Languaging

One other subject we talked about on Saturday was language, or the demise of it. It certainly seems that the level of people's language has been in decline. Pick up one of my great uncle's war letters and it's on a totally different plane from anything you see in your inbox (because who writes letters?) today. It's not as if he had much of an education, but he clearly made an effort. Back then, writing mattered beyond just getting your point across. I made the language-is-dying argument to Tom, and he replied that there are more words in the English language than ever before. That may be true, but a good many of them are along the lines of "selfie" and "chillax", and how many of the vast inventory of words do people actually use? How often do you hear a word like "diaphanous" these days? Or "cacophonous"? I'd bet good money that the "top" 1000 words in the English language make up a greater percentage of writing than they did even twenty years ago. It would be easy enough to work that out - perhaps I should ask the geeks at Language Log to do it. As for me, I haven't used enough big words in the 5½ years this blog has been running, and it's time I did something about that.

This isn't an easy week for me. We've already had several meetings about the upcoming move and other stuff. There has been much talk about organisational structures and I've found it hard to even remotely care. Today we met the CEO of the new company. He lost me at "we're gonna rock it out on October five." There has been a lot of braggadocio on show, especially from my boss and his boss, and I find all a bit nauseating. There is one boss I have a lot of respect for - the guy who manages all the field workers. He knows the drainage networks like the back of his hand, and does a great job of training the field workers, judging by the quality of the survey data. I hope that the move allows them to keep that up, as I said in the brief submission I made yesterday. I also made the obvious point about the inconvenience and potential cost of transport and possibly parking. It'll take some adjustment. I'll miss the propinquity of work to home, and the plethora of gastronomic establishments I currently have at my disposal when borborygmus arises. On Friday we've got our mid-winter party after work. I wonder how that will pan out. It has the potential to be quite stressful. At least when I get home it'll be the weekend and I'll be able to relax. Oh wait...

I saw my counsellor last week for the first time in ages. In our previous session she used "language" as a verb, as she'd done many times before. "Do you like the way I'm languaging this?" I'd let her off all those other times - she's a very helpful counsellor - but I was finally languaged out and I pulled her up on it. Last week there was no languaging, and we agreed upon a goal for me, to be working for myself by 1st January 2016. It's a good goal, because I fear I'll be somnambulating through life as long as I work for someone else. We talked about coming off the Efexor last December - that was actually a pretty big deal, and even though the withdrawal symptoms were awful, it was worth it.

National unveiled their housing policy at the weekend. It might increase the supply of homes in Auckland, where things have gone completely nuts, but it'll definitely increase demand, and any policy that does that is crazy. If it was up to me I'd bring in a capital gains tax, as Labour plan to do, and I wouldn't make the family home exempt. Why should it matter whether you own a single property worth $2 million, or if that sum includes your Pauanui bach and a couple of rentals? Under my system, your tax rate would reduce the longer you own the property, reaching zero after ten or fifteen years.

I've got my Chinese class tomorrow. In last week's lesson we learnt how to say where things (like the bank or the cinema) are, and where you come from. We learnt a few words for countries, such as France which is "Fă guó". Someone asked if that's because it sounds like "foie gras"!

Kevin was in some pain yesterday, as a result of the operation rather than the fistula itself. I really do hope he's sorted out now. Not being sorted can mean not being able to go the toilet, which doesn't bear thinking about.

Food for thought

I saw the doctor today. Not my usual doctor (I specified this when I made my appointment) but one who advocates a change in diet rather than endless popping of pills. I already watch what I eat, or so I thought. But she wants me to do the Whole 9 diet, a type of exclusion diet that is "guaranteed to change your life". No processed foods including grain, no dairy products, and definitely no sugar. Sugar is the food of the devil. On the flip side she says I should be eating lots of meat, the fattier the better, lots of fish, three eggs a day, and mountains of vegetables. "Isn't this the caveman diet?" "Yes, but I've been following it for months, and do I look like a caveman?" As it happened, she had more than a hint of a tash, but I decided not to comment on that. She had no problems with my plans to come off my nothing-matters pills, as long as I didn't go the cold turkey route, and she wrote a prescription for the small tablets to allow me to better regulate my dose. So I got something out of seeing the doctor today - that's not always the case.

Mum and Dad will be arriving in Wellington next Friday. They'll be staying six nights. I'd better make sure those shirts are all ironed. They're bringing up a dining table which could make a big difference - suddenly my flat will be suitable for visitors as well as any flatmates I might have. I expect they'll be bringing a lot of other bits and pieces that will probably serve to complicate my life rather than improve it. I'd be more than happy with just the table and some meat, if they're able to keep it cold for that long. I'll wait till my parents have been and gone before going on this life-changing diet for a month. (I'm skeptical but there's little harm in trying.)

Yesterday I was chatting to one of my colleagues about the housing market. She said that December 2011 wasn't a clever time for me to buy, and that Wellington's apartments are dropping in value like a stone, yellow sticker or not. People just don't want a bar of them. A lot of apartment owners must be in a negative equity situation. I'm not quite in that position: I took out a 68% mortgage, I'd get about 68% back if I were to sell now, and I've paid a bit more off since then. It's frustrating because I look around my flat and think, you know what, I've actually got a pretty good place here. Maybe coming off Efexor might help me see more of the positives.

I rang Bazza for his birthday last night. He said he thought it would be me because nobody else remembers. There were really only two topics of conversation: earthquakes and tennis. I'll probably see him next month - I fly up on the evening of the 20th in time for the aspie group the next day, and come back on the 24th.

David Shearer resigned as Labour leader today. He's always seemed like a genuinely nice bloke, someone I can trust. He didn't get very far as leader because he's not an orator, he isn't particularly adept at political gamesmanship, and he doesn't pretend to be your mate. In other words he's the polar opposite of John Key, who I no longer trust at all.

