And how! That’s the boy person friend with a lamppost in his head.
This afternoon, Betty and the husband person trundled across the Domain and had a quick wander through the Auckland Museum.
First they visited some of their favourites: this little cow, who looks like he might have come, like the husband person, from the late seventies…
And this guy.
But then they explored an exhibit they’d never seen before: a reconstruction of various Auckland shops from the nineteenth century. Do read on…
Betty has done many things since her last hurried post in the early hours of her wedding day: she has married the boy person friend, for one, but there has also been an array of other exciting things…
A lovely honeymoon in Queenstown, which may very well be the most beautiful place on earth:
She turned twenty-eight years old…
She celebrated Christmas in a cosy way with the husband person, and again in a largeish way with most of her family, at the zoo:
And, in one of the most exciting developments of recent times, she has taken three weeks off work, one of which is still to come, and she will assuredly spend some of it profitably, and catch up (more or less) on her blogging. To every thing there is a season.
In about eight hours, this blog may redirect from bettyscandretti to, perhaps, bartykumarti. Or, of course, it may not.
Life! It has such possibilities!
This morning, Betty woke up in a great hurry but a little bit late, and she had to race through her ablutions and leap onto the bus, which she did. When the bus arrived in the city it stopped, as the last-minute bus always does, around the corner from the train station. Betty scampered down beside the ship’s chandlery, which is almost her favourite place in the city, because it has brass diving bells and folding hooks in the windows, and then she paused briefly to buy an apple muffin, which she does at every opportunity, and then she went into the train station, which is a very impressive place. She was four minutes early for the train, which gave her time to eat her apple muffin, and then she got into carriage 2 with a few other people, and the train set off.
It begins by going through a longish tunnel, and there are signs at short intervals indicating in pictorial form whether one should run forwards or backwards to get out, which has never been applicable, and then it goes over a bridge that skims across a very tiny bay. Betty’s train, however, stopped before the bridge, as if to wait for a cow, and then it went a little bit further and stopped again, and then it went to the middle of the bridge and stopped altogether. And then the conductress walked ceremoniously down the length of the carriages, while Betty and the other passengers smiled encouragingly, and when she got to the middle of carriage 2 she told everyone that the train driver, despite trying very hard, had been unable to persuade the train to keep going.
By some dint of effort or rescue, the train eventually started going backwards, and it returned Betty and the other passengers to the station. There was a replacement train on another platform, and the conductress took most of the passengers under her wing and marched them onto it, but as it was already too late for Betty to get to church, she merely sent a message to the pastor telling him what had happened. He replied thusly:
and Betty went to the home of the boy person fiancé, who was at home with the sniffles, and made herself mushrooms and spinach on toast before she had to go to work. Such adventures.
The boy person fiance, in deference to the fact that Betty now has a new sapphire and diamond ring, bought himself an X-Box. The logic of this was undeniable, and Betty was only too happy to join him in one or two games of this and that, but it quickly turned out that Betty doesn’t really have the head for this kind of thing: she failed utterly at making Ricky Ponting hit cricket balls, and even though she was able to figure out how to get a Lego representation of Indiana Jones to swing from a light-fitting, it wasn’t enough to make the whole affair all that much fun.
But when she came across various trailers and posters for the newish game, Bioshock 2, Betty knew that she had found her niche. A post-apocalyptic dystopian dieselpunk shooter game, it’s full of portholes and mad geniuses and crazed little sisters. Betty dropped hints for a while, and the other day the boy person fiance went on a suburban mall mish and found the first volume, and now Betty plays it sometimes.
Betty likes the luscious graphics, the moderately intricate storyline, and the deeply-realised dystopian milieu. She does not like killing people with wrenches, or being tricked into completing educational puzzles at regular intervals (“hack this” my eyeball, Mr Bioshock, I don’t think). But, on the whole, Betty thinks she will enjoy finishing the game.
At the very least, it will give her an alternative to performing cricket commentary on a Friday night, which is a very good thing.
Betty has been remiss, tardy, absent, lazy; a slacker, a vacant space, a write-off, indeed, practically, blogwise, the mistress of her own demise. It isn’t that she’s been sitting about painting her toe-nails (a family term for absolute slothful indulgence, though, Betty hastens to point out, she does indeed keep her toe-nails polished most of the time: people do it around here, it lasts for weeks, and anyway, it’s a free country). No, Betty has been far from idle: in addition to working like a crazy woman seven days a week, she has also killed a friend’s car, which she does not recommend. It was no good anyway and it died, barely a fortnight before its owner was to return from overseas, which Betty felt was a bit rich. She has made romantic train journeys to the home of her youth, which is lovely fun; she has lectured for half a semester and worn stockings every Thursday.
She has also become gloriously engaged to the boy person friend. In a scene too tender for the interwebs, but which Betty will say was most romantically devised, the boy person friend, his knee, and a sapphire ring colluded to steal Betty’s heart, and her wobbly eyes, the late evening light, and the expansive park all welled up joyfully and said yes.
And in all the excitement she has not blogged at all, but she plans to make amends.
The other day, Betty and the boy person friend had almost an entirely free day together, and so they scurried into Ponsonby to have some brunch.
This proved to be kind of a bad idea, because it was almost completely impossible to park the car, and the Society for the Improvement of the Streets of This Our City, or some such people, had blocked off one side of the road, and roads in Auckland run forever in one direction, which makes it difficult to turn around. Betty, however, kept a cool head, and parked the car an extremely long way away in a quiet residential street. It was leafy and pleasant.
Then Betty and the boy person walked along more quiet residential streets until they found the cafes, and they sat down and ate in a leisurely fashion. Betty had peppermint tea and amused herself with a wedge of lemon.
But then! When they went back to the car, the boy person friend spied the water from the end of the street, and so they went down some steps and found a nice little beach sitting right there.