The Kegstar
After a post travel day with a two hour advance on time - which does not sound much - try adding it to a previous 10 hour shift – I know, suck it up - we were left pretty much emptied. However, a refreshing brunch would refresh us. On our way we were accosted by a local who loudly declared - “holding hands in public. Does your mother know what you are doing?” Like Belfast there are clearly a quota of very funny/lunatic people about. By the time we reached our chosen establishment it was only serving lunch. Clearly a line had been crossed but not not quite the international date line. That is a week away and will be painful. This line was painless and presented Mrs Verno with a vegan chiapatta with something which she says she enjoyed. And me with a slow braised lamb chiabatta which everyone in the restaurant could see I enjoyed. We then sought out a supermarket for something that Mrs Verno had not known existed before the AirBnB in the Blue Mountains - laundry sheets. We did not find them. But we did purchase a half box of Surf in a convenience store only to discover that the hotel stipulates that only only their sachets were to be used. A frantic and rage induced search for these bastards then ensued. 10 seconds later these were found. Bollocks. We can now take a box of Surf the rest of the way around the world.
Washing was commenced nonetheless and I can now assure you that Indesit is a crap make, noisy in its operation and quite shite in its execution. But needs must and kecks were needed. It goes without saying that the electrics were blown at the start of the drying cycle of this misbegotten piece of garbage. Luckily the fuses were in easy reach. Not something you see in TripAdvisor. We left the drier to itself and hoped it did not burn down the hotel and the National Museum adjacent to it.
We hastily ran to the local MET buses to the Wellington Cable Car that took us up to the Botanical Gardens. A lovely place with great views of the city (luckily not our as yet not burning hotel) and a very present walk down to the central business district. Lots of honey bees spotted along the way and I was sure not to anger them.
We missed the stop on the way back but a short walk brought us back to our intact hotel. Phew. A full complement of dry kecks awaited. There is a god. Next stop some tee shirts.
I took a walk along around the shoreline while Mrs Verno keep watch over the washing and definitely not sleeping.
On my return success was unbridled as yet another batch of washing emerged deprived of moisture and ready to iron. Aplomb with success we headed out for an eatery we had previously reconnoitred. The Tasting Room. And what a great choice. Great food and drinks. Very, very enjoyable. Mrs Verno sampled more than a couple of their cocktails and I samples a variety of the lovely Pilsners and Hazy IPAs. A slow dander back took us back to our still intact abode to continue our long quest to launder the clothes of long distance travellers. Sleep awaits if the noise that bastard machine does not prevent it and a trip to the WETA studios awaits in the morrow.
As an aside we need to discuss what happened last night as we passed through immigration. Things clearly were going awry as Mrs Verno attempted to passthrough the automated passport machine. Alarms were heard and she was directed to go go to the euphemistically named “passport assistance”. I valiantly tried to passs through through the same machine only to be captured in the same dragnet of Mrs Verno. We then presented our passports to an enthusiastic officer who seemed impressed with our travel to date and then dramatically paused as he stamped the erstwhile innocent Mrs Verno’s passport. Dramatically a supervisor was summoned. A hushed discussion took place. Furtive glances were made. I stepped back. Pulled my cap lower and made ready for a rapid retreat into the crowd but girded my soon to be cleanly clothed loins and leaned down and stood shoulder to shoulder with not an international criminal Mrs Verno. The supervisor presented our officer with a small but perfectly formed stamp that he very poignantly and from a great height brought down on Mrs Verno’s passport. REVOKED. What a to do. Thankfully, he quickly stamped again with a permission stamp that allowed Mrs Verno to enter the country. One may see this as an administrative slip up or maybe a mysterious glimpse of the international game that Mrs Verno is playing. Who knows ? The confusion that followed in biosecurity that followed has an added complexion now. All will be revealed when he hit subsequent borders when the question will be, “What’s this young lady?.”