Six point oh no

At 2:30 on Friday we all got under our desks as the latest "big one" shook the building. Despite being a 6.6, a tick above last month's big shake, it didn't feel quite as violent. What really got me this time was the look of terror on some people's faces. They looked, dare I say, shaken up. So that was work over for the week, although we had to wait for the all-clear before we could go home. It's at times like these that I'm grateful I can just walk home; the roads were gridlocked as people wanted to get the hell out of the city on a Friday afternoon. I had a look around my flat when I got home; there were no additions to last month's plaster cracks. I spoke to one of the other owners - we agreed that for a building that's supposed to be as dodgy as hell, it's come out of these two big shakes remarkably well. That nine-storey lift shaft on Lukes Lane, which will hopefully come down soon, has become a symbol of Wellington's earthquake risk. This time the small town of Seddon really felt the full force of the quake - I was reading about a couple who had moved there to get away from Christchurch.

The size of the subsequent aftershocks has taken me by surprise. We got a 6.0 as I was ordering fish and chips. Fish Fins in Newtown were still open - I'd been looking forward to that all week. "Would you like lemon salt and pepper?" Yes please ... uh oh ... holy shit ... are you OK? I had visions of vats of hot oil toppling over - at least the hospital isn't far away. We've had a bunch of fives and high fours, some of which have woken me up, and I haven't really wanted to go to sleep in the first place. My body clock is way out of whack right now.

Mum and Dad have used the shakes as an excuse to ring me almost hourly. They're driving up this way soon to take four paintings to a watercolour exhibition. I'll be seeing them on the 30th - I think they'll be staying here for six nights. Yesterday Dad and I had (another) argument about home ownership. I'm beginning to regret going anywhere near the property market.

I spent ages last night trying to watch 56 Up without my making my computer terminally ill with viruses. It was showing at the film festival but my brother was here, it was his birthday, the weather was good, and it simply wasn't going to happen. I eventually found it online, complete with Chinese subtitles, and watched all three parts. I last saw the series in 1998 (42 Up as it was then) and what an experiment it has been - effectively a real-life soap opera that only airs once every seven years. Neil was the most interesting of the lot, and the one I could relate to the most, but all the participants were fascinating in their own ways and I found all of them likeable (except perhaps Pete who seemed a bit conceited to me, and only participated this time to promote his band). Many of them shared a dislike for the programme ("people think they know everything about me") and I can hardly blame them - there is something eerie about it. But those same people also felt morally obliged to take part, and I suppose it helps if you get paid for it. Perhaps the biggest surprise is that all fourteen participants (ten of whom are blokes) are still alive - you'd have got long odds on that in 1964.

I'm about to watch some folk music at the Museum of City and Sea with some people from Meetup.com. Update: The music was good and it helped me relax a bit. The bloke who played the Irish songs had been to Kerrytown where my grandfather was brought up. On the way back I took a picture of the offending lift shaft, complete with bouncers.

What's an iBox?

This Thursday I'll be flying to Timaru in one of those little planes. I'll be staying down south till the following Wednesday. I'm looking forward to getting away for a few days.

We had the autism group tonight. We split off into three subgroups of five or so. In our group was a woman I hadn't really met before. She didn't speak although she was very facially expressive; she communicated by tapping out messages on her phone. At one point we discussed physical exercise and she handed me her phone which showed the simple message "I box". For a few seconds I was picturing some sort of Apple gaming console. Ah, you do boxing. Now that's proper exercise. Her next message said that she used to cycle at national level but came off her bike at speed and suffered a brain injury. Judging by her insightful messages all evening there was little wrong with her brain. Tom was also in my group and was busy unscrewing a table with his Swiss Army knife and Leatherman. It's actually quite comforting to know that he unscrews other furniture besides mine.

One of my team-mates at work got fired last Thursday. Sacked, dismissed, however you say it it's not good. Part of her role involved taking calls from customers; she'd receive points (which converted into dollars) for certain outcomes, for instance if someone rang in to cancel their policy but she retained the business. Apparently she'd been fiddling the points. I don't know the ins and outs of it all but it doesn't sound clear cut to me. Some of my colleagues aren't happy with the way she's been treated. She plans to take legal action. I think the incentives work on a dollars-per-point basis, but if you don't reach a certain monthly target you get nothing for that month. I think that's an unfair system, and some people will try to beat unfair systems if they can.

There was a headline in Saturday's Dom Post: "Wellington dithers while Auckland hums". I'm not sure what kind of hum they're talking about because whenever I go to Auckland I don't hear it. I think it's more of a "kerching" than a hum - people flock there (from within NZ and from overseas) because that's where the jobs are. House prices in Auckland continue to skyrocket. On TV last night they showed a (Pakeha) woman struggling to get a toehold on the Auckland property ladder, who was particularly interested in a house because it was number four and Asians might be put off by that. "Four" sounds very similar to "death" in Mandarin. When house numbers start to become a major consideration, something isn't right.

Mum and Dad have just bought their third property, and their second flat in St Ives. I asked Dad what would be next - he assured me there wouldn't be a next. My parents have always been interested in houses, and like looking at them - particularly new developments - when they drive somewhere.

I went to my cousin's place on Saturday night. We watched the All Blacks game against France. I only had one eye on the game, if that. There was much excitement at a couple of the All Blacks' tries but I didn't share in it. Unlike tennis I don't really get rugby, even if I followed the most recent World Cup and actually went to two matches including Tonga's shock win over France. At least Saturday's match finished with a tennis score (30-0) although I thought the French were unlucky to get nil.

Next month they're having a Great Gatsby-themed mid-year work function. Should I go? I'm not sure I can face the prospect to be honest. Last year I was in Auckland when the function was on so there was no decision to make. No such luck this time.

A simpler life

I got back two hours late on Wednesday; as we came into land we were buffeted by winds that reached gale force that evening. I was fortunate not to be stranded at Christchurch overnight. I'll try and avoid Jetstar next time. It's nice to be back. My time in Geraldine made me feel even more alone than I did already. On the flip side, the fact that I don't (and will probably never) lead an interdependent existence makes my life a helluva lot simpler (note I didn't say easier).

