Battles with my phone

It's been an uneventful week. I'm still grappling with my smart phone. The touch-the-screen-and-things-happen facility is both a blessing and a curse. Mostly a curse. Literally. One time I accidentally activated a function whereby anything you say is displayed on the screen. Before I knew what I'd even pressed, "oh f*** off" appeared, asterisks and all. I never felt the need to swear at my dumb phone. And I only had to charge it twice a week. I can't imagine booking flights on my smart phone or anything clever like that. Way too fiddly. Apparently you can download an app for that, but it's not like I book flights every day. On the other hand it's great to know that I have a camera in the exact same place as I have my alarm clock. And if I wanted to see who's updated their Facebook status I could do that too, in the exact same place. If I was actually on Facebook, that is.

Ever since social media became really big I've been trying to figure out why I haven't engaged in it. It's not as if I've made any big conscious decision to disengage in it; I've just never been drawn to it at all. And it's not like I feel smug about not wanting to go anywhere near Facebook and the like. On the contrary, I wonder what's wrong with me. I think I've finally figured it out. I'm interested in people. I care about people. In some cases, I care about them a lot. But I care about them on a purely individual basis. If I connect with people, I prefer to do so individually, not a dozen or more at a time. I've rarely felt part of a group or team. Of course I do spew out this blog to many thousands of people (!), but I think of all my followers as individuals rather than one big group. So that's what's wrong with me, or different at the very least.

My brother's ex wrote and shared a lot of pretty nasty stuff about him on Facebook, which she later deleted. So that's another reason to avoid it. I got a text from my brother last week; there was a lot of anti-NZ sentiment there. Mum and Dad hope that he joins the army again on his return to England. I have mixed feelings about this. No question, being an elite soldier is what he's good at. I'm very proud of him, and a little envious because I've never shown anything like the same level of competence in any of my roles. I'm sure he'll slot right back into his army position if he rejoins, and he'll do an exceptional job. But it's the whole war thing I have a problem with. He put his life squarely on the line three times, and for me that's enough, especially because one of those times was (as far as I could see) a result of a complete fabrication by various politicians.

I attended the Anzac Day service at the National War Memorial which is almost literally right on my doorstep. All the road works (building the new Memorial Park in time for the 100th anniversary of Gallipoli in two years) and repairs to the bell tower detracted a bit from the ceremony. Still it's important that we remember, and it has some extra significance for me due to what I said in the previous paragraph. It's interesting that Anzac Day has in some ways overtaken Waitangi Day (or Bob Marley Day as I call it) as our national day. I can see people want to get away from the divisiveness we see on Waitangi Day, but in recent years going to Anzac Day parades - even getting up at five o'clock to go to dawn services - has for some reason become fashionable.

I saw this article in the Dom Post on Monday about the Wellington region's economy compares to that of Auckland and Christchurch. It gave some statistics about Wellington, presenting them under the headings "good", "bad" and "ugly". In the "bad" section it gave three pieces of information:
1. House prices in Wellington haven't gone up recently like they have in Auckland and Christchurch.
2. Wellington, with its large public sector workforce, has one of the least diverse business sectors. Only Nelson is ranked worse.
3.  Business units: Business size growth in Wellington since 2002 is below national average.

Right, number two I agree with. That's not good. But why are ever-increasing house prices a good thing? And why is bigger business necessarily better? Somebody please explain.

Soggy birthday

Today has been quite a soggy 33rd birthday for me. The depression group organised an outing to Somes Island. When I poked my head outside this morning I was sure it would be called off. I texted the organiser who assured me it was still on, so I boarded the 10am ferry with the six others who hadn't totally given up on the day. The rain eased off a bit and we spent an interesting 2½ hours on the island. Most of the wildlife we'd been promised didn't materialise - I think the weather had a hand in that - but the island had more of a history than I'd imagined. Heavy anti-aircraft guns were installed during World War Two. Thankfully they were never fired. Perhaps I'm easily impressed, but building guns all those years ago that could reach and hit planes flying at 30,000-plus feet sounds impressive to me. I suppose so many resources were poured into that sort of technology back then that it advanced at a rate of knots. We had a good look around the rather creepy animal quarantine station which was still in use as recently as 1995; we thought it would be a good setting for a horror movie. Just before we left the island it started tipping it down; it's continued to do so since then with no end in sight. Still, we're overdue a good downpour after a very dry summer and early autumn.

