This is one of the reasons that it’s nice to walk to the supermarket after work. Pretty, no? The husband person has been digitally disguised for privacy reasons.
Betty has been enjoying her long sleep-ins, and has spent a goodly amount of time watching The Office and not working out, but even so, yesterday she decided to behave like a grown-up person and go and do something useful. Not useful exactly, because what she decided to do was this: she would hop into the car and go to St Luke’s mall, because you can park there easily, and after that, she would go to the museum.
St Luke’s was a pleasant enough interlude, though Betty did get accosted by a cuticle-oil salesman; she extricated herself and did a modest amount of wandering around. Then she had a brief jaunt down Karangahape Road and found a shop selling handmade satin slippers with embroidery on them, which she has half a mind to buy and wear to work sometimes, because it’s all indoors and her current sneakers leave giant footprints on the mats. Then she picked up the boy person friend and headed to the museum.
They were only an hour before closing time, so it was a selective trip.
They looked at the dinosaurs, and then at the kiwi eggs and the albatrosses. There is a moa skeleton from a collection in England. Interesting.
It seems odd, though, that museums don’t ordinarily have a human anatomy section. They have a mummy — Betty discovered it by accident on an early date with the boy person friend, shortly after explaining to him that he was on no account to let her see it. He announced its presence with some surprise, causing Betty to quail within and freak out. It’s a smallish mummy; it looks about ten or twelve, horrible wizened-up thing.
Still, though, a bit of comparative anatomy wouldn’t go astray. Betty casts her vote for a few plastinated cadavers, or at least some human skeletons to stand beside the dinosaurs, for scale, and so on.
After the natural history section, they had a quick whip round the war:
…and the archives.
And then it was time to go home, a fact that was made abundantly clear by the ringing of the Last Post. Betty, however, has firm plans to go back for the special exhibition on roses (sequel to the special exhibition on orchids). Museums are lovely.
Hobson Street, as local and more cosmopolitan readers will know, is a long street that is only sporadically remarkable: it contains an array of interesting though ordinary places like an intercity bus terminal, a bunch of cheap hotels, and a Denny’s.
Tucked away between some dairies and an Asian supermarket, however, is a smallish everything-store called Wah Lee. It’s apparently famous for its fireworks, but apart from that people seem to ignore its existence, which is odd, because the place is straight out of Sunnydale: just look at it.
Signs on the windows advertise “Lovely Crockery”, “Paper Ball Lantern” and “Silks on Rolls”.
I spent the other morning in Mairangi Bay, filling in for a holidaying teacher. This helicopter scooped up several wee buckets of water while I was having my break: perhaps it was looking for the mysterious algal terror that has been killing the penguins and dogs? We’re not supposed to let the children eat the sand. But maybe it was just thirsty.
After that, I walked home.