On Thursday I really couldn't be arsed with work, and with my boss (and most of the office) being away, that didn't matter too much. My motivation did improve on Friday. It's been a bit of a "nothing" weekend. Yesterday I went to the market, then got my hair cut, trying not to talk any more than was necessary. I looked at dartboards in Rebel Sport next door to the barber's but didn't buy one. Last night I saw my cousin; we talked at length about my brother's "situation". Today I saw Julie but didn't stay for long - I struggled to keep awake in this hot weather (we hit 28 today).

I've just started reading Nick Hornby's How To Be Good which seems to be about relationships, interdependence and all that stuff that's foreign to me :) It's very funny though.

I see that the average house price in both Takapuna and Devonport has crept above $1 million. Holy moly. That is the average (i.e. mean) however, not the median, so it's skewed by those outliers that sell for several million.

Wish I could dart back up to Wellington

I was looking forward to Christmas as a chance to unwind, but instead the tension here has ratcheted up to the max. The situation between my brother and (let's face it) his ex-partner has gone from bad to worse. Something happened the night before last which I can't write about here. It meant I spent most of yesterday away from my family - a welcome break for me.

Yesterday I met Phil in Timaru. We played mini-golf again. I lost again, this time by five shots (60 to 65). In 1989 it cost $2.50 a round. Last year it was $3. Now it's $5. Everything else at the carnival has also gone up this year, including the darts game which doesn't seem to have increased its cash prizes to compensate, so I didn't play.

Talking of darts, the World Championships are taking place in London and I've been watching some of the games on my parents' Sky. Whether you think it's a sport that requires pinpoint accuracy and steely determination, or a game played by 21-stone beer-swilling halfwits sporting tattoos and blinging jewellery, you can't deny that it works well on TV. I'd prefer it if they cut out the American-style cheerleaders and breaks after every set (they managed without such gimmicks in the nineties) but the game does produce its fair share of characters and dramatic matches. The requirement to "check out" each leg with a double (one of the thin slivers on the outer edge of the board), or the bull's eye, certainly helps in the drama stakes, as does the format of sets and legs which can result in an engrossing tennis-style tie-break. And the game does require the use of brain cells occasionally. Take a check-out of 126. Logic would suggest that to finish on a even number you should aim for even numbers, but your best bet is to go down for 19s. Of course, for us mere mortals, finishing 126 in three darts would be such a monumental task that you'd just try to make a decent score and reduce the target to something manageable. When I used to play (some time ago) both of us would often be left desperately hammering away at double one.

Phil talked about the difficulties in buying property in Auckland. "I can't believe how racist I've become," he said when bemoaning the influx of Asian investors who keep driving up prices. From that point of view, my move to Wellington was a positive one, even allowing for all the earthquake stuff. I'd quite like to fly to Wellington right now, but I've looked on the Jetstar site and flights at such short notice at this time of year are pricey as you'd expect, so I'll tough it out here for another four days.

Royal eclipse

My stress levels are down a couple of notches from last week. I've had no work functions or quizzes to deal with. When I described the work quiz to someone, she said it sounded like Cranium on crack. I've never tried Cranium, or crack for that matter, but I know what she meant.

This morning's partial eclipse of the sun caused some excitement at work. I saw the half-obscured sun through sunglasses, and couldn't really see a lot on my computer screen for the next minute or two. In 1999 we had a total eclipse in the UK. It was at about 11am on a summer's day; people used pinhole projectors and various other contraptions to view the once-in-a-lifetime event. The most striking thing for me that day was the sudden drop in temperature.

The other major happening in Wellington today (two in one day, I know) was Charles and Camilla's visit. At lunchtime I managed to glimpse the couple from 100 metres away on the waterfront. There was some ceremony involving a haka, and two wakas were brought out: I hoped Charles might get in one.

I went to the autism group again on Monday. It went better this time, perhaps because the two new guys weren't in my group so there was less disruption.

Last night I saw Julie, as I usually do on a Tuesday. She isn't very good at the moment - she talks about ending her life - but last night she was a little perkier. I took over the film Wall-E which seemed to cheer her up a bit.

The latest government valuations in Wellington just came out. They're reviewed every three years. The GV of my flat is down $20,000 since I bought this place, presumably due to the earthquake business, though it's still $11,000 above what I paid for it. Here's an article in the Herald (that I happen to agree with) about Auckland's (unsustainably?) high house prices.

What's wrong with me?

OK, I already know the answer. It's "a lot". But my biggest flaw is a complete inability to handle most social situations. My only real coping strategy is to take myself out of the situation entirely but sometimes that isn't possible. On Friday we had our staff Christmas party. It was during a work afternoon so I couldn't exactly just vanish into the sunset after we'd all eaten. The food was good but having to talk made it a lot less enjoyable. I hardly drank anything because I was babysitting my cousin's kids that evening, giving me a good excuse to miss the after-party. Four hours were more than enough for me. I'd have much preferred four hours stuck at an airport - yes there are lots of people at an airport but you don't have to talk to any of them and you can at least pass the time by reading a book or staring at all the Rolexes you'll never be able to afford. I just wish I could get something out of these sorts of events, or at least not find them hellish, but it's been this way for nearly twenty years.

The Auckland autism group had its Christmas party last Saturday. It would have been a far more enjoyable (and meaningful) occasion for me than the party I did attend the previous day. I was delighted that they introduced an annual Emma Foster Award to be given out to somebody who has shown a number of positive qualities such as courage, perseverance, initiative, helping others and helping the environment. Fittingly Richard won the inaugural award. I suggested to Jen Birch that they name something after Emma to ensure that she is never forgotten, and this is a wonderful way of doing just that.

I've still got plenty to do to ensure that my offer goes unconditional before Christmas. Some of that will depend on the council getting the LIM done on time (and that the results are all OK). Going unconditional pre-Christmas would enable me to can move in three weeks earlier than otherwise (and crucially before the lease on my current place expires). Then I'll have to finalise the terms of my mortgage, which is where the title of my blog really comes into its own.

