The Amazing Cell Group Race

"Even if you attend just one meeting, something positive will have come of it."

On 6th April those were Brett's approximate words to me over lunch regarding the possibility of my joining a cell group. (a weekly church meeting in someone's home)

He'd been inviting me to join one for donkeys' years. Initially I'd had the really good excuse that I was too busy in the evenings teaching. Now however I had to wonder just what my excuse had been since those days had reached their conclusion.

Between his and Sara's later encouragement at Quirk, I decided that that whole "attend just one meeting" option just wasn't good enough. If I was going to do this thing, then I was going to do it properly. I wouldn't attend just one meeting, rather, I would attend just one meeting of each of them. That way I could make an informed decision about which small group was the best one for me. After all, as I was about to experience, each group did cell a little differently.

And so the battle commenced!


TEAM A met at 7pm on roughly 3 out of 4 Tuesday nights, but rather than at someone's house, it all happened at Esquires coffee shop, Botany. My initial concerns on that first 24th May that I couldn't commit to regularly buying a non-FairTrade coffee were quickly answered when I realised that, yes, these were FairTrade coffees after all!

Despite the public location, straight away I felt at home. Maybe the younger, more single demographic felt more like 'me' than some of the other couple-filled groups, or maybe it was the deep personal questions, but I came away ditching the idea of even trying the others. I had struck gold straight away, so why bother inconveniencing TEAM B and upwards? Surely forcing myself to continue with my original plan, as opposed to my newer and better experienced decision, would be surrendering my spiritual life to some form of OCD?

Presently however, I heard that TEAM B hadn't met for a while, and were now looking forward to arranging a new meeting specifically to accommodate me. I guess that's when it sank in that this was a two-way process. In some sense, my visiting each group could actually be good for them. Well, that settled it. Now I was on a mission, or a 'quest' as it would be dubbed by Megan from TEAM C. Yes, TEAM B still weren't meeting again for a little while, so TEAM C seized their chance ahead of them. I decided to keep on attending TEAM A while I decided. Y'know, just in case they won anyway.


TEAM C met at about 7:30 every Wednesday night in the only couple's living-room. I say "the only couple", although without me they seemed to make up about half the group. Despite being so close-knit, they too were fully welcoming, and also delved into close personal discussion questions. I guess the real spin here had to be the music - each meeting began with a time of worship, led by a DVD. Couldn't get away with that in a coffee shop!


Legend had it that TEAM D were also secretly meeting at 7:30 on 3 out of 4 Wednesday nights, and initially they proved a little tough to infiltrate. Again, not because of any hostility (everyone in every group is a friend), but because the first week, I was told, was going to be a particularly close time of sharing, to which bringing in a visitor just wouldn't be fair on the others. Another new hopeful (a potential transfer from TEAM E) had been turned away that week for the same reason. Sheesh, this application process sounded so exclusive that now I really wanted to join. Just what were they all secretly sharing in there - each others' blood? Even more mysteriously the following week was their monthly week off, so I went back to visit TEAM C again. And with that, yes, I was now regularly attending two cell groups simultaneously.

Well I wasn't TEAM D's first moonlighter. When I finally did get in to TEAM D, after initially turning up at the wrong house, I witnessed that Paul and Kate from Team A were fifth column members here too.

And I have to admit that of all the groups that I visited, I found TEAM D to have the deepest, most soul-searching questions going on. "At what point did you own your faith?" "Is all theology heresy?" (1 Corinthians 13:9-10) "What would shake your faith?"

I was truly in awe at the level of openness and honesty on display here, and slightly ashamed that I just couldn't match that. They were disqualifying themselves really - they were just too good for me.

Well, that didn't quell my determination to join them as well anyway. However, given how all TEAM D's meetings were scheduled directly against TEAM C's, attending both groups regularly was going to be a bit of a sitcom.

Nonetheless juggle them I did. For example, TEAM C couldn't meet for two weeks' running, so those nights I attended TEAM D. Then I caught flu, so I had to cancel them both. With a trip to the UK looming, I figured that would be good for maybe another month. After that I would have to start sending in someone from TEAM A wearing my coat and a wig.


Meanwhile, TEAM E was meeting at 7:30 (realistically 8pm) on 3 out of 4 Thursdays. This was the most extrovert gang, and conversations could wander wildly between the highly educated and the extremely silly. As it also included the church's pastor, when he was leading we sometimes got the cell-group equivalent of a DVD extra to his current series of sermons.

One week, TEAM E also out-TEAM D'd TEAM D with the rather searching question "What is your worst fear?" Yeah, we all shared, in my case learning something about myself that I hadn't really before. I've known for years of the defences that I've developed against the ways girls have attacked me, but trying to muddy my admittance of it, I realised that it's broader than that - I'm really afraid of condemnation. It's just that I've received so much more of that from girls. So there it was - TEAM E had helped me to learn something about myself.

