Archive for the ‘Work’ Category

Pre-Christmas catch-up

Tuesday, December 18th, 2012

The stomach virus that has been doing the rounds recently has finally struck Wendy and I but thankfully not the kids.  With us both confined to bed and couch respectively, I thought I’d do a brief catch-up on what’s been going on in the last month or so.

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The local wild turkeys tempted fate by obligingly coming within range to assist with our seasonal cost reduction exercise.

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While I am rarely on top form at 0500hrs, I was blessed one morning to witness the most wonderful sunrise – a rare moment of beauty, peace and tranquility in a crazy couple of weeks.

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Through the keen ears of friends, we learned of an old but remarkably well-kept Honda CRX for sale at a price we could afford.  While not quite what we had originally planned to get, it has proven to be popular with the girls’ young male friends and pretty reliable once we’d worked out the quirks.

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Two weeks ago, we spent three evenings in a row at Robyn and Maisie’s prize-givings and Ariella graduation from her polytechnic.  Immensely moved to see our girls embrace their education and grasp opportunities in a way I never did.

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After a good few months of discussion, research, planning and preparations, we have launched a farm stay bed & breakfast business.  As well as building a website and Facebook page, we have erected signage at the gate…

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…and on the main road…

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…received our first batch of rack card brochures from the printers…

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and had a good friend and accomplished snapper help us with the publicity photography…

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…just in time to take a wedding booking for January and welcome our first guest yesterday evening. In between all that, we have found time to enjoy the almost daily spectacle and glory of stunning sunsets…

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…knock up some portable yards to help muster our sheep and heifer… 

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…search all possible hiding places for Christmas presents…

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…spent time making some wonderful rainbow decorations…

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…and put up the Christmas tree and arrange the nativity.

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Feathered friends

Wednesday, September 29th, 2010

I have had a day of positive avian influence.

This morning, I woke to the alarm and, having switched it off, lay back to listen to the tuis out-sqwauking the other early birds in the trees along our little road.  They seemed to be a happy bunch and very much enjoying life and this made me smile.

Later, I was in a lunchtime Quaker meeting for worship with my eyes closed, enjoying the silence and the sun streaming through the window.  I gradually became aware of the birdcall outside the window, competing with but somehow less distracting than the traffic noise and sirens.  Again, I smiled at their busy noisiness and returned to my prayer.

Still later, in the middle of a meeting with my boss this afternoon, we were distracted by a colourful pair of Rainbow Lorikeets (thanks for the identification, Ray) in the tree outside my office window.  We laughed and jointly decided to suspend the meeting for a few minutes so we could enjoy their antics and I could take a few pictures before reconvening.

Just a few more lovely reasons why it’s nice to live and work in NZ!

A Tail of Two Mice and a Rat

Thursday, July 8th, 2010

Thanks to an understanding boss and CEO, I have had the blessing of being able to work from home this week so that I can get a few personal matters sorted while still covering my work.  However, a day working at home can throw up things that are unlikely to happen in corporate life – like having my very own Rodent Day.

Open-mouse surgery on my iMac's Mighty Mouse

The First Mouse was the Mighty Mouse on my iMac that decided that it was going to stop scrolling altogether after threatening to do so for a month or so.  Having solved the same problem before and tried almost every other trick without success, I grabbed my trust Swiss Army knife, a craft knife, a Phillips’ and jeweller’s screwdrivers and performed open-mouse surgery on the ailing Mighty Mouse.  After decrudding and decrusting the ball assembly and putting it all back together in the right order, it was working more reliably once again.  That said, the interior workings were showing wear & tear so, knowing that the family were just heading to the mall, I asked around a few friends and checked the forums to get ideas for good replacement.

Dude, don't look now but...

I encountered The Rat at the mall when we ducked into a pet store next to the computer store to buy a plant for our fish tank.  I noticed one of the staff doing a strange, wriggling dance as he walked down aisle and thought he might be either listening to his iPod or having a seizure.  As he got closer, I saw a tail flick from behind his ear and discovered that he had a small white rat poking out of his collar, who was hitching a ride back to his cage after a little walkabout time.  Just as the guy was about to relieve himself of his passenger, his passenger relieved himself – down the guy’s neck!  After securing his very personable and inquisitive stowaway, the guy grabbed a handful of paper towel and cleaned up while we paid for our plant and laughed at his unintended sideshow.

Let the weapons-grade mousing begin!

The Second Mouse was the awesome replacement mouse that I found a few stores along from the pet store.  After looking at a few of the high-end wireless offerings, I went for the highly-regarded Logitech MX518.  When used in conjunction with one of the many third party mouse driver app (for there’s no Mac driver out of the box), this seven-buttoned and superfast scroll-wheeling will do everything the Mighty Mouse did and more besides.  One of the reviewers was spot on when he commented that the mouse glides like it’s coated with melted butter.  What more could I ask for?  It takes a little getting used to after the smaller Mac mouse but seems well made and does the job very nicely.

NB: For my understanding boss and CEO, it is perhaps worth pointing out the shopping took place during my lunch break and this post was written after the working day ended – honest!

Catch up

Sunday, March 7th, 2010

Life has been busy since my last post and I have had a fair amount to occupy my time. Consequently, blogging has taken second place to real life but, in the fashion of my good chum David, here’s a quick visual catch up.

Home made Cornish Pasties

SWMBO is a great if somewhat reluctant cook and regularly surpasses herself in serving up just the right dish at the right time.  In recent weeks, we have been treated to a few dishes and flavours that recalled memories of our life in England. One of these greeted my nostrils when I arrived home one evening recently.  A great and enticing smell wafting from the kitchen heralded a great supper of homemade Cornish Pasties which tasted as good as they looked.

Homemade goodies were supplemented with a few bits and bobs from the shops. On a recent trip to Countdown, our local chain supermarket, she picked up some English Marmite which, in my opinion and those of most other UK folk I know here, is far superior to the Aussie and Kiwi varieties.  However, even this tasty surprise was trumped by a lovely chunk of Tuxford & Tebbutt Cheshire cheese.  While the Kiwis make some good cheeses, I do miss the drier, crumblier and saltier British cheeses like my Dad’s favourite, Wensleydale.

Fush without chups

We headed into our local pet store a couple of weeks ago to check a few things out, little knowing that they were having an open day.  Having successfully deflected pleadings for another kitten or puppy, we left an hour later with a starter cold water aquarium but no fish.

The instructions from the very helpful fish lass in the store was that we set this up in the family room for a week, filling and treating the water so it could get a good stock of healthy bacteria in it before we introduced this fish.

Last week, SWMBO returned with the smallest of our four to choose the occupants and came home with a bug-eyed black eyed fish and a white and orange bug-eyed fish (the proper names elude me).  These were joined a few days back by the last of the additions to our menagerie, a skinny golden algae eater who vacuums the glass and stones free of algae.  There was a mild panic earlier today when this little fellow went missing. Presumed eaten by the other, he was eventually traced to the interior of the tiny amphora we had picked up for a dollar and sunk in the tank. Hopefully, he’ll come out before he grows too big to do so.

Never say never

With redundancy a real prospect later this year, I have started to be a little more intentional about seeking alternative work.  I have a few avenues to explore including a secondment that will see me working in a different area of my field in a very different environment.

To aid me in this and keep things neatly divided, I have grabbed up an HP Mini 210 netbook running Windows 7.  This is my first purchase of a personal computer running Windows in about 7 years. I like the form factor with the 10″ screen being a good compromise between the 7″ of my Eeepc’s and my iMac’s whopping 24″ screen.

It is early days yet but Windows 7 is also proving to be more user-friendly than the XP of my employer-supplied Omnibook or the Vista machines that friends moan about.  I am also trying to keep the apps to a minimum and use web-based stuff where possible, keeping the reasonable resources freed up for document writing, PDF work and the multi-tabbed browsing of desktop research.

The Agile Three

After church, SWMBO and I took our youngest to Scruffs, a local fun dog show.  We got there pretty late but had enough time to enter our Jack Russell/Maltese Terrier cross Abby into the scruffiest dog competition and give her a run out around the agility course.  In two clear runs around the course, Abby managed to reduce her time from 45 seconds to a very creditable 39 seconds, giving all three of us humans a brief but energetic workout at the same time.

We rounded off the day at a friend’s place, eating barbecue and salad whilst catching up on news and swapping offspring horror stories.

Lunch with cicadas

Wednesday, January 25th, 2006

Today’s LDL cholesterol-avoidance lunch

Following the sad and untimely death of an employee last year, my employer has recently taken a number of steps to support employees more in terms of lifestyle, health care and insurance provision. The onsite caterers provide a good variety of meal choices (though they still cater for those Kiwis who love their stodge and cakes), the company has introduced death/disablement in service cover and now are providing wellness clinic health checks. At 0800hrs last Monday and having fasted since 0400hrs (not including the obligatory morning cup of tea), I went before the ‘company nurse’. After a chat to see if I was telling porkies in my health questionnaire, she measured and tested and prodded and drew blood.

The results are interesting and not unrelated to our emigration, hence baring my soul here. Whilst lugging 22 suitcases half way round the world might have stretched my arms and played havoc with my RSI, it didn’t compact my vertebrae because I remain 184cms tall. Sadly, the same cannot be said of my weight which has crept up by 2kgs to 87kgs since we left the UK in September of last year. The lack of routine, the increase in take-away food and the generally unsettled life of living in temporary accomodation and travelling for interviews certainly took it’s toll on my diet and the amount of exercise. These two measurements were used to calculate my Body Mass Index (BMI) by squaring my height then dividing my weight by the height squared or, for those that want the lowdown, 87 / 3.38 = 25.73. In general terms and ignoring the all-important family health history and lifestyle considerations that should always be taken into account, most folk’s BMI should be between 20-25. By exercising less (laziness through lack of routine) and eating more (easy to do in New Zealand), I have let a two kilogram increase in my weight nudge my BMI from just inside (24.81) to a little too far (25.73) outside the healthy range.

My resting pulse rate, at 64 beats/min, is well within the ideal band for my age and indicates that running at lunchtimes and in the forest at weekends over the last month or so has helped me regain some aerobic fitness. Furthermore, I can use this information to better inform myself as to how hard to push myself when out training by calculating . Using my resting pulse rate, I have calculated my minimum and maximum training heart rates (i.e. 60-90% of my maximum heart rate) as 106 and 142 beats/min respectively, which will help me train more effectively. Likewise, my blood pressure is pretty good at 125/80mmHg against the quoted national ideal of 130/80mmHg though, with 1 in 5 Kiwis suffering some form of hypertension, I’m aiming for an optimal of 120/80mmHg.

With a low ‘estimated heart event risk’ score (a murmur-inducing phrase if ever there was one), my main target is getting my LDL cholesterol down. Like my Dad, I like a bit of cheese with brown bread and butter most days but I suspect that my main downfall has been a few too many take-aways and lack of portion control with my own home cooking. My alcohol consumption is pretty fair considering our home is amongst vineyards and wineries, not to mention the boutique brewery down the road. I think, all in all, I am very happy with my wellness check. Already being aware that I’m still getting back into my regular routine and that I have some way to go yet, the ‘no worries but keep a watching brief’ result from the nurse is as good as I could hope for I think. All the above is a very long-winded explanation for the low cholesterol lunch you see above, which I have been munching whilst writing and listening to the sound of the chirruping cicadas in the grass and trees beyond my window. These noisy creatures seem to be celebrating an all too brief gap in the rainclouds now sweeping in from the West after two days of stormy North Easterlies.

Clearing the first hurdle

Saturday, November 12th, 2005

Unforeseen issues and last minute hold ups notwithstanding, come the
5th of December, I will be taking on a newly-created operations and
strategy role with a regional utility company in based Auckland. It
is a smaller company than my last but the role manages and oversees
three departments: the call centre, the dispute and complaints team
and the network management centre. However, with 150,000 individual
commercial and residential customers, not to mention vendors and
third party field teams to manage, the initial challenge will be to
lead further improvements in customer service and deliver new
services for customers within the next 18 months. I am looking
forward to the novelty of working with a smaller team again in a
different industry. In the longer term, one of the attractive
aspects of the role is that I would assume a greater strategic role
in larger regional operations. I was shown around the operations
centre and met a few folks who seemed pleasant and happy in their
work. After what I understand have been a few tough years, they
seems to be a close knit team who are keen to develop and progress.

Elsewhere, whilst things are looking hopeful and we are confident of
making a go of things here, the uncertainty over permits and visas,
together with some unexpected hassles has all added to an certain
level of underlying stress. Though our visitor’s visa are still OK
for another four months, I hope to have my work permit sorted within
the next two or three weeks which, in turn, will allow us to start
the long process of applying for residence visa for all the family.
The only major unforeseen problem that we have encountered thus far
concerns the shipping container that has all our worldly possessions
in it. After weeks at sea, it finally arrived at the port in
Wellington and was unloaded at the container base. The NZ shippers
contacted us regarding a few pieces of paper work and we thought that
all was going well. A week later, we were asked to provide a UK
prescription for just eight pain killer tablets that we declared had
been packed inadvertently by the shippers. Obviously, having used
the prescription to get the tablets, we were unable to comply. We
were then asked to get a private NZ doctor’s letter and prescription
instead. This we did and, on all information and advice, hoped to
have our container released. However, to our annoyance, it turns out
that all this activity took us over a previously unmentioned time
limit that is applied to shipped items belonging to those with
visitor’s visas. This, we were cheerfully informed, meant that we
are now liable for VAT on the shipment as Customs now deem our
belongings to be ‘imported’ goods rather than personal possessions.
The only upside to this is that clothes and personal effects
(jewellery, handbags etc) are not included in the calculation and
some element of depreciation will be deducted against the furniture,
books and kitchen stuff. If that is the only thing we missed in our
research, then we’ll take it on the chin and move on. It seems
churlish to complain when some, like the folks affected by the
Pakistan earthquake, are homeless with just what they can carry in
their arms and no money to start again.

Now we know where I’ll be working, we’ll be off on a recce next week
to find rented accommodation we can move into before the Christmas
holidays, which is also the big summer break here. From there, we’ll
be better able to search for schools and find a new home to buy.
With Christmas just six weeks away (where did the year go?), we’ll
still be house hunting, living out of cases with most of our stuff
still packed in boxes in the garage or shed and our friends and
family will be thousands of miles away. However, the best present
this year will be the very real possibility that our new life in Te
Ika a M?ui ? Aotearoa (the North Island of New Zealand) moves from
being a dream to a reality. We’re convinced that “she’ll be right”
as they say here. That said, we’re not quite there yet and I need to
ensure that my work permit application is correctly completed and the
application filed next week if I am to start work on schedule, so I’m
off to start on that before catching the All Blacks v Ireland match a
little later.

Frequent flying

Monday, November 7th, 2005

A while back, one of our brood managed to lose a large set of keys to
our house and car. This must have, in some way, been working on the
subconscious of my beloved earlier this morning because, in the depth
of the night and half asleep herself, SWMBO shook me violently and,
in a rasping whisper not unlike Golum’s, insisted that she ‘could
hear Keith Chegwin outside!’ Being woken at three in the morning to
be told that the moon-faced darling of 1970’s BBC children’s
television is creeping around our garden is not my preferred way to
prepare for a early morning interview. Incredulity turned to
comprehension when upon replaying the phrase in my head, my befuddled
brain realised that she had actually said that she ‘could hear keys
jangling outside’. The need for sleep notwithstanding, paternal duty
and a certain amount of nervous male pride ensured that I spent the
next 5 minutes creeping from window to window, scanning the section
for intruders, famous or otherwise, whilst trying not to recall
details of brutal ‘home invasions’ from recent local news reports.
Having relayed that fact that the jangling was coming from the collar
bell of one of SWMBO’s four cats, I returned to bed to prepare for my
interview with a few hours of restless tossing and turning, now
accompanied by persistent unbidden recollections of Keith Chegwin’s
incessant nasal chirping.

It is two months exactly since we boarded an Air New Zealand Boeing
747 left the UK. In the morning, along with other bleary-eyed
business folk, I will climb aboard a much smaller aircraft for my
third day trip to Auckland in as many weeks. However, tomorrow’s
flight will be different from my previous excursions up country in
that, this time, the cost of the flight will be covered by a
prospective employer, rather than our slowly diminishing family
budget. Whilst there is no business class champagne and caviar
breakfast option available on the thirty seat turboprop crop-duster
I’ll be flying, I might just chance my arm and ask Kevin or Kerry,
the regular cabin crew on this route, for an extra packet of
Macadamia nut cookies to go with my stewed tea.

Whilst I am certainly no jet set executive, I have been lucky enough
to travel to a variety of places on business over the years.
Business travel can be an absolute grind, especially when the
itinerary is tight or the schedules mean long flights with bad
connections. With this in mind, I try to find something new to
offset the drawbacks and provide me with a new perspective to enjoy.
On the outbound flight of my last Auckland trip, I was seated in
front of an Un Min, the airline industry’s contraction for an
unaccompanied minor. From the tone of the conversations he struck up
with both myself and another chap behind him, this small boy, no
older than ten, was already the veteran of many an internal flight
around New Zealand and Australia. From what I could gather, the lad
lived on a remote farm station and any journey to visit far-flung
family or distant friends involved, at the very least, a four wheel
drive and a small light aircraft and that was before he had left the
family property. Yet this seasoned flyer, whose trip home would
involve progressively smaller and smaller aircraft, was not too
seasoned to relish being given the job of handing round the sweets to
the other passengers, whom he proceeded to charm with a winning
combination of healthy outback complexion, cheeky smile and endless
barrage of questions.

With both my bicycles locked inside a bonded container somewhere in
the Port of Wellington, the majority of my terrestrial travel thus
far has been by car or train. Topography, geology and seismology
have all played a part in making road transport the main choice for
moving people and things up and down these long and varied islands,
with ships and boats fulfilling the crucial role of bridging the gap
in the middle and providing alternatives along the sides. I use the
all-encompassing phrase ‘road transport’ as we have seen all manner
of vehicles on the roads here and have become used to rounding a
corner to be confronted by some new form of wheeled vehicle the like
of which we have never seen. Even at the dinner table a week or so
back, I looked up and out of the window to see a London Route Master
double decker bus (No.18 route for those that want to know) driving
past the end of our road and down to the beach. This, we suspect,
was the ‘English Rose’, a bus used for tours and corporate events we
later saw plying it’s trade in Wellington.

As someone who, at one time or another, has piloted bicycles,
minibuses, vans, minicabs and trucks around the busy streets of
London and around the UK, it has taken me a while to adapt to better
suit the more relaxed, though arguably more dangerous, style of
driving here. Although I would describe myself as an average driver,
my spouse has maintained for years that I am prone to certain traits
that are to be found in the sub genus Homo Automobilus. These, I am
reliably informed, include resetting the trip odometer to ‘0’ before
each journey but never checking the final mileage, passing toilet
stops and rest areas to avoid being overtaken by those I have just
passed and demanding what other drivers are doing ‘on my road’. It
goes without saying that I utterly refute such allegations but am
happy to repeat them here in the interests of balanced reporting.
That said, in the early weeks here, I did notice that I was
constantly passing people on the roads. Over the weeks, it has
dawned on me that this ‘must pass’ mentality was a hang over from
driving on British roads where every mile might be your last before
becoming trapped in a 20 mile Bank holiday tail-back. Of late, I am
more than happy, when the conditions allow, to edge up to just shy of
the prevailing speed limit, set the cruise control to keep me legal
and let the car take the strain, knowing that we’ll get there soon
enough.

The vast majority of Kiwi drivers are perfectly sensible and
courteous but the tiny remainder fall into two distinct camps – the
dreamers and the boy racers. The former are those who make use of
the full width of the road, including the opposite lane and both
shoulders, as though driving was like one of those early video
driving games, which simply required one to steer down the black
ribbon between two sets of green pixelated markers. These folks mean
no harm but simply seem incapable of steering a vehicle within the
confines of a designated lane and clearly have less of a grasp
concerning New Zealand’s particular ‘give way to the right’ rules
than I do. The latter, allowed to drive from the age of 15, feature
daily in the newspapers here, where graphic tales of speed freak
antics and lurid reports on road deaths share the same pages as
details of the latest safety campaigns and editorials exploring the
causal factors involved. Shock tactic television adverts feature
tearful actors as bereaved relatives or families in magically
suspended cars suddenly dropped to earth to simulate a head accident
but the thrill, kudos and machismo associated with customised cars,
ear-shattering sound-offs and street racing by New Zealand’s youth
ensures the tolls continues to rise.

As with road deaths the world over, there are no easy answers and few
governments will risk their majority by taking on the road transport
lobby head to head. The inevitable corollary to this is that the
drive for such change invariably falls to volunteer campaigners and
pressure groups. Having been involved in a small way with the London
Cycle Campaign and Tower Hamlets Wheelers’ Bike Buddy scheme, two
stories in Wellington’s Dominion Post caught my attention this
morning which illustrate how the efforts of such groups can make all
the difference. The first concerned a novice cyclist who died whilst
out training for an upcoming charity ride. After carrying the bike
in a car, it seems that both the rider and their friend neglected to
reattach the quick-release brake cables after refitting the wheels.
Any but the shortest journey in Wellington will involve at least one
steep hill, so the consequence of this oversight was the cyclist
careered downhill, through a junction and into a pickup truck, with
fatal consequences. As “not a confident bike rider” who disliked
“riding in the city”, perhaps this rider might have benefited from
having an experienced bike buddy who, as well as helping them ride
confidently along the safest route possible, might just have advised
them to check the reassembled bike before heading down a steep
slope. In the second story, prompted by a coroner’s report,
Wellington City Council is considering lowering the speed limit in
the city centre from 50 to 30 kph in order to reduce deaths and
accidents involving vulnerable road users such as pedestrians and
cyclists. However, the union representing the bus and tram drivers
here claim that, because pedestrians stepping into the street leave
their members “nowhere to go”, the pavements should be lined with
chains or railings except at designated crossing points. This is all
well and good unless, as has been found in London, you are a cyclist,
when these railings are potential killers that prevent riders falling
away from the traffic and leave them more vulnerable to being
crushed. Without a unified and comprehensive approach, the city runs
the risk of reducing casualty statistics in one user group only to
cause them to rise in another. Who knows, I may just add my voice to
the debate.

Talking of casualties, we had our first opportunity to experience New
Zealand’s healthcare system when daughter two managed to over-extend
daughter three’s ankle joint in a bout of playground rough and
tumble. Despite the lack of visible symptoms, an increase in the
pain after a few hours raised concerns enough to indicate a swift
drive to the emergency room forty kilometres away was in order.
Despite some concerns over the extent of the reciprocal healthcare
agreement between the UK and NZ, we were dealt with pleasantly and
efficiently in a clean and welcoming environment, a welcome change
from the madhouse atmosphere and cast of social outcasts that made up
London’s busiest ER, which was nearest to our old UK home. After a
couple of hours waiting punctuated by a visit from a triage nurse and
a trip to x-ray, we were ushered into a consulting room to see the
doctor. Seemingly almost as young, blonde and smiley as her patient,
the lovely Dr Williams spoke with a soft lilting voice that could
only originate in the valleys of South Wales. The telltale signs of
junior doctor tiredness receded a little as she talked of home and
checked the ankle for damage. Having ascertained that the damage was
minimal, we said our goodbyes and left the good doctor to her work.
Whilst she professed to be enjoying her work experience and social
life abroad very much, I detected more than a hint of homesickness in
her tone and suspect that, on completion of her rotation, she’ll be
heading back to the UK. Come tomorrow morning, I’m interviewing for
a job that may just mean that, when March rolls around, we can avoid
having to do the same.

Learning curves

Thursday, October 27th, 2005
Standing at the dining room window, watching our two middle kids walk away from the house and off to school, it stuck me how adaptable and trusting all four offspring have been. Whilst one might reasonably expect a child to trust their parents, I am still impressed by how readily ours accepted and absorbed the fact that we were moving to the other side of the world. There were concerns about missing friends and family and the odd moment of ‘I’m not going’-ness but, all things considered, they took to the idea very quickly and with hardly a moment’s hesitation. Last week, the three eldest started at their respective schools and the youngest spent her first few days at the local kindergarten. Enrolling the kids in the schools and kindergarten here could not have been easier, with Kiwi pragmatism and ‘can do’ attitude sweeping away all our worries about visas, eligibility and paperwork. At each, we went along for an informal chat with the principle, discussed our situation and the perceived needs of the relevant child, passed across copies of previous reports and achievements and toured the schools. That was it. No drama, as they say here, no hassles, no bureaucracy, just common sense and a clear ‘Put the child first’ attitude.
Each is set out on a broad open campus, typical of many schools here, with expansive playing fields and sports facilities, sun-shaded outdoor picnic tables and benches for lunches and breaks surrounding single-storey classrooms filled with artwork and inspirational posters. The Kiwis place great emphasis on character development and good citizenry and it is common to find schools promoting ‘virtues of the month’, such as ‘approaching each day with a smile’ and helping maintain the cleanliness and fabric of the school’. From what we can glean, the younger two are perhaps having the easier time of settling in, whilst the older two are finding the delicate process of making new friends is taking a little longer. Early teenage years are never easy but, although we have no concerns at this time, it is still difficult to witness these quiet struggles without feeling a twinge of guilt and a modicum of helplessness.
For all those quiet parental concerns, the last week has seen several new friends coming over to visit after school and yesterday we hosted a birthday party for nine pre-teen girls, not including our own. This event was a risky venture for, over and above all the usual risks of children’s birthday parties, we had unknowingly invited one or two who have been marginalised for various reasons. A number of mums mentioned this in passing but we chose to plough the UN peacekeeping furrow and carry on regardless. As firm believers in blank sheets, clean slates and speaking as we find, we felt that this was the only fair thing to do. After all, we have pitched up as outsiders in this small community and have been welcomed with warm smiles and kind gestures. As things turned out, a good time was had by all and, just maybe, a few fences were mended. The birthday girl had a marvellous time, not least because, for the very first time her birthday party was on a beautiful spring afternoon rather than a grey autumn one. In place of the previous cramped living rooms and fast food restaurants, she and her friends had the run of the beach sloping down to the rolling Tasman Sea, all framed by one hundred and eighty degrees of sky blue horizon. I hope that the day will remain with her as fond and cherished memory.
Elsewhere, the hunt for the job we need to secure our future goes on. The twice weekly ritual of scanning the papers and calling the recruiters that I have settled to has started paying dividends. As things stand, I have been shortlisted for two roles, one heading up the contact centre for a public utility who are on a mission to modernise their customer service department and the other as an operations manager of another centre in the capital. I applied for the former through a small firm of head-hunters who interviewed me and have ‘pitched’ me to their client in turn. From what I can ascertain, the centre is set in it’s ways, the management jaded and it will take years to get anything changed. The latter role is better though, to date, having been through CV selection, an interview with a panel of senior managers, two sets of psychometric tests and another interview with a management psychologist used to check candidates’ suitability, so I’m wondering what the heck it is all leading to. It would seem, from conversations with those in the know, the Kiwis are apparently very big on all this testing and it is widely used, so I had better get used to it.
I have also had some very interesting exploratory interviews with a large nationwide organisation and it’s new subsidiary. From these initial meetings and a tour of their operation, I have hopes that something will develop so, having suddenly got superstitious, I’ll say no more for now. Finally, we have seen a senior immigration officer this week and he was helpful in resolving some of our concerns and advising on turning a formal job offer and the requisite paperwork into a work permit. Once we have the permit and I am working, we can start the formal application for longer term residency. All in all, we’re gradually settling into our various routines, balancing the starting of new friendships with maintaining the old, comparing new possibilities to the well-known, while all the while pinching ourselves.




Must try harder

Wednesday, October 19th, 2005

Today, I have tanked, ploughed, crashed and burned. As the weeks pass and the interview count increases, it was only a matter of time before I turned in an interview performance that was less than sparkling and today was that day. This morning, after an solid hour of wide ranging questions from a formal interview panel of three, I was asked to simply name the case management software deployed in my last operation. Almost before the question was even completed, I realised I’d blanked and what’s more, as I looked from one patiently waiting face to another, I knew that nothing would bring it to mind.
In my career, I have given boardroom presentations, handled difficult negotiations and delivered training to hundreds of people. In these situations, I have faced unexpected questions, carefully considered challenges and requests for clarification and, by knowing my material backwards and being able to think on my feet, have crafted the appropriate response and replied accordingly. Knowing this, you might have some idea of how surprised I was to find my mind vacant and incapable of a coherent response. Whilst one half of my brain was still processing the novelty of the situation, the other was acutely aware that questions regarding resource management and budgeting were coming thick and fast and I was not doing a good job of answering them. I spent the second hour of the interview fighting a rearguard action to make up lost ground, trying to reclaim a little of my professional pride and salvage a few scraps of dignity along the way. The panel members were cordial and polite to a fault but I sensed that I’d had my chance and blown it.
I conspired to do all this during the first of two back-to-back interviews, so my earlier fumblings were fresh in my mind as I walked to the second. As this second meeting took the form of an informal ‘get to know you’ lunch in a bijou Wellington bistro with a key player from one of the national banks, how could anything go wrong? My cheeks, still burning from the disconcerting loss of memory and the subsequent scramble to re-establish credibility in the previous interview, flushed again as my lunch partner opened by saying how impressed he’d been by my CV. This had been forwarded by his colleague, whom I’d met with a week or so ago in Auckland and, after running a few checks with the recruiters, the chap decided that he’d like to meet to see if I’d ‘fit’ his organisation. We slipped into a very pleasant chat, he asking the questions and I, composure regained and confidence restored, providing the answers until our bijou food arrived.
Over quesadillas and braised kidneys, I was pleased to learn that we shared common opinions on a fair number of issues and, with my earlier troubles receding, I relaxed into the moment. Sadly, I relaxed a little too much and, whilst listening intently to my lunch companion, a momentary pause of my right hand changed the delicate balance of a kidney on my fork, sending the morsel into the rich sauce below. Ploop! Like blood spattering a condo wall in an episode of ‘CSI Miami’, the sauce rose to prescribe a perfect arc across my crisp white shirt. Idly noting that the spray had strangely missed my tie altogether, I pulled the kind of ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you’ face that Stan Laurel used to give Oliver Hardy, dabbed myself with a napkin and commenced my second face-saving campaign of the day. To be fair, we both laughed and the conversation continued as before, with no further mention of the incident.

I walked back to the car, dreading the third interview of the day, namely the debrief with She Who Must Be Obeyed. After explaining that she might want to keep the champagne on ice a while longer, we fell into a deflated silence on the drive home. As we headed north, I found myself wondering how my respective interviewers would remember this day. Would the panel I met earlier always reflect on ‘that nicely presented guy’ who completely blanked when asked which software package his team used? Would the key player from the bank decline to pursue matters further but be quietly grateful for the ‘I once interviewed this Pom…’ story he can tell around the campfire at next year’s team building weekend?

Only time will tell.

Turbulence

Sunday, October 9th, 2005

“Oh…Dear…Lord…”

My neighbour, whose fingers were clamped deeply and firmly into the headrest in front of him, was clearly not enjoying the flight and spent a good deal of it in the ‘brace’ position recommended on the card in the pocket in front of him. To be fair, a small propeller-driven commuter aircraft flying up New Zealand’s west coast is not necessarily where one would choose to be when springtime Westerlies are blowing in across the Tasman from Australia. Riveting though the in-flight magazine was, it was no match for the drama unfolding in the cabin during the one hour flight from Palmerston North to Auckland. After complimentary coffee and tea had decorated enough laps and the hostess had fallen over twice, the cabin crew gave up serving the in-flight breakfast snack and passed amongst the passengers with rosaries, lucky heather and next-of-kin forms. Massive air pockets sent the plane lurching earthwards, leaving me an inch above the seat straining against my belt, until our descent was arrested by vigourous updrafts that pushed me down into the padding like a large invisible hand. Combined with the gale howling the other side of the small Plexiglass window, these roller-coaster moments made for an interesting trip and the relief of being back on the ground was evident on the faces of my fellow passengers as we filed across the apron to the terminal building.

I had flown to Auckland for an interview with the deputy HR director of a large national organisation. The interview had come about as a result of a ‘float’ by one of the recruiters I am using. A float, I discovered, is recruiter jargon for pitching a candidate to a prospective employer without a particular role in mind. Whilst this might sound a bit hit and miss, New Zealand’s present economic climate, low rate of unemployment – most employable people are gainfully employed – and static population mean that even the best of positions might only receive two or three applications. This being the case, employers are keen to meet with a promising candidate in the hope that they can match them to existing or upcoming roles in their organisations. In this case, the float was a good one, not only from from my point of view but that of the HR director and operations manager I interviewed with as well. The organisation seems to offer what I’m looking for and, I’m reliably informed, their feedback regarding me was unusually positive, with a specific commitment to try and find a role within the organisation that I could formally apply for.

Suitably cheered by the positive response, I returned from Auckland only to find that I shall have to fly back again next week, for a pre-interview with another recruiter concerning a position with a utility company. Should this gives the impression that job hunting in NZ is simply a matter of jetting about meeting people, then let me set the record straight. Far away from our old lives and networks, I have found it hard to establish an effective daily job hunting routine and securing two interviews in two weeks belies the routine slog that brought them about. Given that we have no landline telephone and therefore no fixed internet access at the beach house, establishing some sort of routine has become essential to making any progress in my job hunting. Usually, this routine involves checking the career sections in the New Zealand Herald and the Dominion Post (Mondays, Wednesdays and Saturdays), highlighting suitable roles and creating a tracking file for each role or recruiter. In these files, I record all the ad details, emails, phone conversations and meetings regarding each role. Given that, as of today, I am actively working with seven recruiters on six separate applications, not to mention other agencies I am registered with or jobs I’m applying for direct, I need to be comfortable with my system and confident I am on top of all that I need to do each day. As someone used to having at least 2Mb broadband access, fixed line telephone and a home office space to work with, trying to work without such things has been more of a challenge than I had bargained for.

My iBook and my new Nokia 6680 are both Bluetooth-capable and this means, in theory at least, that I can get online and work anywhere I can get a decent phone signal and faster 3G access in the major cities. In practise, things are a little more difficult and this has proven to be the most frustrating aspect of life here for me so far. GPRS, that is to say a fast data connection via my cellphone, is pretty costly here and means a pre-pay phone like the one SWMBO is using is out of the question, so I chose the 3G phone hoping to benefit from a faster service on a cheaper account tariff. Without an established credit history, signing up for a mobile account without a credit limit has been a trial and, whilst I have applied for an open account cleared by direct debit each month, I have yet to hear whether or not this has been approved. In the meantime, I have discovered that there is nothing more infuriating than preparing a bunch of emails and attachments, only to have the connection drop halfway through sending your mails because you have reached your credit limit. I have four other options available; using the internet terminals at the local township library 5 kms away or the main library 20 kms away or driving 40kms to Palmerston North to use an internet cafe or the pay-as-you-go wifi access at one of the coffee houses. Of these, the wifi option is preferable as I can access all my own documents on the iBook without the hassle of having to transferring them.

This uncertain state of affairs has driven me to distraction and, to my shame, have caused more than a few periods of turbulence and dark clouds around the house. Difficulties and frustrations are magnified by the fact that, as a family, we are removed from familiar surroundings, estranged from friends and colleagues and in each other’s company twenty four hours a day. The kids have relished their time away from school and, in the absence of their usual TV programmes, have played together a lot more. The simple fact that they can now occupy three bedrooms, as opposed to the solitary room they shared in the UK, has helped to reduce sibling rivalries and tensions significantly but their noisy and boisterous games don’t make for the conducive work-like atmosphere. Likewise, having a boring Dad who is always asking for quiet and moaning about the noise can cramp the style of four energetic youngsters. The lack of a desk or office space means that I must either perch on the end of the dining room table or retire to an easy chair in the corner of the living room to work, using my iPod to blot out the mayhem and chaos that goes on around me. Occasionally, I retreat to the bedroom downstairs to concentrate or make a call, in the fervent hope that the person I’m calling can’t hear the fratricidal goings-on upstairs. Unused to spending so much time in each other’s company, spousal relations have been strained too. Be it a disagreement about whether we should get a second car (without a car, you’re pretty well stranded in rural NZ) or a misunderstanding about something that was said back in the UK, every conversation is a potential flash point. Without the routines and support structures we are used to, both of us are aware and afraid of getting into arguments that we can’t resolve easily, fearful of long silences at the dinner table and, despite the very necessary electric blankets, cold shoulders at bedtime. After the storm has passed, tentative peace talks usually identify the causal factor of any dispute fairly quickly and, with both parties agreeing a mutually acceptable solution, hostilities dissolve and the house takes on a cordial atmosphere once again.

Storms of the meteorological kind have also played a significant part in our lives over the last two weeks. The view from our living room window is made up of just three elements; sand dunes, sky and sea. Like coast dwellers since time began, we often find ourselves transfixed by the view. Here, a world away from the crowded view of our London flat, we marvel at the cloud formations that announce the arrival of another weather front and crashing breakers that deposit the Tasman Sea at our back door. Just today, I found myself struck by the fact that, at an elemental level, there is no physical barrier between the cold angry water that foams over the dark volcanic sand here and the warm, reef-protected lagoon off Rarotonga where we snorkelled amongst pipe fish and coral just a few weeks back. That said, as Captains Cook and Tasman and the other pakeha who explored and mapped New Zealand discovered, the coastal water here are influenced by the winds and waves of the Pacific and Tasman, not to mention the frigid waters of the Antartic and, as such, are prone to impressive storms around each equinox.