On Wednesday I'll be going a meeting at the local tramping club with a woman from the autism group. Hopefully I'll get to see a bit more of Wellington (and the rest of NZ) in the new year while meeting people and burning a few calories (which I need to) at the same time.

I'm flying down to Christchurch (unfortunately I couldn't get a flight to Timaru) on Thursday evening. The break should do me good.

Edit: Kim Jong-Il isn't just ill, he's dead.

Here we go again

My offer on the flat was accepted on Monday evening. The vendors had come back to me at $358,000, eight grand above my initial offer. I then split the difference and they accepted. The haggle stage was quite painless. First and foremost, I just wanted to get it all sorted. Some people lose sight of that and instead of thinking "I'll try to buy this property at a reasonable price" they think "if move my bishop to this square then I'll back him into a corner and ... gotcha!" I wasn't in the mood for games, talking of which New Zealand dramatically beat Australia by seven runs in the Hobart test match that day.

Eleven turned up to the autism group. One of the older members wasn't feeling 100% and had to be taken home. This was our last meeting with the current facilitator who is moving to Auckland - she must be nuts! (Her husband has got a job up there, but still.) It's a shame to see her go, but if she gets involved in the autism scene in the Big Smoke she'll do an excellent job I'm sure. We made tentative plans for the group after Christmas - I'm hoping we can start meeting up socially outside the fortnightly sessions.

I should have been really happy after the third-of-a-million-dollar deal went through. But there are still several hurdles to negotiate and I've been bombarded by property-related phone calls and emails throughout my work days.

My mental state has been fragile since the weekend; yesterday it took a sharp nosedive. Work, life and everything became impossible. As for work itself, it was 2009 all over again. I locked myself in the loo and banged my head against the wall and the sink. I didn't hurt much at the time but I certainly felt it later. Work has definitely become trickier since my new boss arrived. Until then I was getting by, never really achieving anything but never letting that get me down. Work was just there. But my boss is very switched on and highly motivated at work, i.e. the exact opposite of me. The nuts and bolts of the job matter to him, and he expects them to matter to me, so I've been getting feelings of total inadequacy. Buying property, which makes staying in employment even more important, probably sent me over the edge.

I nearly didn't go to work today - I was going to take two days off including tomorrow's Christmas party - but I heaved myself out of bed eventually.

Putting any problems I might have into perspective, a journalist was murdered last weekend just yards from my work. He was a good man, just walking home after his night shift at Radio NZ. After a gruesome killing like this, I wonder whether bringing back the death penalty wouldn't be such a bad idea, if only you could guarantee that they get the right person. And there was I thinking I was safe in Wellington.

On a much lighter note, Birmingham play their eighth and probably final European match of the season, needing a miracle and the dodgy head-to-head rule to progress. But it's been fun.

House-hunting - getting serious

It was nice to have Mum and Dad here for a few days. We got on well - in fact I've been getting on better with Mum than I've done for ages. My parents spent a fair bit of time eyeing up properties for me; I was very grateful for this because I'm pretty clueless in that regard. On Tuesday they took a look at an apartment I found a month ago (and was still up for grabs) and to my slight surprise they really liked it! It's five minutes walk from where I live now, on the other side of the Basin. The block of flats is hardly a thing of beauty. It was built in the late nineties and looks like a behind-the-goal football stand (which is sort of appropriate because it is right next to a sports ground, just for a different sport). But inside it's spacious and well looked after. It's got 2½ bedrooms on two floors with, to be honest, heaps of space for one person. Talking to my brother, he would definitely say it was a place he "wouldn't want to rattle around in". All the fittings are modern and it's been well maintained despite being tenanted for several years (I could take on tenants if I buy it). Its asking price had been reduced by $16,000 and on Friday I put in an offer for a further nine grand less. It's a complicated business, this whole house-buying thing. I really hope my offer is accepted, not because I'm emotionally wedded to the property but because I want to get it over and done with. If it falls through, there's one (possibly two) in Brooklyn that I'm interested in. Tomorrow is the big day when I expect to find out.

I've been in New Zealand eight years and two weeks and there's still plenty of stuff I haven't figured out yet. Like why all real estate agents, solicitors, insurance salesmen and mortgage brokers are ex-All Blacks. Or Black Caps. What is it about kicking a football that instantly makes you knowledgeable about financial products or legal matters? Precisely nothing, but of course in NZ being a highly successful international sportsman (or woman) elevates you to God-like status. What's more, people trust you. It's completely different in the UK where no-one in his right mind would buy a house from Wayne Rooney. Over there you've got an Etonocracy running the country; here you have an Allblackocracy. I don't know which is worse.

The house-buying process (at least I hope that's what it is) has in some ways been a nice distraction from my other big decision - whether to do more actuarial exams. My new boss is trying to twist my arm. I almost hope he could the whole hog and break it so I wouldn't be able to write the exam. It would feel like the ultimate backward step after the decision to quit my job two years ago. The thought of it - that there's no way out - has made me feel quite down today it must be said.

My boss is five years younger than me. He had told me he was 28. For some reason the subject of weight came up at work, and to show how many pounds he'd lost he dug out an old passport photo with a late January 1985 date of birth, making him 26. However he comes from China where you're considered to be one at birth and a year older at the turn of each Chinese year. He was born just before the turn of the year so by Chinese rules he is indeed 28 and will in fact turn 29 before his "real" 27th birthday (because it's an early start to the next Chinese new year). You get old quickly in China.

On Wednesday night (the night before my parents flew home) we ate at a Vietnamese restaurant on Majoribanks Street. I had beef noodles which were appetising without feeling full. We then played Scrabble again. I won but had far more than my fair share of good letters. Until the end, that is, when I had four I's on my rack. Mum and Dad both had an "I" each, and with no place to put them (no QI allowed in our game, folks) the game ended with only three of the nine I's having been played. I wonder if that's some kind of record. I should point out that Mum consistently took an age to put down a word - she's actually pretty competitive - and we didn't finish till after eleven. I must get an egg timer before we play next.

We had another quake on Thursday morning. A mere 4.2, it was certainly noticeable from my elevated position. I'd call what I experienced a "double wobble".