Anyway I kept on attending TEAM E, and presently got added to the leadership schedule. Yes, at some point I would have to lead it. Time to covertly recycle one of the other team's meetings, I figured.

And finally, TEAM B sadly never ran. In theory they met on Wednesdays against TEAMS C and D, but hadn't for some time. As mentioned above, they were keen to get some meetings going again, but due to busy schedules, not for a few more months yet. Ultimately, they had thrown the fight. Oh well.

So, after over three months and about 30 meetings, in the end, just who did win the Goble Super Holy Cell Group Wars™?

Well, it was an extremely tough contest, all the teams played well but, hand on heart, the judges were honestly unanimous in their decision to award the membership to… (long pause) … TEAM A! (sorry everyone, but if I'm honest, it was always going to be TEAM A)

So, tonight I was back at TEAM A yet again. Saying goodbye to them all. I'm going home to the UK tomorrow.

Disappointingly, it seems no cell can hold me.

Podcasting Services

For the past few months I've been honoured to be the happy caretaker of my church's podcasting website.

I think it's been an exceptionally good matching of volunteer to responsibility. I say this because, for its two-year life under Paul prior to my involvement, I've probably been its biggest user.

Having downloaded and listened through to every single sermon that he's put up, inevitably I've developed a few ideas on ways in which I think it could get even better. For example, I've tried augmenting the principal MP3 file with other multimedia elements from the service, such as PowerPoint slides, and short videos. Paul tells me he approves - whew!

I also simply enjoy handling recordings - I love preserving them and magnifying their audience. It's always bugged me that cession's services often contain the seeds of so much quality teaching, which afterwards cease to keep sowing.

Tonight I published my final one, at least for a while, and was pleased to get Brett's message on the air the same evening as it had actually been preached.

The main lesson that I've learnt? It's nowhere near as quick to do as it looks. (or sounds)

Paul, I have renewed respect for you and what you do.

Oh, and in case I never mentioned it before over the last two years… THANKS!

Ministry Of Works sketch 5 of 4

Our current series at cession | community church is entitled "Get Better Work Stories". That may sound like it's been copied from the NZ Police's never-ending recruitment campaign, but in fairness I think the cops in turn had stolen it from the title of Howick Community Church's sermon this morning.

Anyhew, today I was asked to reprise the 'boss' character from our similarly-themed 2007 series 'Ministry Of Works'. Not for a sketch this time though, but to read-out the church's notices. (called 'community life') At least, I don't think the idea started out as a sketch…


(rest of the service here)

Click here for sketch 1 of 4
Click here for sketch 2 of 4
Click here for sketch 3 of 4
Click here for sketch 4 of 4

(with thanks to Paul)

The Day The Rest Of The World Came Over

When stars from overseas come to visit New Zealand, it can be quite a big deal.

For example, whenever U2 come to put on a concert, pretty well everyone in the country wants to be in that stadium. Every local stranger from Bus Driver to Windmill Language Adjudicator will chat with you enthusiastically about it.

So, what happens when representatives from every civilised nation all descend upon Auckland on the same day?

The usual suspects - thronging crowds, travel paralysis, and crazy money getting burnt.

I guess I had the advantage of being a local who had had the Rugby World Cup visit me once before in England in 1991. Not really being into rugger, my one memory of that is of sitting on a stationary bus for maybe an hour, surrounded by a sea of supporters as far as the eye could see. You know what? I sat there and got some writing done.

Yesterday then I expected nothing less of New Zealand's opening celebrations at Auckland Harbour. I wasn't going to attend the match itself, but rather join with the rest of the congregating public down on Queen Street.

Leaving work in Penrose, the first bus that I saw heading for Queen Street contained maybe three passengers. Unfortunately I was still approaching the bus stop at that point, so promptly did an about turn and headed instead for the train station. Here the carriages were fairly full, but not with Londoners, so they hadn't quite figured out the art of packing themselves in yet. Funny, I always thought that it was the British who were supposed to be the shy ones…

After that train had left, the indicator started predicting another train which, thanks to the single track, could not possibly be approaching as promised. I left and returned to the bus stop.

Presently a bus arrived, fairly full. Well, this was more consistent with my memory, and indeed it delivered us all to Britomart no problem.


At Auckland Viaduct, the polite respect for personal space continued. Although it was quite possible to make one's way through the crowds, I just couldn't figure out where I was supposed to be going to. There were big video projector screens showing SKY ONE's live coverage of festivities, but despite the occasional aerial shot, I just couldn't place from whereabouts nearby these images were being relayed.