Not many people know it's my birthday. I did tell people at work, and of course I was asked what I had planned for my big day. The last time I had anything approaching a party was eleven years ago (I can't believe it's that long) when I was in the middle of studying for my final exams at Birmingham. Like today my birthday fell on a Saturday and we ended up at some god-awful bar where you could only communicate via hand signals. Eleven years before that, on yet another Saturday, I played in a tennis tournament in Bedford. I've experienced the whole gamut of birthday weather and on that day we got light snow. If memory serves I somehow played four matches that day in between the wintry showers (while Mum sat in the car - I didn't like her watching), winning two and losing two. Eleven years before that was a Sunday, and I don't remember anything of that day at all, which is just as well.

Continuing the "old people" theme on this blog, the world's oldest living man (from Japan) turned 116 yesterday. When I shook hands with that 102-year-old chap at Julie's rest home it felt like I was shaking hands with history. Add another fourteen years and just, wow. He's also the oldest living person (it's rare that a man holds that title), the first ever man to reach 116, and the only living man to be born in 18-something. Seeing him on the news tonight he's starting to look his age, although it's hard to say what someone of that age should look like.

Would rather stay dumb

Today I bought a smart phone online for $285. It's an LG model with one of the later Android versions, and a 4.3-inch screen, but only one core. I figured that the point of a dual core (as I understand it) is to enable your phone to do two things at once, but I'm unlikely to need that capability and I'd rather have a slightly bigger screen instead. If it wasn't for my "business" reason to have a smart phone I wouldn't have bothered. This graphic neatly sums up my take on the comparison between smart phones and dumb phones:

That image was created by Islandia Geomatics, and the only inaccuracy (for me) is that I use both hands to text, even on my dumb phone. When my toy arrives in the mail, perhaps I'll be converted, but I doubt it. I've already got a phone. And a laptop. And an iPod. And a camera. And a calculator. And a watch. I've even got a GPS thingy for my car which I rarely use.

I've just finished my third Nick Hornby book in a row (this one was called Juliet, Naked). It took me longer to read than the other two combined, and it didn't do it for me like the others did. It was still very well written but I didn't like the characters I felt I was supposed to like (and vice-versa) so somehow it didn't draw me in. Probably I'd have liked it more if my expectations hadn't been raised by How to Be Good and High Fidelity. Hornby is an excellent writer, no doubt about that, but I've got one minor criticism of him: he overuses the word "pathetic". That happens to be a word Mum uses a fair bit too.

Margaret Thatcher's death has sparked wild celebrations in some parts of the UK. Some of those people don't even know (or care) why they're celebrating; they just want to cause trouble. As a certain Mr Hornby might say, pathetic.

My brother has made a surprise (but sensible) change of plan: he now expects to stay in NZ until November.

Out with the old

I had a hard time concentrating yesterday afternoon. Realising I have very few real friends can do that to me. I suppose Julie is the only real friend I have here in Wellington, and she made it pretty clear on Tuesday that she wanted to die.

I still think I struggle to make friends because I can't do that "interplay" thing. I know it when I see it, but I can't really define it and I certainly can't reproduce it. Maybe the real reason isn't that, and it's actually because I'm boring or selfish or both.

At least yesterday was Friday. For a lady in the so-called quality team, it was her last day. She turns seventy in two weeks, making her three times as old as many of her colleagues. They'd arranged a morning tea to celebrate the big seven-oh (how often do you get to celebrate that milestone at work?) but things happened quickly. I have first-hand experience of just how quickly things can "progress". She'd been there 7½ years, getting paid very poorly, but a new boss and some new systems led to her demise. Her leaving date kept being brought forward and in the end she just wanted out. An email was sent, implying that she'd jumped, but everyone knew that wasn't the case. So instead of a birthday morning tea she got a leaving one, which was quite substantial - the amount of food provided is mostly a function of how long you've been there rather than seniority. Her boss, who would normally give some short speech, didn't say a word.
Her husband died some time ago, and under the law at the time his family got everything while she got nothing, hence why she was still working at that age. She's also had cancer. Some people have it tough.

