I had to drive to south Auckland.

It was … emotional.

Things are grey there, like poverty is like this thick brown cloud that just hangs around, pounding its misery down loud on the crowds and houses found bound on the ground below.

The buildings were run down; lawns overgrown.

I even saw kids on the streets with no shoes on their feet.

It made me feel…

Fucking great, actually.

Nothing like a locked-door, wound-up windows trip through the poor parts of town to remind One of how much betterer and greaterer than those people One is.

Yeah.

So the inlaws have finally returned from their year away where their puny cheers failed to help NZ win the America’s Cup and failed to help NZ win the Rugby World Cup.

Useless.

But, they still have their uses, I guess

Which is why we dropped the kids with them and ran away laughing in the opposite direction the first chance we got.

Be rude not to.

A manic weekend.

Kids had a bike ride event on Saturday morning. Little Ginge loved it. She wore herself our by riding around and around on her little plastic three-wheeled motorbike. She looked happy and free, which made me sad that I no longer had a motorbike. A push bike is a poor substitute, let me tell you.

Then we had to do the leave-them-with-the-grandparents thing while we rushed off to a funeral for a friend’s aunt. Traffic was a bitch. Had trouble parking. Was running down the street while trying to change into a collared shirt reverse-Clark Kent-styles. Got there just as it was starting.

It was a lovely service. I rejoiced in singing hymns I’d never heard before in an off key way that the parishioners had never heard before.

The pall-bearers had a little trouble trying to get the coffin out of the old church. The aunt was small. So was the coffin. But so was the aisle they had to navigate on their way to the hearse. And I found myself thinking twisted thoughts about how when I die, I want to have a service in that church and have the widest coffin I can find, and then arrange for the fattest people I know to carry me out. Who says you can’t laugh at a funeral?

Then we had to rush home and pack to go up north to surprise my brother by turning up to his 30th birthday party.

We were surprised to find that there were only a handful of people at his party. It was over by 8.30pm. Hardly worth the 3-hour trip. But at least I got to see my bro. And welcome him to the start of old-age.

And I wasn’t complaining. We were staying in a motel for the night.
No kids.
So yeah.

I got to watch satellite television.

Rock. On.

Then we had to return home the next morning and claim our children.

Bah.