I turned left at the viaduct and made my way all the way to the front of one of the screens at Quay Street. It helped that there were currents of people streaming along the edge.

Event organiser Martin Snedden has spoken in the media of his attempts to sell the Rugby World Cup to kiwis who don't like rugby, and when the opening moment eventually came (at the exact same instant the wind whipped up), it was hard to fault his promise. There was music, there were fireworks, there were abseilers doing acrobatics down the side of a building… in short, loads of stuff that had nothing whatsoever to do with the pigskin sport.





Even the actual opening ceremony over at Eden Park featured a huge theatrical dance number, performed with the aid of transforming the pitch itself into the most enormous video-screen I've ever heard of.

Presently however the opening finished, and everyone simultaneously decided to beat the rush out of there.




Afterwards I pootled around a few old CBD haunts, checking my post at the backpackers, and grabbing a Burger King meal to have on my return journey. This turned out to be a shrewd move!




Getting onto the bus involved first finding the new stop, then pushing-in, and finally standing on board for the next hour while we… turned around. Yep, now this was exactly what I had been expecting. Fortunately, some thoughtful people laid-on some entertainment and fights outside the windows to keep our attentions stimulated. (Why must you descend into that? WHY?)

Whatever you think of rugby, or the RWC, this was an absolutely spectacular night to remember, even if you were at home watching it on TV, as flatmate Dave and I did again tonight.

Sure, this morning the papers were even outdoing the UK's Daily Mail in their overuse of the word 'chaos', but that had been a given, right from the moment when New Zealand had first been awarded the tournament.

You never know, I might even attend the next one in four years' time in London.

(if it's still there)

My New Zealand Test

It's taken about 20 years, but today I finally sat my first practical driving test.

In that time, the number of teachers that I've had is staggering.

Phil on a farm in Cowfold.
Pope in a Butlins holiday camp.
Anna-Lisa on a farm in Matamata.
Tracy in London.
Legh in London.
Pat in Auckland CBD.
Jack in Big Manly.
Israel in Greenlane.
David in Howick. (2007-2011, although not continuously)

If I've observed nothing else, it's that everybody has their own unique version of the rules, which they all consider to be the one endorsed by law. Consequently, every time I've had a new instructor, I've had to in some way start over. It's really no wonder that we have road rage.

During this time I've also sat no less than three theory tests, passing on each occasion. And all this after, in 1994, starting the whole ball rolling by applying for a UK Provisional Licence. This I was also awarded first time, because it was so long ago that there was no test for it in those days.

Ultimately though, today it all boiled down to 20 minutes sitting in a car in Howick, with yet another person to my left telling me what to do. What would turn out to be his rules? There was only one way to find out.


I'd done everything that I could to up my chances of a smooth pass. As well as taking all the lessons, I'd bought DVDs, asked friends for advice, stood at a roundabout watching how traffic behaved, got a good night's sleep, taken the day off work, prayed, eaten some starch, drunk plenty of water, been to the toilet, and booked a (hopefully) final lesson immediately prior to my test to warm up.

We (my latest instructor and I) showed up well ahead of time too. I'd scheduled the test for the early afternoon, in order to miss both lunch and the rush hour.

Unfortunately I had failed to factor in the afternoon schools-run.

Why, I'd have gotten away with it too, if it hadn't been for those peddling kids…

Mind you, perhaps I'd been prepared for negotiating them by all that cattle I'd had to avoid on the farm?

In the event though, my examiner was also keen to avoid the stampeding herd of human livestock becoming a carvery, so my early arrival was quickly rewarded with a similarly early departure.

Most of my lessons lately have been at the busy 4pm slot, but 3pm made Meadowlands feel like a ghost town. We went through the according roundabouts, reversed into the requested driveway, did a practical U-turn around a tiny roundabout, and charged along an empty road at 60, but only when the signs said to.

Sure, I also made a few mistakes, and he asked if I was feeling nervous. No, I really wasn't, but despite this my hand announced that it felt like doing some shaking today anyway.

Ahh, the traditional driving-test nerves. I'd wanted to reassure myself that if I failed, then I could just retake the test again the following week. The problem was that next week I have to pop home to the UK for a sixth time, which was putting yet another full stop on things. I'd tried to get this test organised before leaving NZ the last time too, but not been able to.

But, if you'll excuse the pun, there was one thing that was really driving me to pass today - the simple fact that I had once said I would do it.

When I first moved to NZ in 2004, I had a four-point 'todo' list:

1. Join a church. (done - twice!)
2. Find somewhere to flat. (done - twice!)
3. Get a job that I believe in. (done - twice!)
4. Get a driver's licence.