Old people have been a feature of my recent blog posts. I've always had a lot of respect for older people and tend to get on reasonably well with them. That's probably because there isn't the same expectation - and pressure - that I feel when talking to people of my own age. When the other person is of a vastly different age to me (older or younger), the "interplay" thing is no longer as important. I've always thought it shocking how the elderly are treated in Western cultures - they often have a lot of valuable experience that for some reason is deemed to be irrelevant. To show you what I mean about valuable experience, watch this video of Felix Baumgartner's record-breaking jump from last October. It's an amazing, goosebump-inducing, video anyway, but what puts the icing on the cake for me is Joe Kittinger, directing operations from Mission Control 24 miles below. Kittinger was the previous record-holder: he jumped from 19 miles way back in 1960, and here he is at the age of 84 directing proceedings, ticking off items from a checklist. His "Attaboy" and "Your guardian angel will take care of ya" made the moments before Baumgartner's big leap quite moving.

Margaret Thatcher's funeral is expected to cost £10 million. Yes, she was a hugely influential leader, and I think that anybody's funeral should be a big deal, but ten million pounds? It's incredible how much some things cost. The price tag to earthquake-strengthen my work building is $35 million. The cost of refitting a nearby café, just so it can serve coffee, is $4 million (my cousin and I talked about this - she didn't think that was a lot). It's always interesting to talk money with my cousin; her dollars and my dollars aren't really the same currency. She recognises that too, and she's also aware that it rubs off onto the kids. When I last visited they gave their eldest boy $2 (he'd lost another tooth) and the shiny coin meant more to me than to him. If he wants something, he knows they can just buy it for him.

I had lunch with Tracy on Thursday. I think I realise now that she'll always just be a sort-of-friend with whom I spend one lunchtime every second month or so. We met at the food court, as usual, and all her complex (but very real) food allergies gave us an obvious starting point for our conversation. We do have quite a lot in common, but I'd say she's got a lot more self-confidence than me. With her it's a case of "I've got Asperger's, I'm happy with that, and all you crazy neurotypical people can do what you like." With me it's "I may or may not have Asperger's, I'd rather not know, but whatever I've got I'm not particularly proud of." Being at peace with herself meant she could appreciate the small things like the seagulls (we sat out in the warm sun) and I wish I could do that more. Most of our conversation revolved around her, or at least things that were common to both of us; we only briefly touched on anything specific to me. It would be unfair to call her self-centred; she does a lot of volunteer work. It would be safest to call her a complex character.

Iron lady (and some others)

Margaret Thatcher has died. She was Prime Minister for all my early childhood. I was too young to have any real opinion of her; she was just someone I saw on the telly a lot. She certainly polarised people: some (like my grandmother) thought she was Britain's saviour; others demonised her. If I'd been old enough to know and care what she was doing, I don't think I'd have been a fan. Yes she did make Britain a better place for some. Our family were perhaps some of the lucky ones. In the mid-to-late eighties Dad's paintings were practically flying out the door.

One thing's for sure: the Iron Lady was clever. For the big announcement that the Channel Tunnel project would be going ahead, she was called upon to deliver a speech in French. The snag: she couldn't speak a word of the language. No problem, someone gave her a quick crash course at Downing Street just before she hopped across the Channel. When she came to make the speech, she still didn't know what she was saying (she was just making noises according to some pronunciation guide) but those noises somehow combined to produce passable French.

Last night we had a special "games night" at the autism group. Tracy brought along a selection of games; the one we played was a collaborative game (a good idea, and something I'd never tried before) in which the object was to rescue people from a burning house. It featured an octahedral dice - I'd always wanted to play a game involving dice with more (or fewer) than six sides. We "won" the game by the skin of our teeth. The "house" was single-storey; when we finished I said it was crying out for another floor or two. Tracy said you can purchase an extension that provides just that. I was really pleased with the way Danielle seemed to come into her own as we played - she got to grips with the rules faster than I did. That's what's so great about a board game - everyone gets to participate more or less equally. That's far from what happens when people just talk.

I saw Julie tonight as I usually do on a Tuesday. I haven't seen her express this level of complete and utter hopelessness before. The only potential bright spot is that she should be moving out of the rest home soon.

Bouncing back (I hope)

This week I've been feeling stressed, anxious, depressed, the lot. I can't quite put my finger on why. There might be several whys. Sometimes there doesn't have to be a why at all. It hasn't been much fun feeling hopelessly inadequate, not sleeping well (that's a problem I haven't had in ages), and being even more obsessive about the passing of time than I normally am. There's been a lot of news - the plane crash that killed the 2 Degrees boss and his wife; Jesse Ryder; North Korea; Nelson Mandela; the new Chinese leader; and the George Taiaroa murder (that was absolutely terrible), but I've been too introspective to pay much attention to it and I feel bad because of that.

My uncle - Mum's third brother who's 69 - has been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. He smoked up until a few years ago. He's lived in South Canterbury all his life and knows people from childhood. I've seen him on a fairly regular basis, most times I've gone down south, but I've never got to know him that well. I've never felt we've got much in common. He's quite a complex character I think. He's been married three times and has seemed quite bitter ever since his second wife pretty much took him to the cleaners. I guess we're all terminal, but this has happened so suddenly (the news I mean, not the cancer which has probably been around for some time) that it's a real shock to Mum's family. My uncle is a very private person and although I haven't named him and hardly anyone reads this blog anyway, he'd probably shoot me if he knew I'd written this paragraph.

On Tuesday I saw Julie at the rest home. The place is run by the Catholic church (she isn't a Catholic herself but most of the inmates are) and you get the impression they're nearly all waiting for God. I think you can become institutionalised, and subservient, very quickly in a place like that. Julie plans to move out of the home later this month, into a flat that someone has hooked up for her. I've lost track of the number of times she's moved. She had some extremely dark thoughts when I saw her. I don't expect her next move to lighten her mood but I'd like to be proven wrong.

I was on edge for the rest of the week. By Friday the constant foot traffic behind my desk (to access the nearby loos and canteen) was starting to get to me. That lunchtime I got my hair cut at the cheapest place I know of in town, a barber's with old furniture, run by an old man. I think he recognised me from my previous visits. He asked me what I wanted and I made a bad job of pretending to have some clue. Inevitably when I returned to work, some of my colleagues noticed my chop and wanted to know where I'd got it done. Oh god. Our local CEO has now moved on to bigger and better things within the company, and on Friday afternoon she had her send-off. Lots of anecdotes, lots of jokes, lots of supposedly funny pictures on Powerpoint slides, and lots of wanting to get the hell out of there.

Straight after work on Friday I went round to my cousin's place for an Indian takeaway and a couple of glasses of wine. I don't drink a lot and when I do it's nearly always either with my cousin (her husband doesn't drink) or by myself. My cousin's husband showed me their Kindle. It can store up to 3000 books, and in some ways is better than a book. For instance you can't increase or decrease the font size in a physical book. Don't know what "repudiate" means? Just click on it and it brings up a dictionary entry. It felt like science fiction somehow. (Mum has an e-reader too but I don't think it's as sophisticated. It does however come with a lot of classics already loaded.)

I've so far resisted the temptation to buy a smart phone. Actually that isn't quite true; I haven't needed or wanted one so I haven't bought one. But this puzzle stuff will soon make one a necessity. So what do I get? I know, I'll ask Tom from the autism group. He emailed me screeds of information about phones, and went into all kinds of technical detail that I didn't even try to understand. Apparently it's all about what version of Android you have (Tom says I shouldn't go down the iPhone route) and whether it has a single or dual core. You can even get quadruple cores. I wonder, can you also get Apples with multiple cores? That brings to mind this sketch from the one remaining Ronnie.

Tom came over yesterday. He brought half a roast chicken and helped me with some tech issues, but oh boy. I was feeling anxious anyway and he didn't help. He's got an inquiring mind, which is generally a good thing, but it means he asks lots of questions. Yesterday I could almost physically feel the impact of each one. I had to explain why I wanted to go to America, which was hard because I didn't really know why. At one point he wanted to know if I'd done any home improvements lately. Well not really. I mentioned the chairs that I did with Mum last weekend. I said the stair rail needed painting. He said, yes, it looks really grotty. Thanks. "I can tell you're not interested in doing renovation." Thanks. While I was sorting out lunch he looked at those chairs and picked them up and turned them over. "Why aren't the screws in fully?" They don't go in all the way. Look, you try. They did go in all the way, but there was some good reason why we hadn't fully tightened them which I could no longer remember. Out came his Swiss Army knife and he started tightening the screws. "This one is missing a screw." Yes I know, they came in packs of fifteen, I'll get another one.
I'd had more than enough of Tom by this stage. I asked him how he planned to spend the rest of the day. He got the hint.

As I was walking through Te Aro yesterday, post-Tom, I saw this game of bike polo going on. I'd heard of it, and even Segway polo, but never expected I'd see it in action.

Today I went tramping at Cannon Point. I'd done that trip before, six months ago. Only four of us went today - some people (including Danielle) were put off by the dodgy weather. It did rain a bit, but nowhere near enough to outweigh the benefits of getting out and about when you've been feeling like crap. Even driving there and back seemed to be of benefit, and I now feel like I'm bouncing back from my latest bout of depression. It wasn't a very long walk; it took in the reservoir lake which must have provided most of the Hutt's water supply in the past. On the walk somebody mentioned smart phones and I said I was looking to get one; it was suggested I get the Galaxy Rav 4 or something. Whatever, it was clearly expensive. When I said I didn't want to spend more than $300 I got comments like "but a smart phone is such a useful tool; unless you get a good one you won't appreciate how powerful it is." That's OK if you've got the money.

I heard Hello Old Friend by Eric Clapton on the radio on Friday night. It's just a lovely song, simple as that, and I've been playing it a lot this weekend. For some reason it reminds me of Richard (as it happens he was born the same year that the song came out). I miss Richard. So much is made of where we live, but if you've got friends nearby that hardly matters.

Easter with Mum

Mum flew up to spend Easter with me. We got on pretty well most of the time. She's more accepting and supportive of me than she used to be. She understands my depression a lot better now (John Kirwan's book possibly had a hand in that) and seems to understand me a lot better, so it's no surprise we get on better. She's come to accept that I'm not going to become CEO of a multinational company any time soon, and is hopeful that my puzzle business does take off, improbable though that might be. I'm certainly impressed by her improved level of understanding - to be honest I never expected it. Perhaps everything that's happened to my brother has taken the spotlight off me. She now has just two main worries when it comes to me. The first is money, and I suppose when you take an enormous pay cut you can hardly blame her. The only slightly annoying thing is that she now thinks I'm incapable of paying for anything. The second is relationships. That's understandable too (it's not as if it doesn't bother me) but mentioning it over and over is unlikely to make a girlfriend magically appear. I wish it would.

Mum helped to zazz up my flat a bit. She bought (and shipped up here) two nice woodcut prints which are now hanging on my wall. She also painted my dining chairs, which currently have no table to go with them, and helped screw in the seats. Naturally she did some washing and ironing but I made sure I had no surplus unironed shirts this time. We didn't do much except go on a couple of long walks, go out for two inexpensive meals and generally chat. One of our meals was at a Malaysian restaurant on Manners Street. Even though it was relatively early, we managed to get sandwiched between two tables full of noisy drunk people. I was relieved when we were able to escape. A shame because I enjoyed the food. We did very little shopping over the weekend, which is always nice. (Of course very few shops are open anyway on Friday and Sunday, and long may it remain that way.)

It's amazing to think that Mum will be eligible for a gold card in little more than a year. She's still remarkably fit and healthy. She eats and exercises well but most of her good health is simply the result of good genes (Dad isn't quite so lucky). Yesterday (Easter Sunday) she went to church. In Geraldine the congregation at her Catholic church is dominated by the cauliflower brigade, so called on account of their hair. It's a dreary business most of the time, and it sounds like Mum often goes through the motions. Mum found yesterday's service here in Wellington to be quite uplifting (as it's meant to be), to the point that I wished I'd gone. It was a multicultural affair involving young people with guitars.

I took Mum to the airport at about 5pm yesterday. I was sad to see her go. By the way I was miles off with those sideburn odds. She mentioned them within seconds.

Side(burn) bets

After missing the session a fortnight ago I decided to attend tonight's autism group. I'm glad I did because we had some interesting discussion. I got lucky with the subgroup I ended up in.

On Saturday I went tramping. We ascended Mount Climie, which was a bit of a climbie, to an altitude of 840 metres. The autism group is starting to take over the tramping club: of the seven who did the walk, three of us attend the group (Danielle, Tom who has been to my flat a couple of times, and myself). We were blessed with good weather.

I saw Julie at her rest home on Saturday evening. It was the first time I'd seen her after her shoulder operation. She was in a lot of pain - more than before - and didn't think it would improve. It was sad to see her life reduced to an eight-foot-square "cell", especially as she's still got all her mental faculties. She talked about ending her life; it's hard to know how to respond to that. She was struggling to sleep so I gave her seven sleeping pills (they were prescribed to me years ago but I never took them). She's since taken them all - presumably one at a time - but it probably wasn't a clever idea for me to supply them to her.