Conscious that the preceding paragraphs read like the moans of a ‘whinging Pom’ (see joke below), let me reassure you that we love being here and are thoroughly enjoying ourselves. How can one complain about a country where one can buy five double-scoop ice cream cones for $5 (£1.97) or a five minute errand takes an hour and a half because every one wants to chat and find out why you’re here? In our admittedly limited experience so far, we have found almost all Kiwis to be generous with both their time and resources. For instance, the local pastor, having learned of my lack of connectivity when the family attended church last weekend, immediately tracked me down and offered me the use of his Airport Extreme wireless broadband connection any time I needed it. This has meant that, in the last week, I have been able to work from his dining room table or, when I have just needed to send the odd mail, simply pull up outside his house, log onto his home network and hit the ‘send’ button in my mail application. We have received solid house buying advice from a waitress that tallied with similar advice from friends and a chance word in a $2 shop led to the loan of a cat basket when we needed to collect the cats from the cattery.

Despite our uncertain immigration status, the principals of both the local primary school and the local college have both been happy to enrol the three eldest girls, citing the need for them to get settled and make new friends as being more important than funding and paper work, at least for the time being. Both schools are made up of bright, airy single storey buildings laid out across large spacious campuses. Here, large playing fields with an abundance of climbing frames, play equipment and open air swimming pools with sun canopies are the norm even for the smallest schools. The classrooms are filled with artwork and project material that draws equally from both the Maori and Pakeha (European settler) cultures, alongside a multitude of All Blacks posters, which stand as testament to the strong national pride here as well as the fierce opposition the local teams dealt the British Lions in June. The general ethos in the schools seems to be one of work hard, play hard but have fun doing both. Come tomorrow morning, we will see if this is borne out as the eldest girls will start their New Zealand school careers, a little nervous of what to expect but excited too. Although the littlest has been attending an Early Years Unit at a London primary school since she was three, children here do not attend school until their fifth birthday so we’re hoping to sign her up at the local kindergarten in the meantime, so she can make friends and SWMBO can have a few hours to herself each weekday.

The landscape here is simply wonderful and we are truly lucky to be able to view the vast expanse of the ocean from one side of the house and the low mountains of the Tararua State Forest Park from the other. Any car journey affords great views of the hills across the rolling farms, wide flood plains and thick swathes of fir. The wide views and distant horizons have enabled us to see the complete arc of the most vivid rainbows we have ever seen. At night, without the light pollution that blights so many places these days, the sky is crammed with stars and, just over a week ago, we saw a shooting star streak across the sky, mirrored in the ocean below. The southern spring is slowly giving way to summer and the fields are filled with young lambs, calves and foals, all grazing on the rich grass of riverine meadows of Horowhenua, the region where we currently live.

Our nearest large town is Levin and it looks like many others here, based as it is around a main street that sits astride a State Highway. On each side, the highway is bounded by covered walkways and canopies outside the shops and stores. Interspersed with these are entrance to small shopping malls that run perpendicular to the road and often lead to large parking lots at the rear. More often than not, these are surrounded by the larger chain stores and supermarkets. The fact that these large stores are away from the main street helps to preserve not only the feel of an older high street but means that the smaller independent store have more than a fighting chance in grabbing their share of passing trade. At either end of the main street, the shops gradually give way to the larger commercial premises of car dealerships, builders merchants and other service industry outlets. The town boasts a great adventure park where the kids went wild yesterday until rain stopped play, a small aquatic centre where we swam today and a thriving cinema that shows world cinema releases alongside blockbusters.

Closer to home, Foxton is a small town built around a Main Street that is one block back from but parallel to State Highway 1. As the first settlement of the Manawatu, Foxton had aspirations to become the regional hub but, unlike most towns in the region, was not founded on a farming community. Founded by a Presbyterian missionary in 1848, the town only began to thrive when a flax mill was opened twenty years later, processing flax harvested from the surrounding swamps. The town eventually grew to support fifty mills and a thriving river port but Foxton’s growth was also it’s undoing. A wooden tramway (later railway) was built to connect it to the new settlement of Palmerston North, which lay 40kms inland. However, a depressed economy and the diversion of the railways to serve business interests elsewhere sealed Foxton’s fate, with it’s gradual decline ironically balanced by Palmerston North’s growth into a thriving university city. Today, a carpet factory, providing local jobs but itself under threat, is all that remains of this manufacturing heritage and the town is now reliant on tourism and crafts for it’s main incomes.

To the seaward side of Foxton lies Foxton Beach, where we are living in a house kindly lent to us by friends. The township is comprised mostly of homes belonging to retirees and beach houses (‘baches’), interwoven with the odd holiday motel and motor camp (caravan park). Intriguingly, I was told in conspiratorial tones by a local that a lot of single parents on low incomes move here, though quite what I was to make of that I am not sure. This little community sits in the mouth of the Manawatu estuary with a sailing club and slipway nestled alongside a bird sanctuary. Apart from the usual dairy (corner shop) and petrol station, commerce in the township also includes a second hand store that is never open, Mr Grumpy’s fish and chip shop and a small bar and eatery called Simply Balmy. All this is overseen and protected by a volunteer fire service who are summoned by what sounds like a nuclear attack siren, an enormous lifeguard station on the beach and a police station that is smaller than our living room. Whilst it is highly unlikely that I will find work locally or that we will settle here long term, it is a delightful area full of wonderful little towns and lovely people. Our time here so far has proven to be a marvellous antidote of to our many years of city living and a superb introduction to the country we hope to make our home.

Kiwi joke: How can you tell if an aeroplane at the airport is carrying Poms? The whining carries on after the engines are turned off!