See how annoying that blank space after the last one looks? I expected to get that one nailed first!

I think the years have proved that I do not need to drive. However I don't think many people like to let their words fall to the ground though. Please permit me a momentary biblical detour to express this...

In 1 Samuel, God visits the titular Samuel, who overcomes his likely embarrassment to give the world an honest account of this and a lifetime of subsequent contemptible revelations. Many years later, God tells the aged Samuel that he approves Saul to be become King. So Samuel anoints Saul King, but it quickly becomes a self-centred rule. So God aborts Saul's kingship before he can do any more inadvertent damage to Israel. At this, Samuel - not Saul - is rather upset.

"And it grieved Samuel; and he cried unto the LORD all night."

- 1 Samuel 15:11b (KJV)

It may simply be that he is grieved on Saul's behalf, and indeed Israel's, but I have an additional reasoning.

We're told in chapter 3 verses 19-21 of Samuel's unbroken public track-record in telling the truth. Now however those who don't believe the blessing/curse condition of God's message, will assume Samuel to have always been a liar, or corrupt, or mad. Though Samuel's actual honesty remained intact, the damage to what people thought of him must have been huge. This possible aspect of his grieving is the one that resonates with me the most. Not because I think I'm especially honest or anything, but because it's a core value that I do believe in. Biblical detour over.

Anyway, all that to say, I once said that I would get a driver's licence (though not that God would get me one), and I don't like the idea of people calling me a liar either! :) Hence my driving quest.

Finally today, we parked-up in a frankly rather empty car park back at base. It was all looking rather positive.

And the result? He actually said he had a hard time faulting me. His one area of feedback was that I was signalling too early, giving the impression that I might be about to turn into a driveway, but thankfully that wasn't enough to lose me the licence.

Yes, today, after all these years of trying, I am finally legally allowed to drive on my own in New Zealand.

Or, to put it another way, I never have to drive another car ever again…

THANK! YOU! GOD!

(Did I mention how much I dislike driving?)

Now, let's see you all run that distance.

:)

Damp

At our church cell group tonight Katie had the flu. She, Richard, Sara and myself were taking turns to read the start of Deuteronomy. Katie had a go, but knew where her sore throat's limit lay.

Afterwards Sara drove me home. When we got to my house, we sat in the car talking. Presently I opened the car door and continued talking with my head half way outside the vehicle. Then we said our good byes and I went in.

I was sneezing. I was tired. I had a sore throat coming on. I collapsed onto my bed and just lay there for about ten minutes.

I became aware that, the way I had landed, there was something about the size of a hazelnut lying against my forehead. It was small and hard and I realised that I didn't know what it was. So I sat up, at which point it came unstuck from my forehead, fell, and landed on my fleece's lapel, where it stuck again. I looked down at it. Its response was to turn its head to look back up at me.

It was a snail.

Now just how long had that been there without anybody saying anything?

Myself, And Other Personalities

They tell me I’m an INFP, but I’m still reflecting on how I feel about it, and also how the rest of you might.

In fact, I’ve been hearing about the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI) personality test for well over a decade now, so when flatmate David announced that he was taking a course in it at his old church, well I realised that it was now or never. Does that make me an S or an N? Hang on, doesn’t asking that very question make my I dominant with my extrovert T as auxiliary? For a course designed to help me understand myself and others, this way surely lies madness...

So here’s how the theory works:

There are 16 different personality types, determined by four opposing dichotomies, namely –

Extroversion (E) vs. Introversion (I)
Sensing (S) vs. Intuition (N) (detail vs. big picture)
Thinking (T) vs. Feeling (F)
Judgment (J) vs. Perception (P) (planning vs. flexible)

I have a lot of problems just with those 8 words. I mean some of them, like for example Judgment, just don’t seem to be measuring the tendencies that the word implies. I also didn’t much like being put into one of 16 neat little boxes, just so that I could fit into some intellectuals’ narrow-minded worldview.

But here’s where the outlook tripped me up – central to the MBTI perspective, is the idea that everyone is capable of being every aspect of the chart. What MBTI indicates is simply which one of their 16 types that you choose to be the most.

In other words, the computer’s projection from the 100-odd questions that I had to answer before starting wasn’t conclusive, apart from anything else because I was allowed to flatly disagree with it.

In other other words, I could come up with another system containing, oh I don't know, say 33 different generalisations, and then ask questions to calculate which one of my 33 types you behaved in line with the most often. I don’t say this to belittle the MBTI though, for I found tons in here to help me better understand both myself, and others.

(Not to mention how I’d be proving the computer right by expressing my N tendencies, although I suppose the computer was actually proving me right here…)

My own self-evaluation came up with ISFJ, but it was clear that my real stumbling block here was my own ambiguity. No, wait, my love of diversity.

For some time now I have been attempting to get better at all things. For example, I know that in many areas I’m not very well organised, so I’m always trying to become better organised. This blog might currently be four months behind again (badly organised), but I’m typing the first draft of this post just a few hours following my final Myers-Briggs lesson (well-organised). So which am I???

When I was younger I used to be very extroverted, but I’ve been hurt so many times, by so many people, that against my will I’ve slowly become very introverted. (hence composing this in written form, to share from behind a blog, at 2:20 in the morning) It’s no good telling me that I’ve naturally become introverted – in my mind I still picture my ideal self as an extrovert.

I get tons of energy from being with my friends, but ask me to phone any of them and I find it a major uphill task.

I don’t choose introversion, I just reluctantly find it safer.

I asked my friend Phil at cell group one Thursday about it, as he’s qualified in MBTI. He asked me about each of the four pairs. When we got to the last one – about whether I prefer a day to be planned or spontaneous - I protested that I see the value in both, and don’t want to lose either. At this, Phil looked over at Brett. “He is such a P!”

So I asked him “Why? Why did you just say ‘He is such a P’?”

“Because you always keep your options open.”

Well, that settles the last letter then, but does little for nailing down the preceding three.

Ultimately I determined to stop using the formulaic indicators and just read the 16 different personality descriptions on the net. This had its own problems, because I think they all seemed to affirm me in places. Hand on heart though, the one that seemed to contain the fewest errors did indeed turn out to be INFP – the same as the original questionnaire had projected, despite my bewilderment at how to select between so many of the choices.

The thing about reading these write-ups is that they can work the same way as horoscopes. You find something that suits you down to the ground, pick your jaw up off the floor, and gasp incredulously, “Yes! That’s me!”

Then of course you just want to ignore all the stuff that misses its target. Admittedly though, in reading up on the INFP profiles, most of it does seem to be on the money.

"With their tendency to enjoy serving others, they may value their mate’s satisfaction above their own."

Yes! That’s me!

"INFPs are ‘natural’ parents."

Crikey – I can’t abide kids. Never have.

Oh well, for the purposes of this course then, mostly INFP?

The remaining two weeks of the course revolved around interacting with others, and interacting with God. The jokey INFP prayer “Lord, help me to finish everything I start,” is just the sort of reason why I will commit to beginning so few projects these days.

Ultimately, I’m very pleased to have taken this course. It’s prompted me to ask some good questions, some of them quite subtle, and I would honestly admit to having found a renewed respect for others with different attitudes in life.

I guess I should also be grateful to have completed it.

City Of Sails Barbershop Chorus presents An Evening Of Harmony

As the title suggests, a lovely evening of male voice choir music, in Auckland.

In fact that’s not the whole story, for breaking up the chorus were the quartet Chord Of Appeal, and female soloist Lisa Lorell. Given the high calibre of all three acts, it’s a minor shame that the final number didn’t feature them all collaborating together, but no matter. This was my day off, and as such losing myself in the melody was just the serenity that I was looking for. The acoustics of East City Wesleyan – unusually good for a church – helped tons too.

There’s a distinction that I need to make here. I don’t go much on a cappella when the singers’ voices are impersonating musical instruments. That always reminds me of eating a vegetarian alternative – I feel as though I really ought to be enjoying it as much. When human voices are performing as precisely what they are though - voices forming words - well, that authenticity is much more my thing.

The biggest surprise of the night though had to be getting invited to join them. It was the interval, and a guy called Richard approached me and started to enthuse “We can teach anyone to sing!” I was seriously impressed. This meant that many of the performers who I’d just been listening to had been similarly invited and trained... and to what a standard!

As I walked home tonight, I had not just enjoyed an evening of beautiful life-affirming music, but also been empowered to believe that I could achieve the impossible too.

What more can a good show do for you?

Website here.

Doctor Who: The Doctor's Wife

There’s a world of difference between a script written because of a contract, and one written because of inspiration.

Whatever you think of The Doctor’s Wife, there’s no mistaking that author Neil Gaiman is taking his lead from other episodes he’s already seen, and presumably enjoyed.

The TARDIS’ soul is stolen and deposited in another’s body, while a being known as ‘the house’ hijacks its carcass. The Doctor discovers what became of some Time Lords who survived the Time War. There’s a big chase down the ship’s corridors, which is only the second time we’ve seen beyond the console room since the show’s revival. (the other being a glimpse of the wardrobe room in The Christmas Invasion)

Building a new TARDIS from the remains of others, the cast finish up in a showdown back on the TARDIS set from two seasons ago. (at which how many of us muttered some variant of “Darn, it’s not the Davison one!!”)

Not to mention further exploration of the Doctor’s original theft of the TARDIS from Gallifrey before the original series began anyway. (though I thought the first Doctor remarked once that he’d built it?)

But here’s the thing - while building upon long-established Doctor Who lore, you just don’t need any of that to watch this.

Despite being the fourth darkly-lit episode in a row, the breezy dialogue ensures that the tone remains mostly quite bright. The exception would be Amy and Rory’s hard-to-justify chase in the second half, which drags as it goes nowhere, both geographically and philosophically.

And finally an enigmatic prediction about the future which just for once actually has a reason for its enigmaticality, namely that the TARDIS doesn’t speak English very well.

"The only water in the forest is the river."

Jackson Lake, Christina de Souza, Adelaide Brooke and Amy Pond might (Trinity)well(s) disagree...

Cowboys & Aliens (film)

I guess I just don’t like westerns.

I mean Cowboys & Aliens has such a lot going for it. Daniel Craig and Harrison Ford are both strong leads, who play their roles as straight as they can, which proves to be an uphill battle in a film with such a parodic title.

Director Jon Favreau also comes with high credentials after Iron Man, and if nothing else turns-in a movie with a really clear soundtrack. There are plenty of talky scenes here with no music to drown them out, and even if there had been, this dialogue has been captured with clarity.

One line in particular struck a chord with me from preacherman Meacham (Clancy Brown):

"God doesn’t care what you were, just what you are."

Yet I’m afraid that I just didn’t connect with any of these characters. I had no wish to see anyone reunited with their wife, son or anyone else, save for the relief of finally seeing the closing credits finish and get to leave the cinema.

At the end of the day, the one thing this film really needed was a more interested audience-member.

Still, the constant laugh-track from Jon, Steve I think, and others off to my left indicated that at least five of our 6-guy group were having a good time this evening.

Sorry - too many cowboys for me, and I guess just not interesting enough aliens.

(available here)

Doctor Who: The Curse Of The Black Spot

Doctor Who does Pirates Of The Caribbean, and thankfully without anyone calling themselves Captain Jack.

In borrowing from a different legend, this appears to be this season’s equivalent of last year's Vampires Of Venice, although that’s not much of a recommendation.

Realising that the TARDIS is dematerialising, the Doctor abandons ship. Ummm...

The Siren can emerge only from still water. Then from any reflective surface. Then she’s emerging from choppy water again. Uhhhhh...

Regarding CPR, Amy utters the always unwise cliché “This isn’t a movie”, before extremely badly having a go anyway and, against all real life probability, actually restoring Rory to both health and consciousness. Hrrrrrrm...

Well, I didn’t much like The Vampires Of Venice either.

Well no hang on, it’s not really fair to say that I didn’t like this. It was okay. Well all right no it wasn't. Given the above points, it just didn’t seem to have much going for it, and what there was was sadly hidden underneath so much gloomy lighting and deafening music. Oh yes, and also behind Lady Gaga.


I mean come on Prime TV - that’s supposed to be an effects shot!

Doctor Who: The Impossible Astronaut / Day Of The Moon

A face hidden behind an airtight mask, haunting phone calls, and a mysterious little girl whose identity seems to hold the key.

Well, it’s definitely written by Steven Moffat.

Yet despite pulling out his favourite devices yet again, this so-called two-parter can hardly be described as the same old thing as usual.

Apart from anything else because, apart from catching up on the internet, this is the first official Doctor Who story I’ve ever watched off of a hard drive!



It’s also the first one I’ve viewed first on New Zealand television, a country with a long history of editing material from the show dating right back to the 1960s. Back then however it was mainly the violence which got cut out. Today it’s... well, the very first shot. The really important one. Yes, Prime TV opened the series without the dedication to Elisabeth Sladen.

Well, maybe the BBC never sent them it.

All the same, the shot that the NZ version did come in on was still literally cutting corners.


All right I’m being picky. I mean you arguably need to superimpose the 'PG' certificate when your station doesn’t bother with any announcement about it before the show. They did have an appropriate station ident though (featuring painters to lead into the opening scene of the Doctor being painted), which is at least consistent with the station's policy of wanting to tell everyone which channel they’re watching. Constantly.

Better not keep that DOG on over the adverts though (right in the middle of the diner scene after the Doctor's straw line) – the sponsors might complain about their adverts getting ruined. (stuff the viewers)



Clearly I should have paid more attention though, as one of the ads was actually inviting me to write in with any complaints that I might have about broadcasting standards...



Ohhh, this is going to be a long one.

But you know what? In this story, for me at any rate, long is good.

Forget the usual plot-structure of the TARDIS landing somewhere and its location driving the characters’ motivations. Here it’s the other way around.

