Well we could go live in Haast and exchange ten minutes away from the CBD to hours away from anywhere. I was searching for the cheapest homes in New Zealand when I stumbled upon this little corker on the west coast of the South Island. The photos don’t advertise the property as much as an idealistic life lived circa 1982 in a small town called Kwitchatown. For only $45,000  this piece of paradise could be yours. Tempting.

Help cheer me up by letting me know what you love and I’ll post it on the blog… xxx

william bee loves …
saturdays, the colour green, tabby cats, the Queen
rolls royces, fruit scones, david niven, staying home

william bee loves …
buttercups, giraffes, pencils, hot baths
magazines, cooper black, garden birds, and the union jack

william bee loves …
dashboards, apple trees, michael caine, number threes
woody allen, steam trains, lego, and supersonic planes

william bee loves …
victorians, garden snails, winston churchill, big blue whales
sid james, cop kapers, dust jackets, end papers

william bee loves …
tape measures, bugs bunny, 1978, english money
umbrellas, princess anne, helicopters, and tiptree jam

william bee loves …
dads army, t.e. lawrence, windmills, dougal and florence
traction engines, charing cross road, roast potatoes, mr. toad

william bee loves …
st. pancras, fountain pens, racing cars, bill and ben
tea cosies, butterflies, lower case, morcombe and wise

william bee loves …
fred dibnah, hattie jacques, fluffy pillows, home made cakes
london buses, knights of old, dick bruna, gill sans bold

the end

with thanks and apologies to:
e.h. shepard for mr. toad
serge danot for dougal and florence
warner brothers inc. for bugs bunny
and dick bruna for miffy and friends

And I couldn’t resist including this. My birthday is coming up if anyone is struggling for ideas…

The Elements

It was the only year in memory that the brutal winter winds had turned the rain to ice. The only year that it was cold enough to freeze the swollen bellied ewes into lifeless statues before their lambs had a chance to freeze themselves. It was the year I was born.

My mother sat every evening, nestled and protected by apricot walls, the pot belly fire stoked high to keep the room warm. And every night, without fail, homemade marble cake or sultana slice lay on the coffee table with steaming hot drinks. On the arm of my mothers velvet seat hung a richly embroidered knitting bag. A thread of wool trailed from its mouth to her fingers which moved faster and faster as if chasing the falling temperature.

As she sat, the phone rang. My mother had estimated many times that it would take her three rings or less to answer it. It took my father nine. He leveraged his weight into action by pushing down on the arms of his chair. A burning cheek and angry spittle had taught me that it was his, and only his chair, even before I could talk. Many more burning cheeks followed once I learnt how to talk back.

“Hmph. Tomorrow?” he grunted to the caller. “I guess we can fit it in. Is after midday OK? The semi’s are in the morning. Can’t miss it.” He paused to listen then briefly lightened and laughed with the woman on the other end of the phone. “Yes, yes, go the Magpies!” he said hanging up and returning to the television. He lit a cigarette.

My mother waited, breathing in the sweet tobacco smell.

“It was the hospital,” my father finally offered. “They have a delivery for us. A girl this time.”

The crowd roared. The other side had scored.

“Oh” my mother replied. “A girl.” And her tummy smiled. “She’ll be a Taurus,” she said but he didn’t hear. Her needles paused and she lay down my brother’s almost finished mustard jersey. From the silk lining of her bag she pulled out a delicate ball of yarn that had found its way from the haberdashery shop into her purse. My mother stroked the the pure white wool. And as she drew back the curtain beside her she sipped her lukewarm sweet tea and watched the ruthless weather rumble on.

Today we had our first open home so I thought it apt that the ‘house of the day’ would be ours. Over 100 people came through including some dude from the NZ cricket team – hey I knew their names when they were good in the early 90′s, nowadays fuck knows. Anyway I’m guessing the numbers are a good sign – although an offer would probably be a better sign.

Check out http://www.trademe.co.nz/Trade-me-property/Residential-property/Houses-for-sale/auction-279856148.htm if you want to see more about it or if you have a spare mil in your back pocket. OK maybe not quite that much but we can always hope…

Now if I was feeling a little creative this is exactly the kind of place I’d like to contemplate and explore my inner artist. I have fantasies of living in a treehouse. Not quite the sort of fantasies MotorPacer would like me to have… Great views of the sea too.

http://www.trademe.co.nz/Trade-me-property/Residential-property/Houses-for-sale/auction-273998735.htm

OK, so this photo doesn’t really show the house but it’s pretty cool that the whole spread focuses on the artist who currently lives there – it’s nice to see that history does count for something, to some people. And, anyway, it’s a great sales pitch. I wish a Barry had come with our house…

http://www.trademe.co.nz/Trade-me-property/Residential-property/Houses-for-sale/auction-273770994.htm

Now this one was obviously a ’true’ artist’s home – can’t you tell from the oh so creative use of colour and pattern? Don’t get me wrong I like quirky but it’s hard to see how your mind can be free for explorative thought with this sort of garishness.

http://www.trademe.co.nz/Trade-me-property/Residential-property/Houses-for-sale/auction-246158825.htm

Now this is the kind of artists house you think of when you imagine an artist’s house… Lots of driftwood and wall hues that are opposite on the colour wheel. Oh and of course the damp de rigueur that comes hand in hand with all those natives.

http://www.trademe.co.nz/Trade-me-property/Residential-property/Houses-for-sale/auction-270205564.htm

This home is a doozy. I had to include the pic because no true artist lives without a cat curled at their side. I mean, artist’s are so misunderstood, where else could they find the sort of unconditional love a feline relinquishes on them? If you’re courageous enough, check out the rest of the house – one of the rooms has so much clutter you can’t actually see the room. Come on Mr Real Estate agent! Us modern day people want minimalism, the less personality the less people can judge us. It just make life easier…

http://www.trademe.co.nz/Trade-me-property/Residential-property/Houses-for-sale/auction-214390330.htm

I am a food nazi.

I hate colourings, flavourings and most vehemently MSG (that sneaky 621, 627, 635 number).

I don’t eat meat I can’t identify.

I don’t eat meat or eggs that aren’t free range.

I haven’t totally bought into the organic thing but that is more of a financial issue than a moral one. Mmmm, would you like some pest killer and chemical fertiliser with your fresh carrot juice madam? Ah, no thank-you.

I only eat at ‘A’ grade cafes.

I have IBS and have to be very careful what I eat. This was confirmed when after a hair test I discovered I have intolerances to wheat, white sugar, dairy, kiwifruit, onions, garlic and blah blah blah, I could go on.

Basically I’m a bit bung and all the food hype and paranoia just spurs me on. I don’t believe in God but I do believe in ‘you are what you eat, so eat well’. NOTE: chocolate and wine are proven good for you so bugger off any righteous bastards who know my vices.

So in light of all these facts it would be apt to ask why I have decided to taste test and review as many products from my local asian supermarket as I can in one lifetime. And trust me there are so many weird and wonderful things it will take me that long to get through the first aisle!

Many items don’t have anything written in english, like ingredients, or more simply what the fuck it is in the first place. But I’m up for a challenge and I’m ready to put my wussy tummy to the test… Stay tuned.

x

I love the straight lines and angles of this home in Rotorua.

http://www.trademe.co.nz/Trade-me-property/Residential-property/Houses-for-sale/auction-271483527.htm

I’m not sure if I could live with this kitchen but how boring would life be without emo’s and interesting kitchens?

http://www.trademe.co.nz/Trade-me-property/Residential-property/Houses-for-sale/auction-268540800.htm

Beautiful glasswork for the entrance to a minimal house in the Coromandel. If only I had a spare 3 mil…

http://www.trademe.co.nz/Trade-me-property/Residential-property/Houses-for-sale/auction-214587883.htm

I dream of inbuilt furniture and this house has it all. MotorPacer and I even ventured a drive-by past this very cool home in Epsom. But until we win lotto I think drafty villas are our lot.

http://www.trademe.co.nz/Trade-me-property/Residential-property/Houses-for-sale/auction-269835536.htm

And who doesn’t love spiral staircases, especially when teamed with a baby grand!

http://www.trademe.co.nz/Trade-me-property/Residential-property/Houses-for-sale/auction-268163847.htm

Somehow my obsession with real estate has led to the possible and probable attainment of a much desired automobile. After fawning over the many beautiful houses available on Napier hill, I showed MotorPacer one I was particularly taken with. The views, the outdoor dining room, the airy contemplative feel. He too was drooling but not at the home, it was the car parked so fittingly in the driveway. A grand car for a grand house.

MotorPacer emailed the agent who non-committedly agreed to try and track down the owner. However after many months of whist response he decided to be the squeeky wheel and push a little harder, I mean Napier isn’t that big so how hard could it be? Well as it turned out not that hard at all and a few weeks ago a nervous phone call was put through to the current proprietor.  MotorPacer knew it would either be a fruitless attempt at a long held dream or a step towards spending a crap load of money on something with an inherent european class and grace that could make a man (who while currently quite content being married to a milf)  truely happy. I swear, when I gave birth if the midwife had replaced the words “it’s a boy” with “it’s a 1964 Mercedes coupe 220 SE” the look of pale terror would have been replaced with a mugshot of male triumph.

And so anyway, the upshot is that a one-way plane ticket has been purchased to view the car in it’s present hometown. The method of transport back to Auckland is, at this stage, unknown but I think I can take a pretty good punt. I’ll keep you updated and in the meantime here are some pics of the very cool cruiser herself. And what a baby she is.