After the hens' lunch we headed back to the farm and chilled out in the sunshine before a few of us set about filling jam jars with flowers. It was so nice getting to know close friends and family of the bride and groom and to be part of the preparations. It was also really good to be back on the farm with my NZ family again - I think I've said before I'm convinced Laura and I are related through our Scottish ancestors.
Being back in this place reminded me once again how much I've moved on in the past three years. After T's death I can remember being told that things would gradually improve with the passing of time. That things wouldn't always be so bleak, so colourless. That meant nothing at the time. Now I can see how true that is. It's imperceptible really, until you have something to measure it against. The me that arrived in NZ three years' ago was a broken, fragile, bewildered me - still reeling. Still grieving. Less a shadow of my former self; more a different person altogether. It felt good coming back. Remembering the past, acknowledging the journey I'm on, looking to the future with a happier, lighter heart.
Being back in this place reminded me once again how much I've moved on in the past three years. After T's death I can remember being told that things would gradually improve with the passing of time. That things wouldn't always be so bleak, so colourless. That meant nothing at the time. Now I can see how true that is. It's imperceptible really, until you have something to measure it against. The me that arrived in NZ three years' ago was a broken, fragile, bewildered me - still reeling. Still grieving. Less a shadow of my former self; more a different person altogether. It felt good coming back. Remembering the past, acknowledging the journey I'm on, looking to the future with a happier, lighter heart.
One of my new friends, a super lovely friend of Laura's called Katie, and I stayed with some super lovely neighbours that night; an Irish lady called Margaret and her husband Chris. We were made to feel so incredibly welcome and at home in their home. Sharing a bed with Katie just a few short hours after meeting her helped cement our friendship. We woke up on the morning of the wedding to a slightly hazy day that held the promise of hot sun to come. After a cooked breakfast with our hosts, Katie and I headed over to the farm to lend a hand with the preparations. We hung pom-poms in the sheep shed, arranged flowers, set tables - whatever was required to help make things less stressful for the bride and groom. I felt the burden of responsibility when Laura asked me to do a walk around as if I were her - checking for an out of place fork, a missing glass, a cardboard box poking out from under a tablecloth. Laura was calm and serene, as I'd expected she would be.
After a quick fashion show for Katie, it was decided that my black jump-suit was too avant-garde for a Kiwi wedding (lol!) so I settled on one of my favourite black dresses. There was barely time to do my make up and hair, grabbing some pastry-less quiche and wine with Margaret, before it was time to head back over to the farm for the ceremony. By then the sun was out and the farm was awash with guests, all there to help Laura, Steve and Rose celebrate their special day. There was a palpable buzz in the air. I was so pleased I'd flown half-way around the world to be there to join in the celebrations.
The ceremony was beautiful. The bride and wedding party looked gorgeous. The service, conducted by the most lovely padre (who I drunkenly christened Pedro), was lovely. The setting and weather were perfect. It was very special and very unique. After the ceremony we stood in the sunshine, drinking champagne and eating delicious canapés, including the most delicious macaroons. Later on the guests meandered through the trees towards the marquee overlooking the fields. Katie and I took a short cut to be there to shower the bride and groom in confetti as they arrived. We perched on logs in the warm sunshine, drinking more champagne, talking about the day, getting to know other guests, admiring how lovely everything was. It was picture perfect - like something you'd see featured in a magazine.
Dinner was delicious - hog and lamb roast with wonderful fresh, homemade-style salads; my kinda food. The wine was good. Obviously; most wine in NZ is. The speeches made me cry. I cried for Laura's brother, James, who died five years ago (today, in fact). I cried for Laura's family. I cried for T and for me. And I cried because it was these two facts combined that meant I was even at Laura's wedding. Despite the geographical distance, Laura and I definitely became closer as a result of that.
The compulsory dancing began after dinner. And I got compulsorily drunk, as is my wont at weddings. I even karaoked (thankfully with the mic stand, not the mic), which is also compulsory for me at weddings, despite knowing full well I can't sing. Wouldn't be a wedding without it though! Later in the evening Laura's brother and I discovered a stash of leftover champagne. Which we drank out of whatever glass we had in our hand when we staggered to the esky, which was sometimes a pint glass. Oh well. That's what weddings are for. Angus reckons his hangover lasted three days as a result. And he's just young. I smoked celebratory cigars with Pedro the padre, a glowstick (used to light the path to the portaloo) around my neck. Then a male guest changed into his mankini, as he'd promised he would. Persuading him to wait until 10pm to do so was one of the better things I did that night. Not sure all the guests would have approved of him doing so before the watershed, although I think both the bride and groom's mothers were pretty happy, even requesting a photo of the three of them together. All in all, it was a pretty awesome day. I was so happy to be part of it.
The next day I was meant to head back to Laura's house ready to catch a flight to Melbourne with Janelle. Instead I called Qantas at 5.30am on the Monday morning to change my flight so I could stay on in NZ for a couple of extra days. Then called them again a couple of days later and changed my flight again. Went on a roadtrip up the coast to Hawke's Bay, Napier and Gisborne. Learnt how to corner on the twisty NZ roads. Camped. Swam in the sea. Ate fish and chips on the beach, washed down by delicious Esk Valley wine. Ate Sunday lunch at a winery, under the shade of the olive trees, a seven-piece ukulele band playing. Got my nose pierced. It was all pretty amazing. Liberating, refreshing and fun. Something out of the ordinary. Totally unexpected. It felt like I was really and truly living in the moment. Finally! It also meant I got to hang out more with Laura and Rose. I sorted out a couple of her kitchen cupboards, got to know Rose a bit better. Helped them do a supermarket shop. Put the world to rights. It was all good.
Eventually, after 13 instead of 5 days in NZ, it was time for me to say my goodbyes and head to Australia. Again, it was a bit of a landmark moment being back in Melbourne. Back to the flat I'd helped Janelle move into three years ago. Walking the Tan every day. Having lunch beside the sea. The familiarity of Flinders Street station. Meeting up with Ben, who Tim and I met in Peru over 10 years ago, for a couple of indulgent sunny afternoon wines. Catching up over a delicious Mexican meal with my school friend, Chris, and his now wife, Genevieve. Everything was the same as it had been three years previous. But so very different. I think the same is true of Janelle too. And that makes me happy. We've both come a long way in three years. All for the better.
From Melbourne it was on to Singapore for what turned out to be a drunken haze of a weekend with Pam and Mick. There was champagne on Pam's terrace to celebrate the birth of her nephew. Frozen margaritas and a Mexican meal to celebrate her friend's birthday on Arab Street. Shisha and buckets of beer at a street cafe one balmy evening. More drinks with a very old family friend - I was bridesmaid at his sister's wedding when I was 9. He just happened to be in Singapore on business that weekend; it's a small world. A mani pedi. Of course. A rugby game - cheering Mick on as he played in the sweltering Singaporean heat. How, I don't know. Then a house party with very drunken rugby boys and WAGs and on to Club Street. A night that somehow involved a fight with an overly agressive bouncer (not me, I hasten to add), the police being called and me telling a very drunken boy about T as the only way to connect with him in his drunken fury. Then the aftermath. Waking up to Babybel wrappers and hangovers. Struggling through lunch in China Town. An afternoon of back-to-back dvds (and some sleeping during the very long, not overly riveting Lincoln) and McDonald's home delivery. I'd expect nothing less from a weekend with Pam!
On Monday I managed 100 lengths in the pool before meeting Pam after work and heading, in a torrential downpour, to a hawker centre to meet Mick for dinner. Then it was time for me to get a taxi back to the airport, yet another amazing trip to the southern hemisphere drawing to a close.
Coming back to the flat was hard. Partly because I'd just stepped off a long-haul overnight flight. Partly because the tenants had left the place in a mess. Partly because I was coming home after 8 amazing months away. Partly because it felt like going back in time, back to a previous life that didn't feel connected to my present life. Partly because it was winter and cold and grey and depressing. I literally burst into tears as I walked through the door. Didn't want to be there. At all.
Since then I've settled back into life in my flat. It's nice to have access to more than one suitcase's worth of stuff. It's nice to have a base and not feel like I'm constantly relying on generous friends' hospitality. Nice to be sleeping in the same bed for more than a few nights in a row. My bed. I've started, slowly, to clear shit out the loft. Shit that I've been hoarding for far too long. Two-people's worth of shit. It's not always easy, but it's necessary. I'm also working again. That bit's the easy bit. It's good having some routine, earning some money, having a distraction and some purpose. I'm doing pilates at least twice a week and absolutely love it. I'm going to give Bikram yoga a try too. I've discovered a nice independent coffee shop in my hood. Like hanging out there. I've bumped into a friend at the station after work and gone for an impromptu G&T. I've had Graeme to stay, and my Italian friend Luisella. I've caught up with London-based friends. People who always welcome me back into their lives with open arms, regardless of how long I've been away. That all helps.
After a quick fashion show for Katie, it was decided that my black jump-suit was too avant-garde for a Kiwi wedding (lol!) so I settled on one of my favourite black dresses. There was barely time to do my make up and hair, grabbing some pastry-less quiche and wine with Margaret, before it was time to head back over to the farm for the ceremony. By then the sun was out and the farm was awash with guests, all there to help Laura, Steve and Rose celebrate their special day. There was a palpable buzz in the air. I was so pleased I'd flown half-way around the world to be there to join in the celebrations.
The ceremony was beautiful. The bride and wedding party looked gorgeous. The service, conducted by the most lovely padre (who I drunkenly christened Pedro), was lovely. The setting and weather were perfect. It was very special and very unique. After the ceremony we stood in the sunshine, drinking champagne and eating delicious canapés, including the most delicious macaroons. Later on the guests meandered through the trees towards the marquee overlooking the fields. Katie and I took a short cut to be there to shower the bride and groom in confetti as they arrived. We perched on logs in the warm sunshine, drinking more champagne, talking about the day, getting to know other guests, admiring how lovely everything was. It was picture perfect - like something you'd see featured in a magazine.
Dinner was delicious - hog and lamb roast with wonderful fresh, homemade-style salads; my kinda food. The wine was good. Obviously; most wine in NZ is. The speeches made me cry. I cried for Laura's brother, James, who died five years ago (today, in fact). I cried for Laura's family. I cried for T and for me. And I cried because it was these two facts combined that meant I was even at Laura's wedding. Despite the geographical distance, Laura and I definitely became closer as a result of that.
The compulsory dancing began after dinner. And I got compulsorily drunk, as is my wont at weddings. I even karaoked (thankfully with the mic stand, not the mic), which is also compulsory for me at weddings, despite knowing full well I can't sing. Wouldn't be a wedding without it though! Later in the evening Laura's brother and I discovered a stash of leftover champagne. Which we drank out of whatever glass we had in our hand when we staggered to the esky, which was sometimes a pint glass. Oh well. That's what weddings are for. Angus reckons his hangover lasted three days as a result. And he's just young. I smoked celebratory cigars with Pedro the padre, a glowstick (used to light the path to the portaloo) around my neck. Then a male guest changed into his mankini, as he'd promised he would. Persuading him to wait until 10pm to do so was one of the better things I did that night. Not sure all the guests would have approved of him doing so before the watershed, although I think both the bride and groom's mothers were pretty happy, even requesting a photo of the three of them together. All in all, it was a pretty awesome day. I was so happy to be part of it.
The next day I was meant to head back to Laura's house ready to catch a flight to Melbourne with Janelle. Instead I called Qantas at 5.30am on the Monday morning to change my flight so I could stay on in NZ for a couple of extra days. Then called them again a couple of days later and changed my flight again. Went on a roadtrip up the coast to Hawke's Bay, Napier and Gisborne. Learnt how to corner on the twisty NZ roads. Camped. Swam in the sea. Ate fish and chips on the beach, washed down by delicious Esk Valley wine. Ate Sunday lunch at a winery, under the shade of the olive trees, a seven-piece ukulele band playing. Got my nose pierced. It was all pretty amazing. Liberating, refreshing and fun. Something out of the ordinary. Totally unexpected. It felt like I was really and truly living in the moment. Finally! It also meant I got to hang out more with Laura and Rose. I sorted out a couple of her kitchen cupboards, got to know Rose a bit better. Helped them do a supermarket shop. Put the world to rights. It was all good.
Eventually, after 13 instead of 5 days in NZ, it was time for me to say my goodbyes and head to Australia. Again, it was a bit of a landmark moment being back in Melbourne. Back to the flat I'd helped Janelle move into three years ago. Walking the Tan every day. Having lunch beside the sea. The familiarity of Flinders Street station. