterpillar thinks, anyway.

He told me so just before he jumped.

I don't plan on giving up but thanks for the tip

on April 10, 2008 10:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

I was extremely surprised when I spotted this in my weekly email newsletter from Runner's World this morning

....never bonk again...?

10 Laws of Bonking...?

Good lord! I know this long distance running requires dedication, but giving up bonking? Jeez!

Right, let me explain...here in New Zealand if you informed somebody that you'd never bonk again they'd probably assume you'd just taken a vow of eternal celibacy and were off to sign up with the Benedictine Sisters of the Perpetual Adoration or the Holy Hermits of St Nigel the Repenter. Chuck the Viagra in the bin, no more worries about sleeping in the wet patch.

Whilst Runner's World, hot off the press from Somewhere, USA, tells us that bonking is "...a mutiny of your own body...during long-distance running....hitting the wall...caused by a sorry stewpot of dehydration, training errors, gastric problems, and nutrition gaffes."

So, a classic case of English meaning one thing in one country, and something kind of "different" in another.

Mind you, from the expression on the bloke's face top left, I'd say he's definitely suffering from way too much bonking.

It is rather hard to tell of which type though...

Ears to you my friend

on April 9, 2008 7:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Last night I tucked into my Milk Chocolate Lindt Easter Bunny for the very first time.

I peeled back the golden foil encasing its tiny ears, and as I took my first nibble the little bell round its neck *tinkled*.

I stopped mid-bite, feeling a wave of guilt overwhelm me.

Is it just me or is there something slightly cruel about eating a cute little animal with a velvet bow and a tinkly bell round its neck?

But the fact the ears were completely solid creamy Swiss chocolate more than made up for it.

Continue reading Ears to you my friend.

In which Rodney gets the 'ump

on April 8, 2008 8:34 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Now, as some of you know we have a few animals living round the place, with ten cows, seven hens, Fabio the effeminate rooster, a flock of homing pigeons, two horse-guests, Boris the special-needs pig, Freckles the orphan goat and of course our Rodney, tomcat about town, or barn really, seeing that's where he lives due to the fact there's three silly dogs living in our house who all HATE cats and would give their Pedigree Beef & Gravy to get their chompers into him if he set one paw across the threshold.

Rodney, or Rodders, as he's known for short (and if you are fan of a certain 1980's UK comedy, you'll know where that particular nickname comes from) is a lovely chap; especially smoochy and cuddly for a tomcat, and reasonably tolerant of over-affectionate seven and eight year-old girls and even tail-pulling sixteen month-old boys.

Anyway, two weeks ago Rodney had a bit of an ordeal, in that the Other Harf nastily stuffed him into a cardboard carton (albeit a very cool cardboard carton, with a picture of a giant kitten driving a convertible Mini on it) and took him to the awful horrible vet, who stuck a selection of needles into him, scraped his teeth and to top it all off stuck a cold glass tube up his furry wee bottom. Oh the indignity of it all!

As you can imagine Rodney's nose was extremely out of joint after this appalling treatment, and he fled up the end of the road to Bachelor Dave's pad, where he was fed up with a delicious selection of leftovers and was even allowed inside the house which more than made up for having to listen sympathetically to the woeful tales of Bachelor Dave's tragic love-life.

A week later Rodney reappeared back at the Kiwifruit Homestead, and Miss 7.6 and Niece T decided that he wasn't going to do a bunk a second time so they hatched a plan! Not a cunning plan, nor a logical plan - not even a slightly sensible one but a plan all the same.

They were going to tie him up to stop him getting away! And what better way then to use Freckles' long-line lead (five metres of bendy metal rope encased in plastic with two clasps at each end) and wind one end of it round his middle?

Just as one of them was attempting to tie the other end to a nearby fence, Rodney bolted off into the nearest paddock, dragging the long-lead with him, off into the sunset! Oh deary deary me! There were tears; there were confessions; there were even denials - even though Niece G, a whole year older than her sister and cousin and therefore one year more sensible witnessed the whole episode and was able to point the finger directly.

Forty-eight hours later and still no Rodney. Had he got caught up and come to the end of his nine lives in a very short space of time? Would he ever return? Had he gone to the Big Squishy Sofa in the sky? Two little tearful girls were informed that they might have to face facts; Rodney might never be coming back...