Bought the flat or fallen flat? I'll find out tomorrow.

Rock 'n' roll

Mum and Dad are staying with me for the third time in four months. They'd only just got off the plane on Saturday evening when we had to go a barbecue at my cousin's place. It was a long way from a party, but we had some unexpected rock 'n' roll as I felt my first ever proper earthquake. I was surprised by the loudness of it, and for a split second I thought it might turn into the big one. It was big enough for me anyway; as a wild guess I said it felt like a 5.8 - I overestimated by just 0.1 as it turned out.

We visited four open homes yesterday. Three of them were out of the question - one had a serious damp problem and you had to hold your nose. I'm eliminating lots of properties and not finding many suitable ones. Still, there are three currently in play.

The three of us played Scrabble last night. Mum is pretty good at Scrabble really - she's got a good brain and (not wanting to criticise) could make better use of it. I won a nail-biter by three points, 240 to 237. Those scores aren't bad for a three-player game involving none of those silly but useful two-letter non-words. Dad's 164 wasn't to be sneezed at either. Mum went first and got FoRAGER straight away for 64; I responded soon after with ENTRIES (lucky to have that combination) for 63.

I found this article (well, survey really) from the Guardian today. It paints a bleak picture of Britain's future, and probably the future of Western society as a whole. I've been thinking for a while about how technology is killing jobs. Check in your baggage at the airport, or even do your grocery shopping, and you'll see man increasingly being replaced by machine. Jobs are vanishing. "Get a job" is something you hear a lot, but when there are fewer and fewer jobs out there, what do you do? Find something you're good at and "create" a job yourself I guess.

I followed bits of a cricket match at the Basin yesterday. I could only really see the scoreboard from my flat, and there weren't many people in the stands, but the match was almost as close as last night's Scrabble - Wellington lost to Otago by six runs. By the way there's a flat for sale four floors above me in the same apartment block; that's one of the properties currently in play.

All sorts of crap

I went swimming tonight as I usually do on a Tuesday. I continue to be amazed by the number and variety of tattoos on show. I've got no problem with them but I've never come close to even thinking of getting one myself. Am I missing something?

We had the autism group last night. Ten of us turned up; we now have a "topic" to begin the meeting, just like in Auckland. This perhaps helped the evening follow a more positive course than the previous one. However there was one bloke who talked about crap rather a lot, and when I say crap I actually mean crap. A real positive to come out of the meeting from my (selfish) perspective: I'll be meeting one of the women for lunch tomorrow. There's also a woman who goes tramping regularly; that's something I wouldn't mind getting into - it has all kinds of benefits: exercise, meeting people, seeing parts of the city and country that you otherwise wouldn't, exposure to vitamin D, and much more besides.

When I got home I gave my brother a ring. He's about to go away on a two-week trip for his new marine security job. He'll be paid handsomely - £4000 - danger money I suppose.

Yesterday I acquired a new boss at work. He's originally from China - for some reason the Chinese gravitate towards these kinds of professions - and has a two-letter surname that, despite its brevity, I'm unsure of how to pronounce. Friday was a particularly weird day at work. We had our elevenses at 11:11 on 11/11/11, while my actual work was the financial equivalent of deciding which games and goals to arbitrarily exclude to make a football team's league table position look semi-respectable. I was more than happy to publish the real data but my boss and his boss clearly weren't.

The weekend was one of contrasting weather - a vile Saturday followed by a gloriously sunny (and verging on hot) Sunday. The pleasant weather continued into yesterday. The highlight of my weekend - if you can call it that - was my attempt at house-hunting. I looked at three places, but none of them were really suitable. The last place needed earthquake strengthening.

A got a text from Phil about the annual pétanque tournament on Waiheke. He lost in the final for the third year running! I don't know who beat their team in the final but I bet it was Patrick, the dreadlocked Frenchman whose teeth are a mixture of yellow, brown and non-existent.

Berlusconi has gone. Hooray! (even if it did take a debt crisis to get shot of that megalomaniac).

The general election is a week and a half away. It doesn't seem long since the last one. To be honest I don't think it matters much who wins, although I will vote nonetheless (for whom I really don't know). Since I've lived in New Zealand I've felt gradually less attached to the political process, even if I've moved to within a stone's throw of where it all happens. As for the referendum on our voting system, that's a much easier decision for me. I'll be voting to keep MMP. Sure it needs the odd tweak (some restriction on defeated electorate candidates remaining in parliament through their party list would be nice, and I'd no longer allow parties who win an electorate but gain less than 5% of the party vote to get their full allocation of seats). But a return to first-past-the-post (which looks like the only alternative in the running) where some votes are vastly more important than others, and a party can govern with fewer votes than its defeated rival, would surely be a step backwards.

Elevenses

Tomorrow is 11/11/11, a rather striking date when you see it on the page. We'll see nothing like it again in our lifetime. What's more, it's one of those rare occasions when the crazy date format they use in America works just fine. At work we'll be celebrating this once-in-a-century event with a morning tea at 11:11 (when else?); the Brits might call it elevenses.

Life has been fairly uneventful since my parents came to stay. Last Tuesday I felt a bit down after work because it seemed I was locked into my current job for ever. My low mood didn't last long.

I guess the only news of any significance is my first real attempt to buy a house. I put in a tender for that Lego-style place in Hataitai. Expecting to be miles short of the accepted offer, my tender of $325,000 was "only" $10,000 shy.

7,000,000,000

The world population has reached seven billion, give or take a few New Zealands. It's still growing scarily quickly, although not exponentially (a lot of people use that word without knowing what it means). To give some idea of how fast it has grown:

If you're 10 today, there were 6.22 billion people in the world when you entered it
If you're 20 today......................5.41 billion
If you're 30 today......................4.56 billion
If you're 40 today......................3.79 billion
If you're 50 today......................3.11 billion
If you're 60 today......................2.59 billion
If you're 70 today......................2.33 billion
If you're 80 today......................2.10 billion
If you're 90 today......................1.89 billion
If you're 100 today....................1.76 billion

Mum and Dad spent the weekend with me; they flew back this afternoon. Just like last time we were lucky with the weather. We looked at a couple of open homes (for me), visited Te Papa briefly, had dinner with my cousin, ate at a Thai restaurant the other night, did a lot of walking, and played two games of Scrabble, neither of which went well for me. My parents seem to enjoy Wellington - they'll be coming up this way again in early December. Overall it was a pretty good weekend.

