Scandretti-Persons, House-Sitters, Dogs Also Minded.
In Devonport, one would sit anything, and mind on request. Betty is not a dog person, but she is a big fan, for example, of taking the ferry…
…and of working in the city, and keeping tabs on things to do.
Must look into that. The week of house-sitting ended with fish and chips on the beach – with perhaps a tiny dish of handmade aïoli from the French delicatessen.
It was nice. For various, mostly traffic-related, reasons, though, Betty is glad to be home.
Betty is laid on one side, figuratively, with labyrinthitis, so this will not be a wordy review. It was a lovely night out, though. The superb Groupe F transformed the side of the Auckland Museum into a giant seismograph, and let it run…
It was awesome. A merry band of yobbos behind us narrated, which only added to the atmosphere. At one point a bunch of animated frogs marched out and destroyed an innocent rainbow, which was a terribly bipartisan thing to include. There were human Catherine wheels and kapa haka dancers and picnic rugs and an excellent tomato-spud slice and good wine from rubbish glasses and a gatekeeper who didn’t mind that Betty’s client had provided tickets for the previous night. What more could we ask?
On the spur of the moment, our good friend Fosdycke invited us to go to the cricket.
The husband person is a very keen cricket fan, and a leg-spin bowler himself, so he was excited to go; Betty is big on sitting still, and wanted to see what it was like, so she was excited too. Plans to bring nice things along, like a salad in a Mason jar, and a homemade lemon-stevia-and-matcha drink, which Betty was looking forward to, were quashed – it turns out that Eden Park security suspect that any glass receptacles will be repurposed as guided missiles later in the day, and they flatly refuse to let you bring them in. Fosdycke, who is a teetotaller, had to pour out two plastic bottles of cordial brought from home; they refused to give them the sniff test, or Miranda them in any way, and would only point sternly to the wheelie bin provided. (Of course, glass bottles of Tui are readily available inside.)
Even so, the atmosphere in the stadium was still quite lovely.
The fans were very well-behaved. This turned out to be mostly due to the fact that anyone having any fun was quickly asked to leave. Large billboards warned people against racist comments, which was nice, except for the pointed anti-Pom advertising displayed close by.
This chap started several Mexican waves and was escorted out by orange-vested guards.
He got a standing ovation and a kiss, though, so perhaps it was all worth it…
And in the stands opposite, people were having a grand time batting around a large bouncy ball, one of those floaty transparent balloony ones; security took it off them, but one of the Black Caps managed to scoop it out of the sin bin and give it them back; much applause.
About the game itself, there is little to say. New Zealand lost the toss and, rapidly, the game. Fosdycke was beyond despondent. At the very end, Mr Mills here caught the ball on the full and was transfixed by his own greatness, and the entire northern half of the stadium chanted for him to give a little wave, and after a while he was able to do so.
This was the last of the games that go only from two till nine-ish, but in a few weeks Betty and the husband person plan to go to one of the week-longs, in part. Betty will bring a plastic container and make her lemonade inside. They don’t take your folding knife, so that’s OK.
Another sunny weekend! The city is still freshly preened for yesterday’s Valentine’s day.
Betty and the husband person had a quiet lunch at the Wynyard Quarter.
Food truck pizza, 1. Rubbish disposable shoes, 0.
Mochi, as always, makes up for it.
Then, beside the bridge that folds up, a little crowd gathered to watch a French circus duo perform their original show.
The pre-show was a group of little fishies – and a splashy wee boy, whose identity I will protect.
The show itself was called The Sailors – a very French caper inspired by silent movies, in which the duo performed hilariously on the beams, and dizzyingly on the rigging of their own sailboat.
Punch and Judy have nothing on the French.
They’re called Voiliers Spectacle, and not to be missed. Betty is keen to see their other show, Between Wing and Island, when they sail back in April.
Public holidays this year are a dime a dozen. This week, Waitangi Day.
The weather was glorious – apparently it was horrendously windy early in the morning, but as Betty was sleeping in it really didn’t matter, you see?
Betty and the husband person hopped on the bus and moseyed at a snail’s pace to Devonport. It would be quicker to cycle, except that Hanna, Betty’s genteel omafiets, has a puncture, the poor sausage. Once it’s fixed, there will definitely be a post giving a proper introduction.
Devonport was lovely, as usual.
I mean, more or less…
They really take the alternative transport idea to a whole new level.
But, not having easy access to a bike, a cruise liner, or a naval submarine, Betty and the HP took the ferry instead. It’s a short trip, but exceedingly pleasant.
The ferry building is one of Betty’s very favourite spots. This will be the last full day off for a wee while, sadly, but life promises to be pretty adventurous anyway – circus classes start again this week, there are exciting guest teachers at the studio, Betty’s university course is coming up fast (this time with twice the Charcot and more Richard Selzer, heaven help us), and the work party of the year is only weeks away. Onward and upward!