This third test between NZ and England has been a great battle which the Kiwis have dominated. They ran the English bowlers ragged earlier today and then held two stunning catches just before stumps. NZ now need "just" six wickets in the final six hours of play tomorrow to secure a shock series win. I hope they do it (I suppose I should have mixed feelings about that, but I don't, probably because NZ were huge underdogs before the series started).
Update: What a match, and what an absorbing last three days. Forget the "tee twenty" crap, this was proper cricket. It was a shame the Kiwis couldn't quite finish England off but both sides performed admirably today. Just when the game appeared to be fizzling out into a slightly tame draw, Kane Williamson popped up with two quick wickets to create a grandstand finish. The NZ team go to England fairly soon - it's a shame they'll only play two tests over there. To me a proper test series needs to be three matches at a minimum. And they're playing the shorter formats after the tests - what's all that about?

Yesterday I saw my cousin and her husband (I attended their wedding three years ago) with their two daughters, the eldest two-and-a-bit, the youngest just six weeks old. They now live in Auckland having returned from an extended OE in London. The puzzle stuff has given me a chink of light on the horizon; that's probably why all that family stuff yesterday was just about bearable for me.

Mum is coming up here on Thursday. My sideburns have got even bushier since she last saw them. If I were a betting man (!) I'd put up odds of 3/1 that she mentions my sideburns within the first five minutes. I'm probably being generous with those odds. I'd give at least 8/1 that she doesn't mention them at all in the time she's here. I'm looking forward to seeing her though.

I spoke to my brother tonight. He's staying with Mum and Dad, just for one night, and will be off in the morning. Until last Christmas I'd never known him to have a sustained period of unhappiness. It's upsetting to see it now. He plans to fly back to the UK, permanently, at his earliest opportunity.

23/3/13

My grandad - Mum's dad - would have been 100 today. He was born on a (very early) Easter Sunday in 1913 and died three months shy of his 90th birthday. He and my grandmother brought up seven kids on their South Canterbury farm. Living on the other side of the world I didn't see a lot of him. He was never much of a talker but he had a quick mind and a keen sense of humour.

In the late eighties Grandad had a car accident and never got behind the wheel again. In 1989 we landed in Auckland to begin our six-month stay in NZ. Grandad had bowel cancer and we thought he might be gone by the time we'd made our way down the country. When we got to Temuka he was skeletal. But somehow he made a full recovery. In late 1990 he and my grandmother flew out to the UK; they stayed with us for about a month. My gran had flown to England a few times but he'd hardly been out of Canterbury before. His first experience of an escalator was on the London underground. They even did a tour of Ireland, which I think was a bridge too far for him, but he was in tears when he said goodbye to us on leaving the UK.

My gran used to nag at him constantly and I could never understand why. Mostly he'd just be sitting in his chair minding his own business. He rode his bike well into old age - he'd often cycle to the library and take out a bunch of large-print books. He read them at lightning speed but whether he actually read them I don't know. I'm sure I caught him turning over multiple pages at once. I think the books were mostly a means of escape from his wife.

My grandad was part of the last generation to live what you might call a simple life. They didn't have a lot by our standards, but relative to their expectations they had plenty, and seemed to be happier as a result. Grandad's life revolved around his garden, the church and his friends. He'd often have his mates (or "cobbers") over for a game of cards: either euchre or crib. He had dozens of grubby, sticky packs of cards in the house; people wondered if he cheated by licking them. The last time I saw him was in 1997 when I must have played hundreds of games of crib with him during our month-long stay. It was a game rich in jargon; here are a few examples (some of which might have been Grandad-specific):

• "What Paddy shot at" - nothing, i.e. a score of zero
• "I've got the smell of ya" - I'm catching you up
• "Gooo" - Grandad's pronunciation of "go"
• Fifteen-two..."and the rest won't do"
• Fifteen-four..."and the rest won't score"
• Fifteen-six..."and the rest won't mix"
  ...and many more. A lot of his sayings were simply words that rhymed with the previous thing anybody said.

On the morning of our departure back to the UK in '97 we had to leave early. But not before he'd played a final game of crib with me. I won that game so we had to play again. He won the second game, we left minutes later, and that was the last I ever saw of him.

Auckland report

I'm trying to sell my old washing machine on Trade Me. Someone just came round to look at it. I wish I'd chucked in a few complimentary shirts. I counted all my shirts - I've got seventeen. Holy hell. Nobody needs that many shirts. I certainly don't.

