In nne days I expect to be catching a bus from Glenavy to Christchurch Airport. No more volcanic erruptions have spoiled the stratosphere, I will be on my way to Darwin to take part in the Northern Territory Literary Festival, Wordstorm.
On May 31st I expect to leave Darwin and fly to Chania, via Athens to spend three months in the village of Kissamos writing. So far so good. I picked up my tickets on Thursday. My fare there and back has been paid, the rent on my cottage has been paid. The Greek economy will be that much better off because I am coming to spend money in Crete.
After three months in Kissamos I planned to spend a fortnight at the Writers' Gathering in Loutro. Again I would be contributing a few hundred in foreign currency to the Greek economy, but no. The Greek Embassy in Wellington says I can stay only three months. I must leave Greece at the end of August. I cannot trot off to Italy of Spain for a while and come back again, I can only stay in Greece for three months in any six. UNLESS I pay to have my non visa entry extended. The daily cost of this would be a sum estimated to let me pay off Greece's national debtin 30 days.
So my plans to spend four months on an idyllic island, to walk through the Imbros Gorge, where the New Zealand Army retreated in WW2, have to be curtailed, why? Does an 84 year old staying an extra month seriously threaten Greek security?
Friday, April 30, 2010
Friday, April 23, 2010
SHAFTING THE ELDERLY
I paid my quite reasonable air fare, and then I went looking for travel insurance. At almost 85 I expected it to be heavy, budgeted to spend a thousand dollars. But the quotes the travel agent found were ridiculous to the point of obscenity. $4,400 with an eleven hundred dollar excess, meaning if I broke my leg I would have to pay most of the cost myself. We bargained it down to half what they quoted, but I discovered quite a lot of unsavoury information about the travel insurance racket. I now regard it as several degrees lower than used car sales.
As I rang around looking for competitive quotes I discovered that many sellers of travel insurance are offshoots of the same underwriter. When I gave my name they would log on, they knew my age, my ‘existing medical conditions’ and their quotes were identical, though not as outrageous as the initial quote. The web page of one firm, who advertise special rates for members of the Society of Authors repeatedly, lost my connection the moment they learned my age. The fact that I have been travelling overseas for twenty years without claiming anything mattered not a jot. It seems to me they were not assessing risk, they only saw a chance to ring a ruinous premium out of an aged client.
Some years ago my eldest sister booked one last round the world trip, I don’t know what she paid for travel insurance, but she was assured that she had ‘unlimited cover’. She broke her kneecap in Singapore, hobbled around England and finally, on the point of collapse reached her daughter in Boston. You’ve heard of Boston General? One of the great hospitals of the world. They had a new technique, laser surgery, and were sure they could fix my sister’s knee. But her Insurance company insisted she return to New Zealand and see her G.P. first. SIX MONTHS LATER my sister spent four weeks in Bowen hospital in Wellington having an artificial kneecap inserted. She was never free from pain again, and the unlimited insurance cover turned out to be less than five thousand dollars.
Well we have Mothers Day, Fathers Day, and all those other enticements to spend money. Why not Insurance Day, where we burn effigies of insurance underwriters and throw Molotov cocktails at those edifices in the cities that they call ‘Headquarters.’
By the way, this does not apply to the nice people at STATE who have fixed my car twice, and organised repairs when rats nibbled my water pipes, drenching my carpet.
As I rang around looking for competitive quotes I discovered that many sellers of travel insurance are offshoots of the same underwriter. When I gave my name they would log on, they knew my age, my ‘existing medical conditions’ and their quotes were identical, though not as outrageous as the initial quote. The web page of one firm, who advertise special rates for members of the Society of Authors repeatedly, lost my connection the moment they learned my age. The fact that I have been travelling overseas for twenty years without claiming anything mattered not a jot. It seems to me they were not assessing risk, they only saw a chance to ring a ruinous premium out of an aged client.
Some years ago my eldest sister booked one last round the world trip, I don’t know what she paid for travel insurance, but she was assured that she had ‘unlimited cover’. She broke her kneecap in Singapore, hobbled around England and finally, on the point of collapse reached her daughter in Boston. You’ve heard of Boston General? One of the great hospitals of the world. They had a new technique, laser surgery, and were sure they could fix my sister’s knee. But her Insurance company insisted she return to New Zealand and see her G.P. first. SIX MONTHS LATER my sister spent four weeks in Bowen hospital in Wellington having an artificial kneecap inserted. She was never free from pain again, and the unlimited insurance cover turned out to be less than five thousand dollars.
Well we have Mothers Day, Fathers Day, and all those other enticements to spend money. Why not Insurance Day, where we burn effigies of insurance underwriters and throw Molotov cocktails at those edifices in the cities that they call ‘Headquarters.’
By the way, this does not apply to the nice people at STATE who have fixed my car twice, and organised repairs when rats nibbled my water pipes, drenching my carpet.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
PAPER LANTERNS by Christine Coleman
Paper Lanterns
by Christine Coleman
ISBN 9780956444202
Novel Press 2010
I am heartened to read a novel which has caught up with Cinema’s way of telling a story -everything in present tense, as though the reader is watching the story unfold on a screen.
Paper Lanterns is intellectually stimulating and a piece of cracking good story telling, told in present tense with flashbacks to the past through diaries, letters and reminiscences. Chronologically it begins in 1927 in Hong Kong, when silly, bored young wives accompanied their husbands to exotic outposts like Hong Kong. But the narrator is Ann, an unlikely romantic heroine, 50+, in a pedestrian marriage with Graham, her two children grown, and made to feel inadequate. But like everyone else in Paper Lanterns she has depths. When she learns that her mother, Vivienne, has been abandoned in Hong Kong by her long term lover Ann flies to her aid and finds a totally different situation to what she expected. She not only unravels the story of three generations of her own family, she finds new relatives she had no knowledge of, especially George. She literally bumps into him in the airport.
.
Christine Coleman’s characters are believable, human¸ and complex, even that dastardly philanderer. Rupert, who awakens Ann’s grandmother to her real sexuality. It is true that many wives at that time did not know what an orgasm was and Belle’s description in her diary is a very true piece of reporting, told in lyrical prose. The story is intelligent, masterfully constructed, and challenges middle class conventions about sex after fifty, promiscuity and adultery. .
But the real star of this novel is the Island of Hong Kong itself, its crowds, its streets, its smells, its lifestyles. I shall have to go and see it for myself..
Paper Lanterns is available from novelpress@live.co.uk , price about NZ$24 pp.
It would make a lovely Mother’s Day gft.
by Christine Coleman
ISBN 9780956444202
Novel Press 2010
I am heartened to read a novel which has caught up with Cinema’s way of telling a story -everything in present tense, as though the reader is watching the story unfold on a screen.
Paper Lanterns is intellectually stimulating and a piece of cracking good story telling, told in present tense with flashbacks to the past through diaries, letters and reminiscences. Chronologically it begins in 1927 in Hong Kong, when silly, bored young wives accompanied their husbands to exotic outposts like Hong Kong. But the narrator is Ann, an unlikely romantic heroine, 50+, in a pedestrian marriage with Graham, her two children grown, and made to feel inadequate. But like everyone else in Paper Lanterns she has depths. When she learns that her mother, Vivienne, has been abandoned in Hong Kong by her long term lover Ann flies to her aid and finds a totally different situation to what she expected. She not only unravels the story of three generations of her own family, she finds new relatives she had no knowledge of, especially George. She literally bumps into him in the airport.
.
Christine Coleman’s characters are believable, human¸ and complex, even that dastardly philanderer. Rupert, who awakens Ann’s grandmother to her real sexuality. It is true that many wives at that time did not know what an orgasm was and Belle’s description in her diary is a very true piece of reporting, told in lyrical prose. The story is intelligent, masterfully constructed, and challenges middle class conventions about sex after fifty, promiscuity and adultery. .
But the real star of this novel is the Island of Hong Kong itself, its crowds, its streets, its smells, its lifestyles. I shall have to go and see it for myself..
Paper Lanterns is available from novelpress@live.co.uk , price about NZ$24 pp.
It would make a lovely Mother’s Day gft.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Not a Better Mousetrap
The world, not even Waitaki, is not beating a path to my door.
Last year I compiled my fourth collection of poetry. Rather, my clever publisher, Frank Sviatko did, I sent him a C.D. and he chose twenty three poems, designed a cover, wrote some outrageous flattery for the back cover, organised the printer, and couriered them down to me. I took them with me to Ireland and the World Poetry Night in Liverpool, where they sold well. When I came home I used my little books for Christmas cards. But I still have a couple of dozen left.
‘Over and out from Down Under’ (ISBN 978-0-473-5851-4) is an A6, saddle stitch book of 32 pages. It has been reviewed favourably in the on line poetry magazine, Poetry Kit. What should I do with the remainder? They are too tiny for libraries to consider, but Oamaru Public Library thought that local tourist shops might stock them, as the poems are mostly about the Waitaki region. I sent a sample copy to the local tourist board. It was returned in the following mail with not a word of ‘no thanks’ or explanation. Rude I thought, but that’s Waitaki.
So I am offering the remaining copies for sale at $10.00 post free. Send $10.00 and your return address to
W.D.Davies
329 Kaik Road
R.D.5H
OAMARU 9493
and I shall post a copy to you immediately.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
THE TSUNAMI ALERT
After all the excitement I am glad the tsunami alert turned into a damp squib, but grateful that civil defence was ready and able to advise us, just in case. I first heard the warnings at 6 a.m. I listened while I ate breakfast. At 8:30 I rang my sons, 2 in Dunedin, 2 in Christchurch and the others in Wellington. None of them had been listening to the radio. I called over to my neighbour across the way. He was sitting in the son reading Saturday’s paper. Yes he knew about the tsunami. He had been fishing at the river mouth when Glenavy Civil Defence wardens came down and warned everybody to get off the beach.
The radio advised us to be prepared to evacuate; to pack overnight bags and food and water. It was all very sensible and calm. I packed night clothes, and a change of daywear, shifted my treasures into my little loft and sat down to wait it out. I remember a friend who had been on the Wahine in that storm. ‘After the first excitement,’ she said ‘it was rather boring, just waiting around.’ Shirley Corlett has written a novel about it. So I opened my e mail and sent a message to friends overseas to tell them that it was not at all like a Mel Gibson action movie.
After it was all over I posted a messages on the P.K.Poetry site.
The first wave of a threatened tsunami has passed the Chatham Islands. The radio says, ;be ready to move' but all we can do is wait. My overnight bag is packed, passport, credit cards and medication stowed safely; four bottles of water and my other computer stowed in my boot. My neighbout is cutting her roses, in case the water rises, So all we can do is wait.
Maybe I will be abe to make a poem out of this.
Waiata
My online friends were quick to send ‘take care’ e mails back. So I posted a ‘list’ poem:
Packing Treasures
Family photographs
spare knickers (silk)
glass necklance from Venice
T shirts from Turkey
4 bottles of water
medications and toothpaste
my laptop with all the PK postings.
This came back from Angela who lives in Wirral near Liverpool.
this morning
buy silk knickers
just in case
of tsunami
can’t afford
fare to Paris
M&S
not quite
the same
So I posted this:
What people see is not
always the entire package
an octogenarian
losing her hearing
her sight
her balance but
never her marbles
while young folk bray
she smiles because
under her geriatric gear
she wears silk.
Angela’s response?
Ton Up
by Angela Kearton (Wirral G.B.)
black leathers
go faster stripes
alloy wheels
titanium chassis
carbon forks
twin carbs
souped up engine
no brakes
on my wheelchair
old girl racer
but wait! There’s more!
After all danger was passed I wrote this Pantoum.
PACIFIC PANTOUM
That ancient sea god Tangaroa
dreaming, stirred in his ocean bed
his stirring shook the whole earth’s core
and from his stirring ripples spread
dreaming stirred his ocean bed
pulsed relentless wide and wide
from his stirring ripples spread
implacable as they pushed the tide
pulsed relentless wide and wide
drowned atolls and islands as they passed
implacable they pushed the tide
across the ocean deep and fast
drowning atolls and islands as they passed
pushed higher and higher up distant shores
across the ocean deep and fast
the dreams of the sea god Tangaroa
So that was that. No big dramas, I don’t suppose people will ask each other, ‘Where were you when the tsunami struck?’ Just as well, really.
The radio advised us to be prepared to evacuate; to pack overnight bags and food and water. It was all very sensible and calm. I packed night clothes, and a change of daywear, shifted my treasures into my little loft and sat down to wait it out. I remember a friend who had been on the Wahine in that storm. ‘After the first excitement,’ she said ‘it was rather boring, just waiting around.’ Shirley Corlett has written a novel about it. So I opened my e mail and sent a message to friends overseas to tell them that it was not at all like a Mel Gibson action movie.
After it was all over I posted a messages on the P.K.Poetry site.
The first wave of a threatened tsunami has passed the Chatham Islands. The radio says, ;be ready to move' but all we can do is wait. My overnight bag is packed, passport, credit cards and medication stowed safely; four bottles of water and my other computer stowed in my boot. My neighbout is cutting her roses, in case the water rises, So all we can do is wait.
Maybe I will be abe to make a poem out of this.
Waiata
My online friends were quick to send ‘take care’ e mails back. So I posted a ‘list’ poem:
Packing Treasures
Family photographs
spare knickers (silk)
glass necklance from Venice
T shirts from Turkey
4 bottles of water
medications and toothpaste
my laptop with all the PK postings.
This came back from Angela who lives in Wirral near Liverpool.
this morning
buy silk knickers
just in case
of tsunami
can’t afford
fare to Paris
M&S
not quite
the same
So I posted this:
What people see is not
always the entire package
an octogenarian
losing her hearing
her sight
her balance but
never her marbles
while young folk bray
she smiles because
under her geriatric gear
she wears silk.
Angela’s response?
Ton Up
by Angela Kearton (Wirral G.B.)
black leathers
go faster stripes
alloy wheels
titanium chassis
carbon forks
twin carbs
souped up engine
no brakes
on my wheelchair
old girl racer
but wait! There’s more!
After all danger was passed I wrote this Pantoum.
PACIFIC PANTOUM
That ancient sea god Tangaroa
dreaming, stirred in his ocean bed
his stirring shook the whole earth’s core
and from his stirring ripples spread
dreaming stirred his ocean bed
pulsed relentless wide and wide
from his stirring ripples spread
implacable as they pushed the tide
pulsed relentless wide and wide
drowned atolls and islands as they passed
implacable they pushed the tide
across the ocean deep and fast
drowning atolls and islands as they passed
pushed higher and higher up distant shores
across the ocean deep and fast
the dreams of the sea god Tangaroa
So that was that. No big dramas, I don’t suppose people will ask each other, ‘Where were you when the tsunami struck?’ Just as well, really.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
A Delightful Discovery
Joy and Robbie Lawson live on two acres at Makakihi. Maka where? Makakihi, that tiny town between Glenavy and Timaru; a river, a factory making potato chips, a tavern and a few folk selling country crafts. Joy is a potter, Robbie a gardener. I met them when the Glenavy Women’s Institute found that the planned venue for their February meeting was not available. Not to worry, one of the committee members had relatives with a nice garden at Makakihi. Twenty W.I. members descended on the Lawsons, were welcomed, entertained and fed home mixed barbecued rissoles with three salads, a range of pickles and sauces Escoffier would have envied, plus fruit salad and ice cream to follow, under a spreading flowering cherry tree and the biggest wisteria I have ever seen.
But first they showed us their two acres, borders filled with flowers and shrubs from which Robbie takes cuttings for sale, winding paths through glens of shady trees, Joy’s pottery is in a little courtyard behind a lattice screen, her stock of garden ornaments displayed outside; quirky hedgehogs, pukekos, spotted mushrooms and dozens of miniature gardens set is unorthodox containers; a picture frame fastened to the fence, a discarded colander filled with tiny cacti. Indoor pottery is displayed next to Joy’s studio and in a blue caravan set in another part of the garden. Nearer the house is a ‘reflexology path,’ carefully sized flat stones have been set on edge so one can walk in bare feet while massaging one’s soles. Joy and Robbie preach the value of mulch and carrots like tree ferns, laden tomato vines demonstrate their beliefs.
Where are they? Driving north look for the last sign ‘Plants and Pottery’ on the right before driving on to the bridge. Their two acres is a wonderful example of how a house and land can combine to make a real place for living in. It’s worth stopping to see.
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