Both the places I looked at are up for tender, with the same deadline day (this Thursday). They both had serious promise. The first was a three-bedroom flat in Aro Valley; it was the first time I'd been to that area which has a slightly bohemian feel. It had a lot going for it but two problems - it's probably out my price range and it doesn't get a lot of sun. The second flat was a smaller (and more affordable) two-bedroom one in Hataitai, part of a rather bizarre-looking Disney-style complex built in the sixties. I didn't expect much but was pleasantly surprised when I ventured beyond the weird exterior. It was actually very nice inside and I might be tempted to put a conditional tender in.

We had the autism group tonight. A turnout of nine including two new people. There was a wide range of topics as always. One young woman there was an exceptionally good French speaker, far better than me. The pronunciation of "vase" somehow came up: this poem tells us all how we should say it:

Some greet with lusty “Rah”s
A reference to a vase.
Another bares his claws
At folks who don’t say vase.
But many use the phrase,
“Please put these in a vase,”
While still a stronger case
We now can make a vase.

I discovered Foster the People today. I really like Pumped Up Kicks. With one YouTube view for every 200 people on the planet, it must have had a lot of airplay, but I hadn't heard it until today. Which planet have I been living on?

Something beginning with W

I arrived in Wellington on Thursday evening. The drive down, with the exception of the last little bit which involved considerable guesswork, was no trouble; I was blessed with excellent weather. I spent Wednesday night at Turangi, a popular fishing spot just south of Lake Taupo and a very pleasant place to break up the journey. The next morning, I had lovely bright sunshine as I drove along the Desert Road - the first time I'd been that way since 1993 when Mum would have pointed out Tongariro, Ngauruhoe and Ruapehu. Driving long distances on a nice day when there is little traffic makes me feel so much more alive. I had lunch at Bulls, a town that doesn't have a lot to offer except its name. No bull! A town like no udder! Every shop in the town came with a tagline such as "drink-a-bull", "bank-a-bull" or "irresist-a-bull". The toilets were "relieve-a-bull". I couldn't blame them for cashing in on such a memor-a-bull name. Shortly after I passed a sign telling me I had entered the roaring forties latitudes, the sun disappeared and it hasn't been back since.

Driving in Wellington is interesting to put it mildly. The topography of the city brings the z-axis - up and down - very much into play. There are hairpin bends and precipices to deal with, which would be tricky enough even if I did have a clue where I was going. I did get to my cousin's place in Wadestown in the end. My uncle is also staying here, so with my cousin's husband and three boys, she's seriously outnumbered. Tomorrow I'll be leaving to stay in a hotel in town; I'll be more than happy to do that. I don't find it easy being in someone else's house, easy-going people that everyone here is.

Today I was pleasantly surprised to learn that affordable property, to buy, actually exists in Wellington. I might take a look at a few uncomplicated one or two-bedroom flats, ones that would hopefully be easily saleable if I do decide to move on. It's been tipping it down with rain pretty much from the moment I got here. Yesterday was also windy, but today is calm, which only means the rain is sticking around. I spent some time in the city yesterday and my first impressions were, hey, I think I'll like this place.

Last night I played I-Spy with the two older boys. One of them picked the letter W. Hmm, let me see. Window? Water? Wind? Wellington? Why?! And on Monday I'll have Work.

Update: a 5.3 quake has just hit Christchurch, cutting off power and phone lines.

Side Efexor

To counteract those side effects I'm taking on board a lot of water and caffeine. This means regular trips to the loo, so at work I get to talk to Pam the cleaning lady more than perhaps I'd like. There's one more side effect I neglected to mention yesterday: I can't keep my feet still.

That eco-friendly price-neutral bonus letter arrived today. My bonus was well down on last year, but if it wasn't for some wangling on the part of my boss, I'd have received nothing at all. I was very happy with that outcome; thankfully my mitigating factors were taken into account.

I had a look at another flat tonight; this one was basically a non-starter. The more I think about it, the more I realise last night's flat could have been a good move for me. If only the room had been 50% bigger.

I still dabble with iPredict. So far I'm up around $400 though things can change rather quickly. I did particularly well betting, sorry predicting, that Gordon Brown wouldn't resign before the next election. Of course he might still do so, but iPredict allows you to lock in profits (or cut your losses, something I've done numerous times) before the closing date of the stock. By the way, this is what BK Drinkwater, one of the more eminent figures on iPredict, has to say about New Zealand's obsession with property investment. I might have gone a bit easier on the expletives myself, but I totally agree with him.

I'll be meeting up with Andy again tomorrow. Oh, and I've just started reading The Great Gatsby.

Reading the signs

I spent much of Sunday running around like a headless chicken, not achieving a whole lot. I spoke to my grandmother (she was going to have her pacemaker replaced), checked the stuff I was selling on TradeMe for Julie, went to the market, emailed my brother, had a bite to eat, then helped Julie move some stuff into her new flat. I did my ironing and sat down in front of the computer to play a badugi tournament. At 11pm, after six hours, I was eliminated in 18th place out of nearly 4000. In that time I spoke to Mum and Dad on the phone – “yes it sounds like you’ve had gorgeous weather down there; [I’ll dump the jack] it’s been sunny here too but a bit cold; [ooh this one’s marginal, I think I’ll just fold] I’ve been really needing that fan heater.” I even managed to cook and eat a meal while playing. Half an hour into the tournament I was dealt a nine badugi and bet it aggressively, but no matter how much I bet people would call me, even with two-card draws. All my chips ended up in the middle, and in a four-way pot there was a good chance that someone would beat me. In hindsight I wish somebody did.

