Welcome to summer!

What a marvellous weekend of weather we've had. So Wellington does get a summer after all. Not every year obviously, but I shouldn't complain.

I'd like to think I made the most of the sunshine. Yesterday I went tramping; we set off from the club just before 7:30 (I took my car) to do the Wainuiomata Catchment walk through an area of bushland that is normally human-free. The park ranger met us at the entrance and gave us a guided tour of Drummond Ridge and Skull Gully (a name that conjures up vivid images and also made me wonder where the word "skul(l)duggery" came from). The ranger pointed out fauna and flora along the way, although there isn't much fauna and that's by design. Last August they did an aerial drop of 1080 poison, they have lines of stoat and possum traps at regular intervals, although they do have a population of wild pigs, hence when they find a trapped possum they often find only its head. He was an expert on matters ecological; intervening in ecosystems is such a fine balancing act - by solving one problem you can so often create another. The trip lasted seven hours, although we did take fairly regular breaks. To be out in the open air for that length of time, and to get moderately heavy exercise, did me the power of good (thankfully we only got dappled sunlight so didn't get too hot). I can still feel those endorphins now. I'll put up some photos in my next post.

I hadn't been home long from the tramp when I went over to my cousin's place for a barbecue. She's off to America on business next week - again. Her three boys are such a nice bunch of kids.

This afternoon I had a swim in the sea, for the first time since I've lived in Wellington. I swam at Seatoun; I'd hardly call the water warm but (unusually for me) I went straight in.

I tried to listen to the womens' tennis final but I fell asleep early in the second set. When I woke up Azarenka had just completed her comeback to beat the unlucky Li Na. I couldn't believe some of the negative comments that were made following what was quite a dramatic three-set match. I'm sure much of the negativity was due to the result - Azarenka got a bad rap for that time-out she took towards the end of her semi-final. Some people had this to say: "What a shocking match: 16 service breaks!" I didn't understand that. How does a lack of service breaks imply a high-quality match? All it means is high quality of serve.

The men's semis were both enthralling in their own ways. Djokovic's demolition of Ferrer recalled Federer's dismantling of Roddick in the 2007 semis. I watched that match six years ago - in which Federer looked like he could just about walk on water - and by all accounts Djokovic flicked the switch over to god mode on Thursday. Andy Murray's victory over Federer was much tougher, but when I had a look at the stats, it seemed Murray was the better player by some margin and Federer did well to take the match to five.

As for the men's final, it's a tough one to pick. I make Djokovic a slight (maybe 55:45) favourite; I'll go for a four-set win for Djokovic, 6-4 7-6 2-6 6-3. Overall it's been an interesting tournament that has raised a number of issues, not least the question of equal prize money for men and women. I'll try and explore one or two of these issues in my next entry.

The decision from hell

First things first, it would be really nice to put paragraphs in this post. I'll leave it up to you to put them in, like this: ***New paragraph*** When I decided eventually to accept the job, I was only one week older than I was when I got the offer. I felt like I'd aged ten years. If I knew the job application process would provoke so much anxiety in me, I never would have applied in the first place. I was offered the job six weeks after the interview for Pete's sake! During that time I was drip-fed information which I tried my hardest to ignore. It was just like a Lotto draw, except one ball is drawn per week, and if you win you get to swim with sharks. Handcuffed. The Asperger's group last Saturday was particularly tough for me. I've met some wonderful people at the group and have made stronger connections there than I ever did in 5½ years at my last "big" job. I arrived early to make the most of possibly my last session. The first person I met was Chris, someone I've talked to a fair bit over the last year. He never seems happy but he's got a good heart and is someone who (if I could spend some extended time with him) I think I could help. By Saturday I still hadn't signed anything and my decision lay in the balance. I talked to one of the facilitators at the group - a warm, kind, gentle person who recognised how hard my decision was. I've build up a framework of support in Auckland; by accepting the job in Wellington I was about to destroy it. On Saturday night, as I lay in bed at half-past two struggling to cope, I thought to myself, nobody is forcing me to take this job. At 9am on Monday I'll get straight on the phone, ring that bloody 04 number, turn the job down and I'll be a blissfully free man. And on that thought I drifted off to sleep. On Sunday I had a swim in the sea; a dog came up to me as was lying on the beach and I thought how great that was. This is what life should be about, surely, not board meetings or exams. I had the same feeling as I bagged some feijoas from the tree outside Autism House. Before I came to Auckland I didn't even know what a feijoa was but I've since come to like them. That evening I talked to some more people and if any one of them had told me definitively not to take the job, that would have made my mind up. But after talking to my cousin who lives in Wellington, I thought more about the current job market and having to move out of my flat come what may. I made the decision at 1pm on Monday after talking to my current boss. He couldn't guarantee a timeframe, and that was that. I popped outside for lunch, not happy with my decision. I bumped into Chris from the group - he was crossing the road dangerously and I had no choice but to do the same if I was to catch him. I got his cell phone number. I'd made my decision but wasn't at all happy with it. According to Monday morning's weather forecast, the issue wasn't whether it would rain later in the day, but how much. So at least I wouldn't have to worry about tennis at six o'clock. Except it didn't rain. Oh god. If I had to write down the top fifty things I wanted to do that evening, tennis wouldn't have made the list. Considering how terrible I felt, I played remarkably well in our doubles match. Of course at sevenish it absolutely tipped it down. We should have called an end to proceedings earlier; we ended up stranded at - from our point of view - 7-6 (7-1), 5-7. We're scheduled to complete the match (which is meant to be decided on a souped-up tie-break rather than a third set) as well as the singles (where that crazy tie-break rule doesn't apply) this Wednesday. Last Wednesday we had the men's depression group. Another big positive in my life, hence it was another flashpoint for me. I still wasn't happy with my decision, and the consensus among the group was "what are you doing man?!" Yesterday I went tenpin bowling in Newmarket with some people from the Asperger's group. Well about a dozen people actually. The place needed a bit of a makeover I thought. It was full of Engrish signs (am I being racist? - I hope not), such as "Please keep your figure out of the ball machine." At the weekends you can play two games for $13, but if you're under five (and therefore can't hold the ball) you get two games for the amazing low price of $11! The last time I went bowling was in Peterborough in 2003 (I went once a week then) and I swear the music playing yesterday came from exactly the same tape. When I played regularly I was consistent but unspectacular. Yesterday I was inconsistent and unspectacular. I found the afternoon quite stressful with all the noise and someone always wanting to talk to me about something when I was quite happy not to talk about anything. I successfully avoided any mention of the two W-words: work and Wellington. Adding to my stress levels, I had to pick up and drop off Graham who lives in Albany. We got lost twice; I felt knackered and like a right muppet. I'm now looking forward to exploring Wellington - of all my fears (and there were and still are plenty) the city itself isn't one of them.