The Doctor realises that he’s about to get killed, and summons Amy, Rory, River and Canton from out of their everyday lives to accompany him. Unusually for Doctor Who, the protagonists here are just that, using the TARDIS as a tool for their own ends, instead of reacting to wherever it takes them.

The ownership that they take of their lives is symbolic of the ownership that Showrunner Steven Moffat seems to be at last taking of the series. Last season looked to all intents and purposes like an impersonation of Russell T Davies’ tenure. With this story Moffat even changes the premise by giving the theme a pre-credits voice-over, making the show’s hook that the Doctor is Amy’s imaginary childhood friend now become real.


Amy (V/O): "When I was a little girl, I had an imaginary friend, and when I grew up, he came back. He's called the Doctor. He comes from somewhere else. He's got a box called the TARDIS that's bigger on the inside and can travel anywhere in time and space. I ran away with him. And we've been running ever since."

(NB. It came as a complete shock when I later watched an episode in England that didn't have this, and realised that I been watching this series entirely off of BBC Worldwide versions)

And Moffat's ideas are just wonderful. Aliens among us who can’t be remembered. (AWESOME design!) The eyepatched woman observing Amy through a window. The dynamic of the companions keeping the Doctor’s future from him. (Matt Smith now owning his dual role)


For all the sheer style that this tale oozes though, the plot itself is largely incomprehensible. Much of this is because there is clearly more to be revealed in future episodes, but what does emerge here is a story which frustratingly appears to not work anyway.

River is apparently reconceived as encountering the Doctor in reverse order, rather than in a random one. Well, that sure subtracts from any reliability to her claims about his future in Silence In The Library / Forest Of The Dead then.

The Silence, far from being an actual silence in The Vampires Of Venice, are now just another race of biped aliens to shoot. (maybe I'm not recalling them clearly...)

To remind herself of her forgotten encounters with the Silence, Amy writes on her face. Silly girl.

Most annoyingly of all, why doesn’t anyone tell the Doctor about his future death? There is a line about the universe possibly exploding if they do, but in a series where history is routinely mucked about with, this hardly covers it.

For all that, I loved this. I can see the horror style making kids turn it off in their droves, but I was enthralled. Even the Doctor and River’s first / last kiss had a meaning that I’ve never seen done anywhere else. (most TV kisses mean the same old thing as always, and are consequently dull)

As usual though, I thought this script needed objective feedback before being committed to the cameras. As far as I could tell, nobody asks where the future Doctor’s TARDIS is. River has no advice to offer in parting to Amy or Rory about saving the Doctor’s life, although it appears she will never be able to discuss the matter with them further. And I need more than just “It doesn’t work that way” to explain why the future can/can’t be changed. Just what way does it work then?

The plot point of the Silence controlling humanity through post-hypnotic suggestion passed me by (I guess I needed one of them to tell me). I also found the resolution quite sudden, but in fairness I was quietly hoping that with all the other changes to the format, this enthralling story might also last for a further 11 instalments!

That the Silence have been around on Earth throughout all the earlier episodes sat okay with me, because they've been defeated since 1969, and most near-contemporary stories have been set after this. (so I can understand their not being in much of a state to fight off the Cybermen in The Invasion for instance) (alright so date-wise that might have been a bad example)

By the way, just what happened between episodes one and two? A few minutes in, both flatmate Dave and I were convinced that we'd loaded the wrong episode.

The conviction that some questions will be answered later though has my brain working overtime, which I’ve missed so far in the show’s revival. River’s earlier tease about this story in The Big Bang - “And I’m sorry, because that’s when everything changes” – has had a great payoff here. By “everything” she apparently means most of her past with him has been wiped out.

I didn’t like the return of the uncomfortable Doctor/Amy/Rory triangle (no better outcome to root for there), nor the implication that the Doctor and Amy may have slept together, but I don’t think even Moffat wants to actually go there.

My own theory is that the Time Lady kid who regenerates at the end is biologically the Doctor and River’s, from his future and her past, a relationship which thanks to the Doctor's timeline-changing death will not now happen. Perhaps River somehow implanted the embryo in Amy in The Time Of Angels when she claimed to be giving her an injection to stabilise her metabolism on the Byzantium. This would make Amy pregnant with the Doctor and River’s surrogate kid, whose existence is therefore recorded by the TARDIS scanner as both true and untrue due to her two conflicting histories.

I don’t care if that's right or wrong, my point is that a key part of my enjoyment of Doctor Who has always lain in pondering it afterwards. In that respect, and many others, I thoroughly enjoyed these promising two episodes!

Well, I enjoyed what we got to see of them anyway.

SSX Ruapehu

My natural bedtime seems to be 6 o’clock in the morning.

