The Ark Of The Covenant - Found!

Neighbro's episode #3 of 3

Neighbours parody at cession church in Auckland tonight. Somewhere buried in here was a message about community synergy.

Big thanks: Carmel, Jon, Scott, DaNae, Caleb and Daniel. With apologies to Brett.

Episode #1 here.
Episode #2 here.

The Gathering 2011

I've been trying to make it to The Gathering (the NZ Wesleyan-Methodist church's annual weekend retreat) each year since 2006, but somehow something has always got in the way.

This year the weekend has been cancelled due to lack of numbers. Or more accurately, the numbers are too high. Everyone has kids now, which therefore lessens their availability.

So this year, to not lose the event entirely, regional one-day conferences are being held around the country. This lunchtime I therefore headed up to the bus stop on Picton Street to finally attend one. I admit that I didn't relish the idea of navigating all the way to Papakura Wesleyan Church using only Auckland's public transport. Within a mere moment however, I had bumped into Paul, who had offered me a ride there. Well, my bus stop was right outside where he works. (or even Quirks)

After he, Kate and myself had found the location, the real time of searching began. At one point we were all broken up into our respective churches and asked to discuss questions about what we think our one does well or badly, and ways in which we could improve.

There were about eight of us there from my church (cession), which is easily enough people for me to fall quiet. I find it very hard to communicate in a crowd, because I instinctively wait for a pause in the conversation, which just never comes. At one point I began to say something at the same time as someone else, and as usual stopped to let them speak instead, to which somebody declared "Everybody! QUIET! Steve is talking!" Suddenly eight faces - all of them friends - were smiling expectantly at me.

I have no memory what my point was, just the sense that belonged there.

Neighbro's episode #2 of 3

Neighbours parody tonight at cession's church service in Auckland. Somewhere buried in here was a message about being a good neighbour.

Big thanks: Kate, Carmel, Tes, Jon, Rachel, Scott, DaNae, Caleb and Daniel. With apologies to Brett.

Episode #1 is only a footstep away here.
Episode #3 is only a footstep the other way here.

Return To Oz: Episode #7 of 7 - Return To The End Of The World

It was the final day of my journey down the east coast of Australia, and therefore also my final day this week of actually travelling.

Today, all being well, my destination would be home, also known as the room where I live in Auckland, New Zealand. However my other three travel days this week had all been fraught with stress. So, surely this last one couldn't really have any new unexpected disasters to throw at me?

As it turned out, today was also the day upon which US religious broadcaster Harold Camping had predicted that the world would end.

As my late night gave way to an early morning (5am), if Camping's date was right, then thanks to eastern Australia's time-zone I had maybe as long as 29 hours in which to get back to New Zealand, and hastily achieve all of my still-outstanding lifelong ambitions. Finish making those films, get this blog up to date, catch up with season 32 of Doctor Who, that sort of thing. What's that? Marry the girl of my dreams? Sorry but I have to prioritise here.

The day certainly got off to a surreal start. Fio gave me a lift to the station, bought my ticket with me, came over the railway bridge, and sat waiting with me on the platform.


I've said it before on this blog, but my friendship with David and Fio, whilst not an unusually close one, has become a special one to me over the years. They've been there for me whichever side of the globe that I've been on, and as such represent to me something of the faithfulness of God. Every time I bid them goodbye, I never know if I'll ever see them again, and yet here Fio and I were at yet another international parting, chatting with the lack of facial defensiveness that comes with a very early morning.

Fio spotted the train approaching, gave me a hug, and headed back across the bridge towards her car.








I've found taking pictures in Australia to be an uphill struggle, for several reasons. Firstly because my friends don't use film any more, and so therefore never have cause to look for it in shops, and so therefore now think that nowhere sells it. Secondly because those places that do still sell it (convenience stores, chemists, the same places as always have basically) do now have a narrower selection. And thirdly because, upon repeatedly running out of film, I would go over to using my phone as a backup, which like all things digital, takes many times longer to switch on, and is much more likely to fail.

Bearing that in mind (rant follows - enjoy), despite repeatedly telling me that it was fully charged this week, my phone's actual standby time has reliably proved itself to somehow be less than a day.

Now this morning on the train it was claiming that it had no power left, and automatically logging itself off. So I was turning it on again, upon which it would suddenly realise that, oh yeah, it actually did have enough power to run an entire minute-long smug video telling me its name, before a moment later claiming again that it had no power, and logging itself out once more. At which point we would go through the whole pantomime all over again, with my attempting to seize the occasional shot for the collection above.

Just what designer had judged that purchasers of this phone would be so stupid as to not notice the disparity between what the phone would say, and what it would prove? A 'smart' phone? Really? If you ask me, it's been designed by Ideos.


However despite all my internal despairing, this morning I had to remain calm. My biggest challenge still lay ahead of me. For although my New Zealand visa explicitly stated that I was allowed to re-enter the country for over another month yet, the fact remained that the lady back at Heathrow in March had seen this, and denied that it was so. According to her, today I would not be allowed back into New Zealand, even despite the written wishes of its own government.

So, trying to look as helpful and friendly as possible, I approached the lady seated behind the Qantas check-in desk. After all the hassle on my way out of New Zealand about the camping stove that hadn't been in my luggage, just what problem might this clerk be going to raise? Maybe some other query to do with camping?

Clerk: "So, do you think the world will end today?"

Whu…?

Was this an official question? Was it a new part of her flowchart, just introduced in the past week? Would she refuse me onto the flight if I wondered out loud "God knows"? Yes, as I type this now I have no end of answers that I wish I had counter-thrown her with.

"Yes, in just over three minutes and five seconds."

"Lucky escape for Arsenal if it did."

"Of course it is - which is why it doesn't matter if I smuggle on board this coughing foreign minor inside a 500ml transparent bottle."

"Never mind about that - take a look at this camping stove."

In the event I meekly went with "Um, no."

I also muttered something about "I don't think anyone will know when the world is going to end." Hmm, relevant, although admittedly still a little bit threatening with it.

As it turned out, she seemed to be distracting herself with this subject, and as she checked me in, let me know exactly what she thought of all those stupid doomsday believers that the media had told her about. Apparently they were all selling everything they had and humanely having their pets put to sleep. I wonder what she thinks of global warming?

I did manage to add "I don't think they're stupid, I just think they're letting a system make their decisions for them." But then it was all over. (I am obviously referring to the checking-in process) (whew!) I was now hurrying to get through security as quickly as possible before anything else went wrong, not least everything.

Of course now that I had left her, it was possible that her question had been in response to seeing my job title 'Missionary' on my visa, and maybe she had been looking for a slightly deeper answer. Perhaps I should have regaled her with talk about Revelation's metaphorical interpretations vs. its literal ones, and the possible intentions of the original author.

Although if I'm honest, privately, I think a part of me secretly rather liked the idea of the world ending today after all. I think on some level we all did. It would have solved so many problems. Good job I hadn't told her that!

Newspaper: Harold Camping has '300' followers. What? How few? (beat) Oh. Suddenly it all fell into place. 300 people is hardly international news, unless they're dead, or you're making fun of them. The media were never going to round such a figure down, so it had probably been rounded up, as had the number of Camping's followers who had also believed that particular aspect of his teaching. So how many human beings actually believed that the world was going to end today? Put it another way, how many were rather going to wait and see? How many had actually had a pet put to sleep? One?

Christianity, and the opinions within it, are extremely diverse. Most of the media on the other hand strives to convey things very simply. Whoever those people were, they were not as simple-minded as they were being portrayed, and neither were those of us who disagreed with them. They needed our sympathy tonight, not our scorn.

The internet was looking mean. There was a lot of ridicule for Camping's followers, including from some church leaders. That was so not the way to handle this. In the event that the world indeed didn't end, those people would be rather broken and hurting, so they needed people to reach out to them and accept them. The fragment of the church that I saw online was doing the polar opposite of this - crowing about itself being right and Camping wrong. I sincerely hope the atheists were having a bit more compassion, but again I suspect some did to some extent, and some didn't.

Which reminds me, I have to grudgingly suppose that the designer of the Ideos phone probably made a lot of good decisions too...

I got on the plane. I sat down in my window seat. I went to look out of the window. I kid you not - there was nothing there...


We sat - presumably on some tarmac - waiting to take off. I watched the whole of Are You Being Served? (sadly not the Australian version, but the BBC episode Conduct Unbecoming) Then we sat on the tarmac some more. If I were really cynical, then I would have assumed that this was because someone was rummaging through my luggage, desperately trying to find something - anything - to delay the take-off even further on account of. Or maybe we couldn't take off because New Zealand - being a couple of hours ahead - had already gone.

But, take off we presently did. There was more food, another ice cream, and disturbingly little to look at outside the window all the way back to Auckland. There we found a planet to land on (I assume it was the same one we'd left), and I at last approached Passport Control for final clearance to re-enter New Zealand.

Pleeeeease... Goddddd...

And you know what? The guy at the desk was really helpful. Pointing out that my Visa only had six weeks of validity left, he advised me that Immigration ought to be able to extend it for me. I was so impressed. I suppose this had distracted him from noticing that my passport was due to expire soon afterwards too...

Oh the world might not be ending, but thanks to that international dateline that I mentioned, the legality of my being at the edge of the map sure was.

Out in the public hall, I looked around for catholic-priest-in-training Nigel. Upon locating each other, he promptly whisked me back to Howick in record time. Outstanding.

This whole week has been a breath of fresh air, both literally and metaphorically. I guess I perhaps could have recognised earlier that this trip would turn out to be much more about seeing friends than seeing the country. For example I visited Tim for one night, but have hardly come away with a sense of Brisbane. Everybody invited me back. I hope this means that I didn't outstay my welcome anywhere.

I must admit, at the outset I'd felt somewhat apprehensive. It had been a while since I had last dropped myself into an alien environment with only my own abilities to depend upon. Sure, every time something works out I attribute it to God, and often when it doesn't I do too, but I also believe that there's a component of his letting go of me to see how I manage on my own too.

If there is a next time, then I hope to plan it in a little better detail, rather than (cough) winging it.

Thank you very much friends Tim, Andy, Ally, Fio and David.

Thank you Australia for a whole week of g'days.

And thank you also for coming on this trip with me.


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Return To Oz: Episode #6 of 7 - Hello Again, Sydney

Scottish Dave was back in my life for another 48 hours.

Or, more accurately, I was back in his.

Q. So, what calamitous series of adventures and mayhem could possibly be waiting for us today?

A. None. Today, Dave had to work.

Fio, her son Nicholas and I therefore set off to explore Sydney on foot without him…











Next day, the four of us headed out for more walking.


My ringtone is currently set to the old Windows 3.1 "tada" fanfare, which PCs used to play upon booting up. In the above shop, I kept thinking that someone was trying to call me. It turned out they were just using an old computer in there.










So there it was - another two days packed to bursting with sights and people. As well as old friends like Kev, I also had a brief phone conversation with Mary-Ann. It's nice to make the connection with my last trip here.

I must admit, I have really enjoyed dropping in again on my Sydney 'family'. It's not just Dave, Fio, Nicholas and Kev, but the place is one which, after over six years, still feels familiar to me.

Adios, Sydney. Thank you for becoming more to me than just a one-off holiday destination.

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Return To Oz: Episode #5 of 7 - Planes, Trains And Automatic Telling Machines

On day one of this trip, my flight from Auckland to Brisbane had been a bit of an adventure. Then on day two, my flights from Brisbane to Port Macquarie via Sydney had, if anything, been a bit more of one. Fortunately, my flight today from Port Macquarie back down to Sydney again all went smoothly. Well, apart from that Klingon Bird Of Prey vessel that suddenly decloaked off our port bow…


Still, after I'd landed, collected my backpack, and successfully exited Sydney Domestic Airport, I was relieved that this leg of my trip had all gone perfectly according to plan.

I got to a payphone and rang my host in Sydney - Fionnuala. She was a little surprised, having not been sure whether I was actually coming today, but duly gave me instructions on the two trains that I had to catch. Well, this should be easy.

Putting down the phone, I went to the ATM machine to get some cash out for the fare.

Ever been to the ATM machine and been surprised to be told that you have no credit available?

What about in another country?


I couldn't make sense of it. I was certain that I had plenty of cash in there, but as many a science-fiction protagonist will tell you, you just can't argue with a machine.

Okay, alone in Australia with almost no local currency left. My emergency reserve of NZ cash had mostly gone in Brisbane with all my earlier hassles, but I still had a few NZ coins and things left about my person. There was no alternative - I would just have to pool everything in my pockets and convert it at a bureau de change. Hey - I was standing just outside an airport after all, so just how many dozens of such booths on this side of the security gates would I likely have to choose from?

Having ascertained that the answer was in fact significantly less than every positive number, I realised that my only chance of finding one within walking distance was now to continue my search back inside the terminal. In other words, I had to go all the way back through security again, with all my luggage getting re-x-rayed, including all my film. Sheesh, I'd been looking forward to eating something about now.

Once through the metal detector, I went to retrieve my backpack, only for a security guy to approach and dumbly hand me a plaque to read. It informed me that, as usual, I had just been randomly selected to be searched. Oh, just get on with it.

I didn't like this. As well as the worry about all the multiple x-rays that my films were getting subjected to, I didn't much like my hard drive's chances against the metal-detector that he was casually waving in my bag.

Still, since he didn't seem to speak much English (hence the plaque I guess), there was little I could do.

Heaving the bag onto my back again, I made my way upstairs to find the nearest bureau de change. I walked through the whole of Sydney Domestic Airport, so I can tell you with confidence that there definitely is one. In fact, there literally is one. And the attendant had left a cardboard clock in the window telling me that he would be back in an hour. And then he wasn't.

To add insult to injury - and hunger - I was now sitting on the floor of the same food court where I had wasted so much time two days ago changing from Brisbane for Port Macquarie. Boy, this time I really felt like I was Tom Hanks.

Was this bureau de change guy (or girl) ever going to come back? Might I have to wait here until 9:30am tomorrow? I was getting quite angry with hunger, heat and exhaustion, when I noticed that the zip on my backpack had broken, exposing my belongings to whoever was standing behind me.

Oh, great. So now I couldn't even carry my luggage. If ever a day had slowly ground me to a complete physical halt, then this was it.

Presently, the unlucky teller did return. I kept telling myself not to be angry with him. I reminded myself that I believed in making the world a happier place, not a more miserable one. And yet, I just couldn't fake the smile. So I told him my tale of woe, manipulatively hoping for some sympathy.

It worked!

Without my even drawing attention to it, he apologised for having kept me waiting, and said he would do the best that he was allowed to to charge me a lower commission for the currency conversion. I later read the receipt and discovered that he had waived the commission entirely.


Then he suggested that I go through my luggage looking for any other coins that I might have which he could likewise convert.

Then he asked me to hold my bag up to the slit in the window, so that he could mend the zip for me.

Blimey!

In a moment he had undergone the transformation from being the subject of my scorn to becoming a public service hero! This guy really was going the extra mile to serve the person rather than the customer.

By the time that I was on my way again, with an encouraging sum of Ozzie dollars and a risen-from-the-dead backpack, I still wasn't sure if I had quite enough money for the train fare all the way to Fionnuala's station, but I sure felt more positive about it.

Fortunately I did have enough cash. Unfortunately, the journey still took over another hour.




Upon reaching my final stop, I texted Fionnuala from the payphone outside the station for her to drive out and collect me. She never received the text. So having waited there for maybe another hour, I can't tell you what a relief it was to spot her swinging her car by the station on the off-chance. That's right - Fio was actually on her way to her brother Gerald's, so I would still have maybe another hour to go before finally eating something.

Still, it was great to be back amongst my Sydney friends again. Most of them probably don't even remember me from last time six years ago, but I remember them, so it was great to hear Gerald's voice on the phone, and rock up at the same house where I'd done my laundry that day in '05.

When, on the way back, we then returned to the same railway station to pick up Scottish Dave after his late shift, I slid down in my seat to hide and surprise him. He literally didn't bat an eyelid. After all, what was the big deal? We seem to see each other most years now.

Presently, we did arrive home, I did eat, and I did solve the mystery of my ATM problems. Heh-heh, y'know, silly me, it turned out that I hadn't left enough money in there…

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Return To Oz: Episode #4 of 7 - Billabong / Timbertown

Twenty years ago, old chum Andy used to present a radio programme, which would sometimes feature inserts that I had produced. It was entitled "The Late Show", so I guess when Andy was mere moments overdue picking me up from the airport on Tuesday, perhaps I should have baited him with some sort of clever pun on this title.

But, y'know, it had been 15 years since those days, so maybe it would take just a little catching up before we could start cracking jokes at each other's expense again.

Wrong. Within a mere quarter of an hour of seeing each other, Andy was enthusiastically showing me around the local radio station with which he was now associated, and we were bouncing off of each other's quips like we saw each other every day. Dropping in on friendly people so soon made me feel at home straight away.


Then we went for a meal. Then we dropped in on his relatives. Then we went to his house and I met his wife Ally and two sons. Then we headed out again to enjoy the delights of Coles supermarket. Scarcely an hour went by that we didn't travel somewhere new. This evening was turning out to be pleasantly packed.

Which, as it happened, was also how the next 45 lively hours in and around Port Macquarie would play out.

The following morning, Andy and his whole family drove me all around… no, hang on, why don't you come along with us?



























Whew - what a day!

On the second and final morning, I had again been planning to catch the early Countrylink coach down to Sydney, but realised that my whirlwind trip along the east coast just wasn't proving to be about the place, but the people. Flying again might be more expensive, but I would really be paying the extra for another daytime with my friends, so Andy and Ally easily convinced me to stay on.

Andy and I also took ten minutes to redub the lines to a movie that we'd starting making in London 20 years ago. I'd compiled the guide-track in Auckland using Mr Hippy's cassette-radio, printed the script using flatmate Cathy's printer, borrowed a lead from flatmate Dave, bought an adaptor for it on the way to the airport, copied the audio file using Tim's computer in Brisbane, and finally this morning played the lines to Andy off of my phone, for him to repeat them more clearly as I re-recorded him. To be 10,000 miles and 15 years away from the original performance, but still united in our efforts to see its completion, felt somehow cool to me. Well, I like making these connections.

Anyway, it kicked off another rollercoaster of a day:








Until, finally, we rolled a little gloomily back into the airport again.


As we waited for the gate (door actually) to open, Andy and I went through a ton of photos of old friends and events. As we prepared to go our very separate ways once more, somehow the Australian sunshine outside looked a little harsher. Andy told me from where he, Ally and the kids would be waving when I took off, but alas in the event I couldn't see them. At least inside, I was waving back anyway.

I can't remember quite where it had happened, but the image that I took away in my mind of Andy was of him alternately pushing his two boys on the swings. I could see on his face that his concentration was focused on making each individual push as good as it could be.

It was a good impression to take away of Andy's life now, especially given that he and his family had done everything that they could to make my stay with them as good as it could be too.


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