Acts 29

Since finishing reading the Bible, I've been slowly trying to also read the apocrypha, but then Acts chapter 29 comes along and makes a mockery of the whole idea.

In fairness, there don't seem to be many people who consider it to be genuine, and having just read it myself, I have to unhesitatingly agree.

After all the build-up to Paul's long drawn-out journey under guard to await trial in Rome, this next chapter begins with him simply leaving. No miraculous angel-assisted escape, no appealing to Caesar, not even any preaching of the gospel there, he just leaves. No, that doesn't run on at all.

Heck, take a read of verse one for yourself…

"And Paul, full of the blessings of Christ, and abounding in the spirit, departed out of Rome, determining to go into Spain, for he had a long time proposed to journey thitherward, and was minded also to go from thence to Britain."

- Acts 29:1

Yes, then he goes to Britain, specifically to Sandwich and Ludgate Hill. If that sounds parodic to you, and jokes about oysters and travelcards are already occurring to you, then remember that those are the modern translation names for those stops, I mean places.

Along the way, everyone is nice to him, no-one disagrees with him, and even God shows up to helpfully wrap-up what ultimately became of Pontius Pilate. There's also a miracle in verse 21 in which an earthquake reforms the waters of the lake…

"like unto the Son of Man hanging in an agony upon the Cross."

That doesn't sound like a Biblical miracle at all. With respect, that sounds more like catholicism.

I'm all for fan-fiction, but if the style is going to change so drastically, then there needs to be some acknowledgement and hopefully explanation for this. There are enough people who divorce the opening chapters of Genesis from the rest of it on these grounds as it is.

Acts chapter 29? I'm tempted to have a go at writing it myself, if only to bridge into this as some sort of additional page by Marvel UK.

Doctor Who: The Rebel Flesh / The Almost People

Amy: "Okay, well I'm glad you solved the problem of confusing."

I guess the saddest comment regarding a story about doppelgängers must ironically be how many times it's been done before.

Consequently I'm afraid that I didn't find very much about this two-parter to hook my interest. Yes, it's even got two episodes. Eurghh.

I suppose a story grounded in a theme so familiar, really needed to do the journey in a new way. Fairly early on I gave up trying to figure out which originals would turn out to be copies, and which copies originals, because I knew what a lottery it was.

The cliffhanger to episode one is a good example. From the earlier moment when the Doctor awoke from unconsciousness, the revelation that he had a clone running around, and indeed might himself be the clone, was a foregone conclusion. Likewise, when they're distinguished for us by the different shoes that they're wearing, there's again only one possible plot-twist there. Or would the double-twist be that 'our' Doctor actually was the original? Well, if it can't affect which one of them survives at the end, then does it really matter?

Racquel Cassidy is excellent as Foreman Miranda Cleaves.

Giving Amy's husband Rory someone who looks like a love-interest… uh, is this a rewrite?

I liked the ramifications of a world where clones are an underclass, as well as seeing characters attempting to outwit themselves.

Episode two's notion of the clone Doctor struggling to cope with his earlier incarnations seemed like an irrelevant detour, and didn't work for me for three reasons:

1. Most of his earlier bodies are dead. (good job they didn't reassert and promptly collapse then)

2. Quoting (or misquoting) famous lines isn't what any of those well-loved characters would do or say.

3. In the event, none of them actually did come back. For just a moment there I was hoping for an episode-long showdown between the eleventh and fourth Doctors, but no. Ach, why dangle that carrot and then give us nothing?

The story's also weighed-down by the old curse-of-the-character-who's-never-been-in-it-before-and-has-a-kid millstone. When the kid is rung up, he is just left hanging on the line.

At the end, there is just no way that the Doctor and Cleaves' gängers have to stay behind to hold that static door shut to give the TARDIS time to dematerialise. The Doctor and Cleaves' gangers take two and half minutes to say goodbye. During this the gänger-monster leaves two pauses of 42 seconds between attempts at hitting the door, followed by another one of 36. By contrast, the TARDIS' actual dematerialisation takes 10 seconds. Absolutely terrible.

The following throwaway explanation in the TARDIS of why everything is happy endings is apathetic too.

Doctor: "The energy from the TARDIS will stabilise the gängers for good - they're people now."

Cleaves: "And what happens to me? I still have this." [her blood clot]

Doctor: "Ah! That's not a problem - I have something for that!"

Sheesh, why had we all just bothered?

Capping it off is how the Doctor, after all his moralising about the gängers' right to life, proceeds to immediately kill Amy's one. This was the worst script editing I've seen in a long time, which in this show is sadly saying something.

A much better ending would have seen Amy's gänger compelled to remain behind to continue the fight for gängers' rights. After her earlier dismissal of the Doctor's supposed gänger, there would have been a painful sense of justice there, not to mention the angst of a goodbye for all three regulars. Instead the Doctor murders her. I guess he may have to change his name from 'Doctor' after all. (so much for his line above about the energy of the TARDIS stabilising gängers for good)

It is entirely possible to turn your brain off and enjoy this story, but for me the appeal of watching Doctor Who has always been turning one's brain on.

For a story about sub-standard copies of people to itself turn out to be a sub-standard copy of other stories was I'm afraid not an entirely unexpected twist.

Hopefully it's not a mistake that will be repeated.

And after all that - most terrifying cliffhanger ending ever.

SPUC Conference 2011

As usual for the middle of September, I've just spent the weekend away with my mum, attending this year's annual conference of the Society for the Protection of Unborn Children.

Lots of talks combined with plenty of scribbling have seen me return home with a mass of quotations and notes from what I heard.

Here are a few of them: (I hope I've attributed them accurately)

The Psychological Pain Of Abortion workshop:

"People who have mental health issues are encouraged to have abortions, although the evidence says that abortions increase mental health issues."

Maternal Mortality and Abortion in Developing Countries: The Need For A Pro-Life Response - Fiorella Nash, Political Researcher, SPUC:

"There are no instances in which a mother's life can only be saved by terminating her unborn child."

"Countries where abortion is illegal, such as Ireland and Malta, have the lowest maternal mortality rates."

"The population density of Europe is 134 people per square mile.
The population density of Britain is 634 people per square mile.
The population density of Africa is 66 people per square mile.
Children do not equal poverty.
The real reason for poverty is corrupt rulers, not a lack of birth control."

"The phrase 'last resort' is often used to justify a course of action which cannot be justified."

Launch of New SPUC Schools Talk - Michael Hill, Vice Chairman, SPUC and Eileen Brydon, Education Officer, SPUC:

"Surgical abortion is… [in England and Wales] more common than appendix or tonsil removal."

"Babies born before 24 weeks often survive."

"Babies are often killed before induced stillbirth to prevent their crying."

"Abortion didn't end my pain, it began it."

"We are not wired to abort our children."

"Children and young people are naturally pro-life."

Workshop: Euthanasia / Assisted Suicide - What Is Our Response? :

"'Assisted suicide' is an oxymoron." (I recall that I paraphrased this)

"So is 'physician-assisted suicide'."

"Once you start looking at killing as a means to solve problems then you'll find more and more problems where killing can be the solution."

"You don't push a suicide over a bridge, the right thing to do is to talk them down, everyone agrees on this."

"The law does not say that we have a right to commit suicide."

But I Don't Wanna Go Home

At the start of March this year, when booking my latest mission trip to New Zealand, I was faced with a choice.

Schedule the return flight in two months' time on a Tuesday, or extend the trip by two extra days to Thursday, and pay a bit less?

You know what? I paid the higher fee to avoid having to spend two more days in NZ.

Actually returning over four months beyond even those dates, boy, do I feel like a mug.

Specifically, the one that my friends at work just presented me with.


I had mixed feelings about this. It's thoughtful of them to get me a gift, but it kind of makes me feel as though I might not ever be returning from the UK this time. Admittedly, I do always plan for that contingency, it's just never come to pass yet.

But... I'm only going back to be best man at Herschel's wedding, right? That ceremony won't last forever, will it? Will it? Please God don't let Herschel's actImeanspeech last forever...

So this week I spent much of Tuesday night / Wednesday morning in Auckland packing yet again. Jade seemed to believe that I was leaving her permanently too.

Well, she didn't like that. She didn't like that at all.

Here she is realising that she has to say goodbye to yet another flatmate:




At one point while I was packing, she came up to me and suddenly struck my hand before bolting away. Oh dear.

With a 30kg weight limit, the bathroom scales made it clear that I was going to have to decide what to leave behind. I'd copied my photos off of CD and onto hard drive, so those discs went in the bin. ANZ bank statements got recycled. T-shirts, a Bible, other books, my old phone that Tim Downstairs had given me… I just had to box them up and leave them behind, in case they were still waiting for me if I ever return.

Yep, it's a good opportunity to declutter.

My suit has been here ever since I first moved over in 2004. I actually decided to wear that to the airport. Over the years I've tried everything else to get an upgrade, and as shuttle driver Matthew began chatting to me about the economy on the way there, I figured it was proving itself to at least be a good conversation starter.


Still, once at the check-in desk, I didn't manage to score the hallowed seat that turns into a bed for up to 30 hours, despite how empty the (initial) flight was. However I was still 4kg over my limit, which should have set me back me $360, but they kindly waived it. Hm. I wonder how they would have felt if I myself had been 81kg instead of 77?

Then it was time to buy a few last-minute souvenirs, and to sit for a moment.

Just to sit. Just for a moment.

So I accordingly took a load off and finished the bottle of V that Julia at work had given me months ago now, to say thanks for helping her run The Dragons' Den. Auckland Airport now held a few more memories, of a few more people. This particular concourse was where I had come with, among others, Sara, Joanne, Stephanie, Cathy, Rasella, Rachel, the Oasis kids, and the entire Reynolds family to say farewell to Carmel a while back. Funny, I hadn't known any of them before this trip…

Something went wrong with this - my sixth - journey to New Zealand. Having as usual picked up my job, my church, my friends, my bank account, and my flatmates without missing a beat, my latest short-term mission trip just sort of kept on going. Like a tennis player running to return a really high lob on the edge of a cliff.

Work kept plying me with more, and ever more varied, projects to undertake.

I made a ton of new friends at church, took on a new regular responsibility there, and joined every cell group going.

My blog? Sheesh, I'm sorry, I just haven't had any time, so it's got five months behind all over again…

Returning across the globe to tend my UK life is, unusually, an interruption. Normally things in NZ reach a sudden natural breaking point, but this time I'm turning down work to leave.

Has my New Zealand odyssey really come out a success?

Yes, I consider that it has. If I actually don't come back this time, perhaps it's good to literally go out on a high.

Once through security, I had my traditional BK reward meal, and began the first flight to Melbourne with two empty seats next to me.


Had a great conversation with a neighbour called Jim. Everybody needs good neighbours. The next seat is only a footstep away. Anyway, Jim was heading back to Oz to rejoin his family. I hope when he got there they all went out to the street to play cricket and steal each others' lives.

Then a lady called Helen came up, and congratulated me on travelling in a suit. We talked. This was a big trip for her, and she actually asked me to pray for her. I promised, and privately resolved to continue to do so throughout October.


Most of the changeover at Melbourne was spent chatting with a nameless Indian guy who was off on his own travels. Yes - a random Indian guy! It turned out that he was an NZ immigration agent, and lived at the top of my road.

Unlike the first, the second flight was packed. Now the two seats next to me contained John and Paulo. Since they had each other to talk to, there was less conversation with them, but still some.

It was the middle of this second flight that I found the hardest. As night set in and my eyes began to close of their own volition, I was quietly wishing that I didn't have eight more hours to go before being rewarded with another giant flight afterwards. I took a deep breath and just waited. It was the only thing that I could do.


At Dubai I showered, and almost checked out the airport chapel. There were shoes at the entrance. I decided that I didn't want to risk offending anyone by failing to observe any local etiquette, so instead skipped it.

The Dubai to London leg was much easier. The highlight for me would have to be flying over Romania. This was the first country that I had ever flown to - in 1991 - and on some level I've always wanted to go back and shoot more film of it. My flight to New Zealand six months ago had been at night, so this morning I made full use of my Android phone to snap away at anything visible from the sky.


There were more people sitting next to me here too, but I don't recall anything about them.


Presently, would you believe, we reached… the English coast!



We got stuck in a holding pattern on our approach into Heathrow. I could see things that I could recognise! The River Thames, the O2 Arena where we had been to see Ben Hur Live, the readable roof of IKEA, Heathrow Airport… uh, Heathrow Airport? Already?!?



Throughout my three flights I had had Anika Moa's song Mother Mother going through my head, and upon reaching my house as always it was special to see my mum again. She was actually waiting outside the gate in the sunshine for me to arrive.



The cats hadn't missed me (I could tell by the way they ignored me as usual), the book I forgot to pack in March is still here, and according to Herschel I phoned him and babbled incomprehensibly for about an hour and a half, as is standard.

As always, it was good to be home.

Thank you God. I don't know what you're doing, but I do believe that you're still in this with me.


The very next day, I left again.

The Chronicles Of Narnia: The Voyage Of The Dawn Treader

Having left it five years between the first two movies in this series, I've left it more like six months before viewing this third chapter.

All part of my plan. When I watched the second one on my flight from London to Auckland, I made a mental note to watch the next one on the return leg.

And as I find tends to be the case with threequels, I thought this was the best of the series.

It was fun, I followed the story, and even a miserable character like Eustace is realised by Will Poulter as someone to rely upon for enjoyment. Basically, he's a young Arnold Rimmer.

My memory of the preceding movie is fuzzy. I recall that there was a character called Caspian in that, although I can't say that I recognise him here. Simon Pegg's talking mouse is fun too, but again, I have next to no recollection of the character appearing before.

All in all, a fair way to spend two hours, especially when you have 28 others to get through before London.

(available here)
(review of The Lion, The Witch And The Wardrobe here)
(review of Prince Caspian here)

Thor (film)

"That's not a bad thing, finding out that you don't have all the answers. You start asking the right questions."

Q. Who goes to see a film called Thor?

A. Comic fans. Probably fans of Norse mythology too. Certainly not the general public.

The makers of Thor know this, and from the opening credits embrace their work like enthusiasts.

The bleak melodramatic world of Asgard might be quite hard to make accessible to newcomers, but for this audience it doesn't matter. It's set in the same shared universe as the Iron Man films, and embraces this to the point of making SHIELD's Phil Coulson (Clark Gregg) the principal human opponent. (not to mention also tagging a teaser scene onto the end of Iron Man 2)

In fact the more I look, the more stuff emerges that only genre fans would appreciate. Nick Fury (Samuel L Jackson), J Michael Straczynski, and did I really fail to spot Hawkeye, also from next year's big Avengers movie? He was the marksman with the bow and arrow, right?

And as for that guy driving the pick-up truck…



Wait a minute… his character was called "Stan the Man"?! So… he's playing the same character as in Fantastic Four 2? So that film ties into the upcoming Avengers movie as well??? Gee, well, I sure hope that Captain America (Chris Evans) and the Human Torch (Chris Evans) meet.


In fact, given how I was watching an airline edit of Thor, I have to wonder just how much else I may have missed out on here…


(available in a slightly different version here)

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 East Auckland, 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 by 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. Being a city boy, I regularly run, walk or bus everywhere. If I lived in the countryside, well, then I can see the need.

However I don't think many people like to let their words fall to the ground. Please permit me a momentary biblical detour to express this...

In 1 Samuel, God visits the titular Samuel, who overcomes his fear of speaking about it to give the world an honest account of this and a lifetime of subsequent culturally contemptible revelations.

Many years later, God tells the aged Samuel that he approves Saul to become King. So Samuel anoints Saul King, but despite Saul's good intentions, his rule becomes self-centred. So God sadly aborts Saul's kingship before he can do any more inadvertent damage to Israel.

Despite having personally promised Saul to Samuel / Israel, God now has to ironically save them from him. That's more important to God than following his plan.

At this, Samuel is described as 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 many will look upon Samuel's broken prediction, and mistakenly scoff that he is a liar, or corrupt, or mad.

Though God knew Samuel's honesty actually remained intact, the damage to how people treated him, and his words, 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 spoke 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.

:)