But as always here at Kiwifruit there is a happy ending to this furry tale. Rodney came home for his dinner last night, with no visible signs of being almost garroted in two by the long-lead lead, and gulped down his Whiskers with out batting a whisker.

And there were two very happy little girls and some very relieved grownups an' all...

All was cushty, as they say in deepest darkest Peckham.

Fi's funfilled weekend extravaganza

on April 6, 2008 6:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

It's early Sunday evening and it's getting dark already, due to the mysterious turning back of the clocks ceremony which occurred overnight. I'm feeling almost too tired to type this missive, as we had such a fun-packed weekend I need a day of lolling in bed to recover.

Saturday was a busy busy day, and I was up bright and early at the Newlyweds to water-blast our completely filthy car The inside of the car wasn't much better, with beaches of sand, stacks of hay and half the gravel off the driveway embedded into the mats, as well as some recently added chocolate stains on the passenger seat courtesy of the Other Harf's messy consumption of a Whittakers Dark Orange chocolate bar on the way down to Auckland on Friday evening.

After an hour of cleaning and with the Ford Mondeo so shiny sparkly I could see my reflection in the gleaming paintwork I finally made it across the Harbour Bridge to meet Deeleea at our designated rendevous point at a cafe in Mt Eden.

After Deeleea ordered our Eggs Benedicts (late coming but glorious all the same) and bowls of latte (divine) we spent the next two and a half hours talking about family and photography and work and of course blogging. Deeleea also gave me a very helpful wee tutorial on her laptop on the ins and outs of Movable Type 4.1 stylesheets and I have no doubt we sounded like a right pair of geeks as we sat there discussing widgets and FTP and HTML in serious and highly knowledgeable tones.

All too soon it was time to say goodbye and I dropped Deeleea at her sister's place with a departing promise that one day soon I'd love to make a trip across the ditch for a weekend to doss on her apartment floor, see the sights of Sydney and talk more geek. She promised in return to be at the airport if I did turn up, so that was nice.

Back over the bridge to Birkenhead, just in time for the Other Harf to rescue his footy boots out of the back of the car before they left for their game. L and I headed for the newest mall in town for an hour of handbag shopping, in which I bought a picture frame, some new clothes for Miss 7.6 and the latest Marian Keyes novel but no handbag.

We turned up at the footy game just after half time and the score was 2-2, with a great deal of unfit, mouthy forty-something year old blokes scurrying up and down the field, swearing, back-chatting the ref and booting the ball to each other and at each other. The OH looked the part, milling about the goal with his goalkeeper's gloves on, clapping and shouting out useless advice but despite this he wasn't all mouth and trousers, managing to come up with some good saves. Yay for the OH!

Back home and after a couple of hours recovery time and a few glasses of wine we went out for dinner at a local Italian restaurant and feasted on pizza and pasta, then home again for even more wine and a round or five of cards, and before we knew it it was 2am and way past bedtime (I knew this because I fell asleep over my hand).

This morning it was the traditional fry up and the traditional two-hour drive home, and after a huge hug from Miss 7.6, the run-down on the latest animal antics (a story for another day), a two hour nap, a soak in the spa pool and a lovely roast chicken dinner, I'm more than ready for bed again.

So how was your weekend?

Yes, grown-up weekends rock

on April 4, 2008 4:19 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

The Other Harf and I are Auckland-bound this evening for a weekend of "grown-up" time. Tonight it's late night pizza (pizza! pizzaaaa!) and beer with the Newlyweds (who are not so newlywed anymore, seeing as their first wedding anniversary is in three weeks' time - where did that year go?).

Tomorrow morning I'm off to meet Deeleea (all-round cool chick and the only blogger I've ever met in real life) for brunch at one of central Auckland's finest purveyors of Eggs Benedict. She's flown over the ditch from Sydney to celebrate a "milestone" occasion with family and friends and I'm really looking forward to seeing her - no doubt we will drink lots of coffee and gasbag our heads off, despite the fact we usually email each other on a weekly basis.

Saturday afternoon the OH's been seconded to S's "Over 40's" football team for a stint at goalie, while L and I plan to Hit the Mall for an extensive session of retail therapy. On my shopping list are some new bras as at the age of 38 surely it is not too unreasonable to want a style of bra that fits, that is comfortable, that looks reasonably stylish, does not disintegate after the fifth wash and does not max out the credit card. Saying that, if I get all five criteria in one style of bra I'll be bloody gobsmacked and buy twenty on the spot. Also on the list is a new handbag, if I can possibly find one without too many studs and rivets and tassels and zips, decorations which seem to be all the rage these days for the modern handbag about town, but most of them remind me of something an S & M madam might keep her spare handcuffs, Rothmans Menthols and blood-red lippy in.

Saturday night, depending on the physical and mental state of the OH after ninety minutes of footy, we are going out for dinner somewhere "nice" and will possibly drink a few glasses of wine and maybe even a few glasses more back at home, and if things deterioate from there a few games of Singstar will probably eventuate.

Sunday? It's a big-fry up then a slow dawdle back up State Highway 1, home to Miss 7.6 and the rest of the whanau.

Yep, grown-up weekends rock.

Here examine the chubbiness of thee fingers

on April 3, 2008 9:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Nephew T is *counts on fingers* almost sixteen months old, and he's barrelling around the place now, getting stuck into everything - including the dogs' Pedigree Beef & Gravy if they deign to leave any behind.

He's solid, wide as he is tall; a proper little front row forward, with spiky strawberry-blonde hair and two little teeth coming through which give him an exceptionally cheeky grin.

I love him to bits, and sometimes I look at him and wonder what our baby would of been like now, three months older than Nephew T, if things didn't happen the way they did. Would he or she be tall and lanky; a "yard of pumpwater" like his/her older sister? Be strawberry blonde like me or brown like the Other Harf, or somewhere in between? Would he/she have teeth? Be talking? Demanding that the spoon was his/hers, not Mummy's or Daddy's? Would I be a stay-at-home Mum, happy to spend my days with my child at home?

Will it ever happen?

And do I still want it too?

the apple.jpg

Camp at Camp

on April 2, 2008 8:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

So, I'm sitting here with a cup of tea and a doomed *Queen Anne Dark Chocolate Marshmallow Easter Egg for company and feeling slightly smug that I no longer have to rely on the monopolistic Telecom New Zealand to connect to the internet.

Yes folks! I finally managed to install my Vodem, and as I type this I am experiencing the joy of YouTube in another window - and in my very own home, an experience previously only possible on the sneaky at work. So long, Ernie the Geriatric Dialup Hamster! Don't come back, ya hear!

Apart from all this excitement it's been exceptionally quiet round here tonight with just me, Lil' Sis and Nephew T, as Miss 7.6 and the nieces are all off at School Camp; three days and two nights at a campground twenty minutes drive from where we live. I tell you, the amount of stuff those kids had to pack you'd think they were going camping till their tenth birthdays.

Also contributing to the quiet is the fact that the Other Harf and Bruvinlaw are also at School Camp; they both went along for the day to help out and have since been roped (kicking and screaming, apparently) into being the Ugly Stepsisters in the teachers' production of Cinderella this evening. Bwah-hah-hah! Where's a furtive mobile phone-camera spy when you need one?

I'm guessing that the OH will take the cake as the uglier of the two, as he has a particularly unfeminine jawline that no amount of foundation or exotic hairpieces can disguise. Mind you, Bruvinlaw does have some spectacular sideburns, which are also a dead giveaway all is not as it seems....

*Why yes, they are very delicious, there are four more left and they're all mine, mine, mine!

I'm afraid there'll be no Instant Gratification for you, my dear

on April 1, 2008 9:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Ok, I love me some fancy-schmancy technical wizardry but sometimes?

I just want to get on with it.

I mean, every single time I upgrade this blog, it's a five day blimin' wonder, with me going back and forth to "help" forums (or over the ditch to bleat to Deeleea, bless her cottons).

Eventually it finally happens, and I'm up and blogging again, but sometimes I just want stick two fingers up to "doing it all by myself" and let Blogger handle the crap.

Well, sometimes.

Anyway, speaking of failing to install fancy-schmancy technical wizardry, tonight I attempted to install a "Vodem"; that is Vodafone's swish new portable modem, which you simply plug into your PC or laptop's USB and hey presto, internet connection!

But seeing as I'm living in a black hole of instant electronic gratification (the exploding oven, the dodgy dishwasher, the Movable Type installation that never goes to plan) of course it didn't work first pop.

So tomorrow, once again, I call in reinforcements - this time in the form of Vodafone's Technical Team.

Who, of course, couldn't help me just when I needed them most. It was, after all, 8.02pm so they'd all logged off two minutes before and buggered off home for their dinner.

I mean, honestly, what else did I expect?