Selling stuff on Trade Me isn't that easy. I was put off in 2009 when I sold some of Julie's furniture items on there. One of the buyers (who was Chinese) was angry because the table wasn't real mahogany and he retaliated by stealing Julie's dog. The police were brought in and she got her dog back. This time I haven't had any such dramas (yet) but trying to communicate with people before they buy can cause difficulties. Trade Me don't let you give out your phone number, so people resort to writing their number in words. Last night I wondered, do I put "oh" or "zero"? Before I came to New Zealand I'd have read a number like 364-0077 as "three six four double-oh double-seven" without even thinking about it. In fact I still do, but I hear a lot of people (mostly younger ones) saying "... zero zero seven seven". It sounded really strange the first time I heard it, and still sounds a bit clumsy now, though I don't know why. As for "nought", which you'd hear in the UK in a variety of situations (but not phone numbers or temperatures), well I rarely hear that in NZ.

I got back from Auckland on Sunday night. The North Island's remarkable run of dry weather came to a screeching halt that morning – I got well and truly soaked as I attempted to get some kind of breakfast. At 10am I checked out of my motel, walked the short distance to Remuera train station, put $3.40 in the machine and it spat out a ticket. I waited under cover for my train into town. Being Sunday I realised it might be a while until the next train so I had a look at the timetable but couldn’t see any times anywhere. This was weird, but being Auckland public transport I didn’t think much of it. Then I had another look and saw a big “NO TRAINS TODAY” sign in place of the usual timetable. So why do you sell me a bloody train ticket? They had a replacement bus around the corner. My train ticket was still valid, thankfully, but I’m not a big fan of Auckland Transport. On Friday I tried to buy a day pass but you couldn’t do so via the machine and there were no staff around so I bought a seven-buck single ticket to Papakura to see Bazza. He suggested I make a ticketless return, which is what I did, and nobody checked.

Bazza hasn't changed much. He’s made a fine job of his small section with a pleasant selection of flowers and fruit trees, but the inside isn't somewhere I'd want to stay for long. His large flat-screen TV is clearly the focal point of his lounge - he probably watches six hours of telly a day, mainly Sky Sports and the History Channel. We watched the cricket while I was there; he talked pretty much the whole time. He offered me some leftover sushi. I ate it but was unsure of its age. "Did you buy that yesterday?" I asked. "Today." Look Bazza, if you're going to lie, you could at least lie plausibly. I then needed the loo. The sit-down sort. He has carpet wedged in such a way that the loo door is permanently open. I guess he rarely has anyone over so it hardly ever matters. If I was really determined I could perhaps have repositioned the carpet to facilitate door closure, but I took my chance on a numéro deux en plein air. There's a TV ad with the slogan "what does your loo say about you?" In Bazza's case it's quite a lot. On top of the loo were a dozen or so loo rolls, all of the ultra-budget variety, and many of them half-finished. He had a similar habit with toothpaste: there were part-used tubes everywhere. For all his unusual habits, it was good to catch up with someone I got to know over seven years and many tennis matches. I even invited him to stay with me in Wellington.

On Saturday morning I met my aunt, uncle (Mum's youngest brother) and 16-year-old cousin who is now six feet tall, towering above his dad. The two blokes had just done a bike time trial; my cousin was clad in Lycra. Although I don't have a lot in common with my aunt and uncle (he worked at the same company as me for a while in Auckland), they seemed more relaxed than they used to be. It was nice to see them again.

I then met one of the facilitators for lunch (she picked me up in her Smart car which you don't see too many of in NZ) and then it was on to the monthly autism group. An excellent meeting I thought. I counted 23 in attendance. To begin the session we sat in a circle to talk in turn about a topic. This month's topic was music: we had to talk about our favourite singer or band. The bloke next to me started. I couldn't think of what to say: I like all kinds of music but don't have a favourite as such. Luckily they went round in the opposite direction to me, meaning I would go last. I got my iPod out for inspiration and only got as far as B in the list before choosing Bob Marley. Nobody else picked him or the reggae genre so I was OK with that. One bloke attempted to play a CD of his favourite thrash metal band; a facilitator had to be unusually assertive to stop him. When I talked about Bob Marley I lamented the commercialisation of his music and culture. His face is everywhere these days and unfortunately seems to say "I smoke marijuana; here's someone legendary who smoked marijuana" and not much else. For the second half of the session we chatted in small groups, or just sat around if we wanted to. Being able to talk in small groups is important because, guess what, lots of people on the spectrum don't like talking in big groups. There are no small groups at the sessions in Wellington, and that inevitably means two or three people dominate the big group. That's something I'd like to change. One way in which the Wellington group is better (whether by luck or judgement I'm not sure) is that its gender ratio is far more balanced. In Auckland there are hardly any women outside the facilitators; those who do attend feel intimidated by the sheer numbers of men and stop going.