It therefore really messes with my schedule when I have to get up 90 minutes before that at 4:30am.

Today was one of those days. We were trekking out in search of snow!

Breakfast was pizza. Thank you flatmate Cathy, for still making the best pizzas in the world.

5:30am. “Steve?” whispered a silhouetted Sara across the darkened driveway as I locked my front door. Pretty soon we’d joined Katie and Richard to pack into Jean’s 4WD as we all left Auckland behind us in the night. Oh a fun day out in the snow might well traditionally be pictured with whiteness, blue skies and blinding sunlight, but first there had to be a five hour road-trip to get us out of the early-morning darkness.


And I love these journeys. I never truly feel as though I’m in New Zealand until I get out of Auckland. Elevenses at Maccas in Drury, the Waikato River, that funny ‘Hillside’ sign at Hillside... oh, right, it was still night when we passed through there.


Presently we passed the amusingly-named Ohura River, which as a Star Trek fan I’d like to assume also features a wharf for catching pike.

Finally, the green fields began to grow icier. The sides of the road developed long stretches where lines of local people had apparently been defrosting their fridges. And our long-awaited destination appeared on the horizon!


We parked at the bottom sometime between 11-12am, and immediately set about wondering how much of our gear to take up with us. I’d set out wearing about four layers, but since the sun had made her way high above us, I was now down to my trademark t-shirt. Just how much colder might it be up on the side of the majestic Mount Ruapehu? In the end I boarded the shuttlebus with everything.



A bus to Whakapapa ski field plus an early lunch later (a second burger!), and we were all busily donning our hired snow gear.

I’d been in two minds about this - skiing or snowboarding?

I can ski reasonably well, but haven’t actually done so for about 16 years. As I saw all the other visitors slicing around on their skis, the chance to join them once again looked highly tempting.

And yet, snowboarding was something that I had never tried before (unless you count with Herschel on his Playstation), and opportunities to try something new don’t come along all that often.

Hand on heart, I was about 55% in favour of going skiing.

In the end though the decision was taken for me. Everyone else was picking snowboarding. Well, put it like that, and skiing on my own sounded like no fun at all. Snowy activities are supposed to be about the social life.

Finally, with seasoned snowboarder Richard leading the way and coaching us, we rode the chairlift up to the learner slope and proceeded to achieve what all bold, fearless adventurers do at some point in their careers.

We made loads of literally painful mistakes in public. (By "at some point in their careers" I meant the start.)




Good job I was wearing all those cushioning clothes that I’d brought with me.


For me, learning to snowboard shares several similarities with learning to ski:

1. Sitting on my butt while Swiss-accented ski instructors lead lines of perfectly proficient 4-year-olds past.

2. The frustration of not being able to move-off in the direction I want, and having to unstrap the darn thing to walk there carrying it.

3. Picking up too much speed and worrying that the snowboard may suddenly stop while every part of my body above my shin continues relentlessly forwards.

4. Recognising that exact speed which lies midway between too fast and way too fast, so that I can deliberately fall over to moderate my bruising.

I think seasoned surfergirl Sara summed it up simplest: “When you fall off a surfboard, you only fall into water.”


Realising that I was now perspiring buckets inside the tent I was wearing, I decided to sit down for a while before continuing. It was a shrewd move - I was dissolving in there. Time to take the layers off again?

Also, as you can see, I'd been lugging my 35mm camera about in my backpack, because I was afraid of leaving it at the top of the run where it might get pinched. Now I was reasoning that by carrying it everywhere with me, it was in far greater danger of getting damaged.

By the end of the day though, as is the way with learning curves, skidding down a slope at speed was starting to become easier. Such a shame that I can’t say the same for turning, slowing or halting. But hey - when it came to acceleration, there was just no stopping me. Ever.

I’d also figured out that I was more of a goofy than a regular.

I’m always happy taking photos, so I even found the chairlift-ride back down to be gorgeous.




After changing, stopping off at the Gas & Gobble in Te Kuiti for supper (such a great day for eating!), Team Cession climbed back into Jean’s car for the rest of the long drive back home. Along the way FM radio stations swirled in and out of reception. Songs garnered singing, and occasional wishes for a ukulele. The falling temperature had me putting my layers back on all over again.

As we approached the darkness of Auckland once more, according to all the available evidence, here the sun had never actually risen today. The daylight which we had been so enjoying had, apparently, been purely a regional thing.

The day had been maybe 20 hours long, of which we had spent perhaps three hours actually on the slopes. But that’s not what it was about. Sports of any sort are usually much more about simply having fun with friends, and today had been just gorgeous, metaphorically and literally.

Admittedly though, tomorrow my body might disagree...