I took Monday off from work – the plan was to sort out various aspects of my life, but if anything the opposite happened. At 9am I met up with Andy at a café in Devonport. I really appreciated him spending that time with me. We joked about my flat and how it’s a hermit’s cave that only I ever enter. I’m too embarrassed to invite anyone into my flat, and of course I have very few friends anyway. My flat is entirely functional, and lacks any nice homely things. I haven’t tried to change that because I feel I’ve had more important things to do, and I’d be better off waiting till I had my own place.
Later I went to see to a career counsellor on the fifth floor of a building on Queen Street. There were several doors on that floor, only one of which had a sign I could read – all the other signs were in either Chinese or Korean. I found it strange that here I am, in New Zealand, faced with a whole bunch of signs that I can’t even begin to read. I could make a reasonable stab at reading the signs in somewhere as far flung as Peru, but in my own country I simply haven’t a clue. On a similar note, roughly 90% of the names on the pass list for that Australian-based exam, the one I failed, were Asian. Now I’m not racist at all (at least I don’t think I am) but I don’t think that having a profession dominated by one group of people is a good thing.

Anyway, the career counselling was a bit of a dead loss. I had to fill in a questionnaire which categorised interests and professions in totally nonsensical ways. One category was elevated above all others even though it scored the highest by just one point. Other categories were ignored because I’d given a low score for a completely irrelevant question that just happened to be in that category. So I could forget any job which involves writing because I don’t like dancing, and anything financial was out of the question because I don’t like being on committees. So I was left with seismology, cartography, and feeling very confused. When I got home I felt overwhelmed by how many things I had on my plate. I’ve got to find a new job whilst holding down my current job. I’ve got to find somewhere to live. I’ve got to make some friends. I’ve got to sell all this stuff on TradeMe. I’ll be starting Italian classes next week. I’ve got the Bastille Day party with the French club this weekend and I was probably expected to organise something for it but I’ve ignored all emails about it because there’s no way I’d find the time. I need to exercise. My level of tennis deteriorated last season and I’d like to get better again. I need to watch what I eat because my cholesterol level is so high. I need to make sure I have a supply of pills. I’m learning how to play poker. I create word and number puzzles and have a website dedicated to them, which I’ve totally neglected over the past six months – in fact when I mentioned this the career counsellor, she gave me a lot of encouragement to get back into my puzzles again, so seeing her wasn’t a complete waste of time and money after all. A puzzle shop has just opened up in Devonport and even though it deals in mechanical puzzles rather than paper-based ones, I feel I should make contact with the owners.

I realised two things on Monday. First, I need to forget about the house thing for a while. When I looked at that place on Saturday I was going through the motions, and you can’t go half-arsed into the most important purchase of your life. Buying a house isn’t priority A. Or B, or C. So I should flag it, and maybe get some nice homely things for my flat after all. Secondly, I must stop playing online poker. I’ve promised myself not to touch it for two months. On the face of it, what I’ve been doing is harmless because it hasn’t cost me a cent, and could potentially make me money, but it takes up so much time which I simply haven’t got. Last week for instance I spent eleven hours on two tournaments alone. The tournament format just isn’t conducive to living a normal life. When the phone rings you have three options: (1) answer it and fold every hand until you finish the conversation; (2) answer it and carry on playing; or (3) ignore it. I’ve been doing a mixture of (2) and (3). Some people play insane amounts of online poker, saying they “12-table 14 hours a day” and so on. How do they do that without going completely loopy? How do they eat, sleep, exercise, buy food, talk to their loved ones, have anything resembling a life? The same goes for any online activity. Some people are constantly on TradeMe, Youtube, Facebook, MySpace, Twitter, Twatter, and all kinds of other forums and social networking sites that I don’t even know about. How do they manage? I’m beginning to realise that internet addiction can be a real problem.

Yesterday was a bad day. I was depressed and able to think of just one thing – my depression. Seeing the psychologist after work helped, and going to the men’s group last night was a huge help. I think lack of human contact is the root of my problems. At the men’s group we watched the second half of Eagle Eye. Andy made the very good point that even though that kind of film could be disturbing to some people, we should treat those with mental health problems just like anyone else. Today I’m feeling marginally better than yesterday, but I’m still struggling. It’s only a matter of time before I’ll need to up my Efexor to 225. Just when I thought I was getting better, suddenly it’s all gone Pete Tong again.

Where did it all go wrong?

Talking about my lonely, socially inept childhood and adolescence with the psychologist wasn't fun (it's something I've always just glossed over) but I felt it was necessary. For the next day and a half I felt terrible; on Wednesday my depression affected my performance at work more than on any day since March. During my lunch break on Thursday I saw Andy, and just having someone to talk to made me feel much better. I mentioned to him that I thought I had a mild form of autism; he said I could use that to my advantage by helping people with more severe autism because I'd understand their condition. That's not a bad suggestion when I think about it.
I was fast out of the blocks, academically speaking. To help improve my vocabulary, Mum used a "word tin", which was a matchbox full of words written on small strips of card. The plan was that I'd get a few new words each day, but when I could memorise the whole box in one go, those plans went out the window. I'd label everything in the kitchen. "How do you spell ceiling, Mummy" I'd ask, standing on a chair on the kitchen table. She'd tell me and I'd never forget it. I was fascinated by the "grains of rice on a chessboard" problem and could quickly rattle off powers of two up to probably 131,072.

By the time I started school, my brain age was double my actual age (funnily enough it still is - when I'm trying to learn new things at work I'm like a 60-year-old). I had no idea how to make friends with other kids but I didn't care. I had a loving family and thankfully still do. Mum was a part-time teacher, Dad worked at home, I got on (mostly!) with my brother, and I regularly saw my grandparents. In '86 we went to New Zealand for a long holiday, spending endless summer days on the beach at Caroline Bay while Paul Simon's You Can Call Me Al played on the radio - that song always brings back fond memories for me.

I did eventually make some friends, but three changes of school (including a term at a provincial school in New Zealand, which was an experience) didn't help. At the age of thirteen, I became deeply aware of what others thought of me. I suddenly found myself with no friends and no confidence, and things started to go a bit pear-shaped for me.