On Sunday, the wet day, I met the woman who used to facilitate at the Wellington autism group and is also notable for being the only person on the planet who I know still reads my blog. I also met her husband who I hadn't seen since they lived down here; he's got a really good job which has improved their well-being considerably. She and I had a really good chat about all manner of things. I really didn't envy her when she told me stories about her son which could best be described as "oh dear". She made me think about my brother. I'm very proud of him and have supported him through all his difficulties with his relationship. Maybe my parents and I have been too supportive. I hope not.

It was good to get away but I was happy to get back. I've got stuff to sort out (hopefully) with my puzzles. By the way my washing machine sold while I wrote this post. The auction ended, it fell short of its reserve, but I made a fixed-price offer of $170 and someone quickly snapped it up.

Cricket pics

Today was a washout in the cricket, as was the better part of yesterday, meaning the game ended in a dank, dismal draw. Such a shame, and quite ironic given all the fire and hosepipe bans up and down the country that two successive tests should be ruined by rain. For me that's the biggest failing of test cricket. I don't have a problem with a draw in a match that goes the full 450 overs (or close to it) - indeed having to bowl out your opponents twice within the scheduled lifespan of a match is an important part of the game - but when rain wipes out a third of the allotted overs it makes everything that came before seem so frustratingly pointless. And apart from scheduling an extra day, which could cause logistical headaches, I don't have the answer.

As I sat on the bank bathed in sunshine on day one, there was no inkling of the eventual outcome, even if rain was forecast for the latter stages of the match. England were totally dominant on the opening day, and virtually all the noise in the ground came from the travelling Barmy Army. Here are a few pictures from the Basin Reserve:

There was some excitement early on as Alastair Cook was removed for 17 but the next (and only other) wicket of the day wouldn't come for another five hours.

Lunchtime; people came onto the oval, many with bats and balls in hand.

The Barmy Army complete with conductor and trumpeter who played theme tunes to shows like Grandstand that I remember from childhood. They even played the darts theme tune at one point; slightly confused by this I looked up at the scoreboard and saw England had reached 180.

A century for Nick Compton (grandson of the famous Denis Compton who played both cricket and football at the highest levels). Jonathan Trott had reached the same milestone a few balls earlier.

Compton didn't add to his 100 runs; Kevin Pietersen then came out to bat.

The duck that had been in or around the square for the whole morning session (and was possibly the main highlight for an hour or two) came to pay us a visit just before close of play.

The scoreboard at stumps. Trott was still there but fell almost immediately at the start of day two. Strangely the "overs" counter reset to zero when the new ball was taken at the 80-over mark.

My first test

I've just spent a very pleasant day watching cricket at the Basin. I can see the attraction of live test cricket and I'm lucky to have it so close at hand. Let's face it, most of the time not much happens - today I saw just two wickets fall, five hours apart. On a day like today you can just sit (or lie) out in the sun and maybe read a book during the breaks in play. Or have a beer. Or six. Even though not a lot happens, you still have to be a little careful, because when something does happen it sort of matters (it's the opposite of Twenty20 where a lot can happen in a short space of time but none of it really matters). I'll put up some pictures hopefully in my next post.

New Zealand won the toss and put England into bat only to see the Poms reach 267 for two at stumps. Most of the time it didn't even look like a wicket was going to fall. The English batsmen - two of whom scored centuries - went about their business and didn't look under pressure. It'll be interesting to see how the match unfolds - my guess is that NZ will need the rain forecast on day four to save their bacon.

I had an early start as I had to pick Julie up at 6:30 to take her to her operation. My plane leaves at 8:30 tonight, and I doubt I'll get to my hotel much before eleven, so it'll be quite a long day for me. I plan to see Bazza in Papakura tomorrow - I phoned him last night.

In other news, Mum texted me to say we've got a new Pope. A 75-year-old from South America with only one lung.

My short work week was an alarmingly slow one - all this automation has seen our steady flow of tasks diminish to a trickle. I'm slightly worried. They've got a function tonight. It's for St Patrick's Day I think. I was lucky to have a legitimate excuse not to go.