I HATE LIVING HERE. It's the carnage I can't cope with.

I Hate Living Here.

It was all so easy. 18 months ago we had 3 rooms, a balcony no bigger than our dining room table and a view over a patch of grass with an endless scurry of squirrels and limitless droppings of pigeons. Both probably died and we never knew about it, or even cared.

We never needed to know about the lives of either sheep or cows, but they always looked pretty content.

Life was good, and generally easy. The corporate body got someone to cut the grass. The pubs and its clientele revelled in offering unasked for gynaecological lessons on a Friday night, with the less occasional study of urban mammography thrown in for free. If you are not very tall, there are often only 2 things at eye level on a Friday night.

Here, if I want to cut the grass it is a mere 10kms going back and forth taking about 2.5 hours. If I want a drink in a pub or have cup of coffee it's 20-minute drive, but at least the beer is better than it was 13 years ago. Life is tough.

Coventry Memorial Park was a 5-minute walk away and the tennis group were constantly tolerant and fun. BUT the Memorial Park tennis group didn't have Emily as a coach. New Zealand's No 1 junior, number 539 singles and 422 doubles ranking on 'The Tour’ and holds the record for the longest doubles set. She’s gone to complete her PhD so we now have another NZ whizzo called Hannah. Keep an eye open, she may just slip into the space left by Ash Barty, who Emily has played with.

Hannah

Emily Fanning

But it's the constant carnage I struggle with. I may have died a while back and I may now be in heaven, but I didn't expect paradise to provide so much death to cope with. I don't like death.

This little disembowelled hare was awaiting me on the front lawn.

You know about poor little Lambretta who was mischievous and had ADHD and died of unknown aetiology.

Poor little Lambretta who just ran out of fuel.

Sir Francis the drake, just started getting slower. Then in a most un duck way started sitting down for meals. He tried so hard to keep up with the 4 girls, but like most of us men, he just couldn't. They were always chattering, usually eating at the same time and always busily moving along. He would just have to be 'tail end charlie'. It's tough for the boys. Some of us try so hard and can't keep up even in the slipstream. Usually at sunrise they come over and discuss market prices and how to kill orange and apple trees, to prevent them being made in to sauce. Today there was a fifth less chatter. They didn't seem to fussed about Sir Francis, all they wanted was some barley, maize and peas. I went over to their night-time dormitory and there he was, just lying down on his side in the ducks equivalent of a cuddly down duvet, a puddle of mud. He was so much at peace. Maybe with me in heaven. He has been posthumously renamed to Douglas as he was most definitely duckless. I had another funeral to go to.

FIVE

then there were 4.

Sir Francis and Lambretta lie next to each other in the now slowly growing animal graveyard. I'm going to put in my will that for my next death (I'm already in heaven) I want to be buried with my mates.

But the animals are nice. As Ali so poignantly said "we love our sheeps and we think they love us in a sheepie kind of way". They are unconditional. Well, not really their love is conditional on sheep nuts which to them is similar to cocaine or chocolate to you and me. We talk about a lot, and we always end in agreement, until we decide they either need a pedicure or haircut. But they forget quickly. Tomorrow is a dose of zinc to prevent facial eczema.

They are the antithesis of sheep. A friend visited with a dog. Now you and I would expect sheep to run away, but not Lambrusco or Lamborghini. They just stood still. The MadBlackJack started chasing the dog, which duly ran away. Jack will be trained to shepherd dogs into kennels. Today I opened the car door, and before we knew what was happening MadBlackJack was in the car on the passengers seat.

But the constant carnage is hard. Calves moo incessantly when they are separated from Mum and Mum makes one hec of a din. Lambs bleat plaintively, crying for their Mum. Mum yells out loud, but all to no avail. Then a big green truck comes along, and they go on like lambs to the slaughter. It's carnage. In the euphemistic world of NZ “they are going to the works". I'm told that if I want to go and check on their well-being, I can go and have a look. NO, I DON'T.

Our borders will soon open, and it would be lovely to see you here. There will be water for tea and showers, we've got another 25000 litre tank, I've been working at a local winery and being paid a bottle an hour, so there will be wine, there will be power to charge your phone, we are getting more solar panels. If you do come, mentally it is traumatic, the constant carnage of the countryside does my head in, but you’ll be very welcome to come and enjoy it with us.

Let’s not even mention all the predators, the 50 possums, 7 cats, 15 hedgehogs, mice, rats, magpies and a stoat, mostly introduced by us jolly good Brits. Oh, I'd forgotten to talk about the beautiful paradise ducks which in the realms of fairness and good sport, get shot out of the sky by a 12 bore. I say good sport, because we all know that sport is a 'contest of equal combat'. Yes, the paradise ducks fly around with shot guns tucked under their wings.

It’s carnage and it’s not even Christmas.

On a different note, I went for a bike ride. It is the time of year that the farmers are top dressing, a yellow single engine, single seater plane flies over the land releasing whatever from its underside. As luck would have it my ride went along side an airstrip in a remote field. I stopped and watched. Well, what a slick team of 2. The pilot delivers his load, lands, gets refilled with fertilizer and takes off to do the next circuit. If you think Ryan Air has quick turnaround times, they and Easy Jet are the height of luxury and good service. From touch down to take off, including refilling with fertilizer, takes 1 minute 43 seconds. I also noticed ‘Diversion Road. No exit’.

The push-me-pull-you truck enabling a 1minute 43 second touch down to take off.

To avoid the carnage, I have picked about 39kgs of tomatoes over the past 4 weeks, loadsa fennel, cauliflowers, grapefruit and more. They are all so much more delicious than a carnaged sheep.

Thank heavens we don’t eat meat, or the carnage would be worse. When I tell people that Lambretta and Duckless had died the first question is, are they in the freezer? At the local alpaca’s owner’s association meeting I casually asked if people ate their alpacas, “yes, we had some of Brian last night”.

When there is nothing else to do, we make cheese. Some fine cheddar and some very French Brie. I collect the milk from a farmer about 25 kms away, I have to be there at 2.30 “because that’s when we milk them”. In exchange he doesn’t get money, he gets wine, beer, chocolates and who knows, maybe even cheese.

12 hours old. Now Maturing for 6 weeks.

My ex boss in Wellington, a Radiologist, has retired. His retirement project is making very nice cider, so 2 weeks ago I went and picked apples, washed them and pressed them for their juice. The juice is now quietly bubbling away.

Washing and pressing the apples.

It's blinkin' good cider.

This must stop. Ali has been in Coventry visiting her Mum, who has had a hip replacement. She comes back on Saturday and the big clean must start. .............Ali is back after a very busy time. A combination of that, therapeutic champagne on the plane and jet lag still doesn’t stop dusting the surfaces I thought I had done, restacking the dishwasher and finding all the weeds that I didn't. Oh I really really missed her so much. It was lonely and quiet. tell you now, with no word of a lie that as I walk along with the grass cutter, the grass is visibly growing behind me. This corner of NZ is renowned by me for having the quickest growing grass in the world, shortly followed by weeds.

Poor little NZ did have some anti vaxxers who eventually took up occupation in the gorgeous grounds in front of parliament. After about 3 weeks we'd all decided we'd had enough so in the attempt to evict them they decided a good idea was to set fire to the children's play ground. Now, I kid you not. As time went on people got more suspicious of the Government. It was announced that the Govt were broadcasting mind altering radio waves, so the sensible folks trudged up to the super market and bought all the tin foil to issue everyone with tin foil hats. BTW, "the next covid variant is communism", or so we were told on one guy's banner. We saw no tanks squishing people flat.