Jumping in

Yesterday I had an enjoyable day at the Heineken Open tennis. The big names weren't there - the top four seeds, who all hail from Spain, get a bye through to round two and don't play until Wednesday. But that didn't matter. I decided not to watch the first match on Centre Court, instead seeing my fellow Pom Daniel Evans play his final qualifying round match against someone called Wang from Taipei. I made the right decision too; it was a very good match which Evans won in three tight sets. I felt sorry for the players who had to contend with Centre Court's ridiculously loud PA system, the announcer mispronouncing the players' names and getting all the countries wrong at full volume. "Turn it up a bit," Evans said as he faced a big point in the third set. It would have driven me potty too. I then moved to the main court see the two wild-card Kiwis who happened to draw each other in round one. Rubin Statham ran out a well-deserved winner against his higher-ranked opponent Dan King-Turner, playing like a man possessed to reel off the last four games. The rest of the day's play didn't quite live up to the earlier action but I stayed till the end regardless.

After six years of living close to the sea I've finally figured out how to get in it. In the past I'd gradually ease my way in on tiptoes with my arms outstretched above me. This works fine until the water reaches my nuts and I start to wince. Once I'm over that hurdle I'm OK again until it reaches my chest. Finally, after all that agony, I'm in. At the weekend I changed my strategy completely, deciding to run in making as big a splash as possible. It turns out that's a far less painful method.

On Saturday I popped round to see Brendan. He's reorganised his living area again; he now has two TV rooms, labelled Cinema One and Cinema Two, complete with viewing schedules neatly set out using the 24-hour clock. Talking of clocks, he has dozens of them. And that's not all. He has precisely nine telephones, a calendar for every month of the year (all with pictures of naked men - he is gay after all) and every kind of calculator known to man including a novelty foot-high one and a retro one that prints out receipts. Hanging on his wall is a seemingly innocuous photo of a rugby team, but it turns out it's a Where's Wally-type picture, except the object isn't to find Wally but willy. I could go on, but I won't. I'm sure you'd only need to spend five minutes in my flat to have a jolly good laugh.

I've finished all my Joe Bennett. He has a remarkable knack with words; he even managed to get the words "rootling" and "fossicking" in the same short story. I'll have to get hold more of his fine work soon.

After 7000 hands of limit hold 'em at the lowest stakes, over two months, I plucked up the courage on Sunday to move up to the nosebleed nickel-and-dime level. Though I was well ahead, in big bet terms at least, I bemoaned my lack of monster hands. My best hand had been four fives, until Sunday evening when this happened:



Of course thousands of players catch royal flushes every day, and they make little difference to your overall win rate, but it's still nice to have hit the poker equivalent of a hole-in-one. After being stuck in a holding pattern around the $30 mark, my bankroll has now nudged over $40.

Tonight I'll be seeing my counsellor/psychologist and going to the men's group shortly after.