On Thursday evening I spoke to Mum and Dad on the phone - apparently things have kicked off again in the UK between my aunt and my 87-year-old grandmother. My aunt has a serious drink problem and suffers from severe depression, but at the same time is self-obsessed and extremely manipulative. She's unfortunately the only family my gran has over there, and she has the capacity to make the last few years of my gran's life an absolute misery. Dad will be making a trip to the UK fairly soon, and was trying to persuade my gran to come back to New Zealand with him. It's all so sad that it's got to this point.

I was playing poker (a deuce-to-seven freeroll) while I was having this conversation. I'm hopeless at multi-tasking, so it's no surprise I lost over half my stack (when I think about it, being on the phone probably made no difference). It was a funny tournament for me, though the ending wasn't so funny because I finished 61st, just five places outside the qualifying spots. I lost two huge pots with eights; I need to learn to fold eights occasionally, just like I can fold strong badugis. I kept bouncing back but towards the end I simply missed all my draws.

I went to bed far too late after that tournament, and I had to get up even earlier than usual because it was a special day at work. Once a month the company raises money for kids' charities (which is laudable, but I do wonder how much they really care about kids and how much is just a PR stunt). Somehow I made it to work on time, and though I'm out of my element on special days like that, it could have been a whole lot worse. I even bought a CD of OMC's How Bizarre for 50 cents from a mock garage sale.

Brendan was very helpful today when we looked at an open home in Browns Bay; he knows a lot more about real estate than I do. To be honest though, I'm not all that motivated. I'll still go to the auction next weekend (why is it that every house I look at is sold by auction?) though I doubt I'll be buying.

I'll be taking Monday off from work to sort my life out. I'll be meeting up with Andy for a coffee in the morning; that's something to look forward to.

Late night

Last night was a very late one for me. For most people, a late night normally involves alcohol, parties and other people, but my late night was spent in front of the computer and the TV. I played a single draw freeroll, making it through to the money round from that tournament at my fourth attempt, and watched the women's Wimbledon final which finished at around three.

There are a lot of clueless players in the early stages of a freeroll, and this one was no exception. Some of them were clearly trying to make flushes and full houses. On one occasion I made a nine and thought long and hard before calling a biggish raise. He/she showed down something like A8652, presumably thinking aces were low. I got frustrated as I kept missing my draws, but eventually the cards went my way and I made the top 56 with something to spare. As soon as I'd qualified, I just went all in so I could bust out and watch the tennis.

Unfortunately I correctly picked Serena to win (I've always preferred Venus over her sister) and she didn't even need three sets, though she did need a large helping of good fortune to make it to the final in the first place. The dominance on serve last night wasn't unlike a men's match: we didn't really get those bruising baseline rallies until the very last game. I'd love to watch the men's final tonight but I really do need to get some sleep.

I spent this afternoon at Julie's, helping her move to her apartment in Cheltenham. I felt good after all that heavy lifting; I could benefit from doing physical work now and again.

Yesterday I went to another open home. I quite liked what I saw but once again it's being sold at auction, and I'm not sure I should be making that sort of commitment just yet.

Sixty-six grand

I attended the house auction on Saturday, and once more I found myself priced out of the market. The bidding skyrocketed, finishing a whopping $66,000 above my limit. There was predictably a lot of patter from the auctioneer - "you won't want to come second" - but it seemed to me precisely the kind of auction you would want to come second in. To my mind the eventual buyers paid too much. I had an agent on my shoulder during the auction - I found that intimidating and it's something I'll have to avoid if I ever try and buy a property that way again. The highlight for me was a ginger-haired boy of around seven who defused the tension in the auction room by shouting out a rather high bid. The auctioneer didn't accept his bid, but I found it amusing that the final sale price was $1000 above that kid's figure.

I got caught up in a marathon badugi tournament on Sunday - after almost six and a half hours I finally bowed out in 39th place out of 6700 competitors, enough to qualify me for a real-money
tournament which I can play at any time. It was a steady but unspectactular accumulation of chips for me until the fifth hour, when three hands in quick succession defined my tournament. When my seven-high badugi was cracked by a five I was in dire chip trouble, so when I was dealt a jack badugi soon after, I had no real choice but to go all in. My hand was only a 57% favourite against my sole opponent who drew one, but thankfully it held up. A few hands later I caught a six-high to take out a sizeable pot, and figured I'd have just enough chips to make the crucial top 64 if I played conservatively enough. With steadily increasing blinds, "just enough" is more than you think. I was moved to another table and from then on the game became farcical. The biggest stack in the whole tournament was at my table - he/she would raise every hand so I had no option but to fold, as did pretty much the whole table, every hand. Hands were going by so quickly that there was a real danger I'd be blinded out, so I slowed the game down. When the field was whittled down to 64 I was relieved, though I did wonder if it was all worth it.

I got to work early this morning in readiness for my 8:30 presentation, only to find out I'd got the date wrong by two weeks. That just goes to show how disorganised and "out of the loop" I am in my workplace. Though it would have been nice to get it out of the way, on balance I'm relieved because I'd have had no choice but to use decidedly dodgy data. I doubt by the 23rd I'll have any more idea of what I'm talking about, but at least by then I might be talking bollocks about real data.

I've had some interesting conversations at work in recent days. Firstly there's Pam, the cleaner, who's obsessed with her kids' tennis. Telling her that I play tennis was a big mistake - she never stops talking about the latest trophies her three boys have won. Then yesterday I spoke, for the first time, to this woman who's writing a sci-fi trilogy. I have a lot of admiration for anyone able to write a book, but when she said she'd written the first book of the series in just six weeks - whilst holding down a nine-to-five job - I was blown away. And today I met someone who'd bought some shares in an Australian oil and gas company for five cents apiece a few weeks ago; they're now worth seven times that.

I'm still seeing the psychologist. I'm now getting on pretty well with her and we're even starting to develop plans and goals. Long may that continue.