'...obsessive, insular & hystrionic too'

The end of one of my txs today to a friend who is trying to talk me down as I try & land the decision plane.

It has taken me 2 hours of frantic e-mailing to try get my brain functioning a little
more slowly, slowly enough to Blog at a reasonable rate.

The recipients of said mails will wonder how much caffeine was involved in their production. None.

Right now, my requirements are a beachside house, billowing voile curtains, unfeasibly loud Turandot,
balmy evenings, more candles than anyone possibly needs, and someone very clever whose life ambition is
to see how much nape-stroking I could possibly endure.

Don't ask, don't get.

One of my friends surfs the net, watches dvd's, writes mails, listens to music & watches those swirly,
music interpreter things. Nothing unusual about that you may think. He does them all at once.
Which probably explains the content of some of his e-mails, come to think of it.

I used to wonder how he could possibly zone in on any one task & my confused, one-track brain would feel
bruised & violated, just watching him about his many chores.

I now understand why he does it. It's about shutting out the jabbering chatter in your head.

Don't worry, I'm not talking about Sec 136 MHA chatter, God isn't telling me to Blog or anything.

I mean, the will I? won't I? how will I? should I really? could I possibly? type stuff which has
totally filled my addled cranium for the last few days.

Rabbit in headlights is so over-used that it spoils the image, it does explain me perfectly for the last week though.

I have been actively seeking out company to do jobs with over the last few work days. Most unlike me,
I can do the Greta Garbo stuff with the best of them. I have been finding the mindless conversation
very comforting. I don't mean that as an insult to my work colleagues, just that if I'm listening, it
drowns out the questions.

This morning, I tried hip-hop, then David Gray to blog to.

Neither were any good, the 1st gets me too pumped to be introspective, the 2nd has too many
memories attached. I have finally setled on one of Claire's Ibiza Chillout discs. It is impersonal enough
not to prod any memories & ambient enough for me to hear it and still write.
A bit like having a local anaesthetic.

My choices are .....

1) Go back to Britain. Pick up my job with the Police. Consider this year a huge, successful adventure.
I met great people, worked with neddies, drove tractors, and achieved my main goal.


2) Ask for an extension to my career break & stay another year. Like this choice lots. Would be very, very poor.
Still paying off a £300 loan in England which is nothing on a decent salary but is $900 here. Over half my monthly
take-home pay.


3) Go back, earn decent money for another year or two. Work towards permanent NZ residency.

Lots of people have mentioned the lists option. You know how it goes, in the blue corner etc,
In truth, I don't need to do this. I know how I feel.

I love England, I am passionate about our heritage & culture & will defend it to anyone who criticises.

It's like an old lover who I remember fondly but have seen change. I despise the way things are going
& it genuinely hurts to see it going the same litigious (sp?), PC, crime-ridden way of other countries I could
mention. Cambridge (NZ, not UK, doesn't have a Starbucks, what more need I say ?)

New Zealand, to stretch the metaphor, is my soul-mate. I feel good just being here. I am accepted & liked
for who I am, not what I own (or more to the point, don't). NZ cares not a jot that I don't wear labels.
NZ is a partner who sees you with damp, curly hair, when you love your hair straightened & still thinks
you look gorgeous. I look in the mirror & see someone who is a year older but looks younger than they did in
the UK.

I know my memories of the UK are marred by memories of being there at the painful end of a relationship &
don't misunderstand me, there are areas of the UK, so breath-takingly beautiful that I feel the same protective
love for them, as I do here.

The difference here, is that those sorts of places are all around you. You don't drive for half a day to reach them,
it's your journey to & from work, to the supermarket, or the library. Once you're there, you can enjoy them in
peace without being surrounded by council families with tattooed kids & dads wearing Arsenal tops.

I'm such a snob.

So, why am I sitting here typing, rather than, as I said I would, going to the beach, on this, my weekend off ?
Well, because the sun went in.

I should be mature & view my return to the UK as a great excuse to see all my mates, (& Barley), bore them stupid
with photos, work like crazy, pay off loans & plan my future.

So why does Stan's oft repeated phrase 'NZ good, UK baaaaaad' keep reverberating around my head ?

I am fully aware that this Blog goes back to the Police via some very good, invited readers & that I probably
shouldn't broadcast my choices on this media. It's for this reason that I have been quiet this week.
However, once Q4A is published & I live in Queen Charlotte Sound with Mum & Barley nearby, I want it
to accurately reflect my thought processes during this year.

If anyone is reading this who hasn't been invited & has the power to say yes or no to my career-break request
then 'sod it'. Call it fate, karma, kismet or any other k words. What's meant to be, will happen.

In the words of Doris Day, theres a test for you youngsters.

As ever, I feel soothed after writing this. The words have stopped buzzing & seem to have some semblance
of order. I know that in the grand scheme of things, mine may seem like inconsequential choices, if you're
reading this with more weighty problems, I apologise.

Horrible things have happened in Europe this week & as usual, I have been sheltered from the fallout,
due to the lack of decent coverage here. Whilst I lack details I know it has affected some of you, & you are in my thoughts.

On that topic, I looked at the words for ages, thinking how poignant they were & wondering who the poet
was. I had to say them out loud several times to realise it was Simon & Garfunkel.

Darsha

If you read this in time, I am heading to the Prince Albert this evening.
Fear not, I won't be an introspective drunk, I plan to play pool, drink copiously & dance more suggestively
than a woman of my advanced years really should.

Hadders

You galloped on a neddy ? Very impressive.
And didn't fall off ? Even more impressive.
Now you get it don't you ?
Years of motorbiking at very dangerous & highly illegal speeds don't even come close
to the thrill that is 30 mile an hour pounding horseflesh with a mind of it's own.


Di

Went to a place in NY this week where there was a bar which featured swing seats over a pool.
You must have thought you had died & gone to heaven.

My next post will be neddies, sunshine, flies, my Gran & more lissons in how to speak Kiwi,
don't miss it,

Cx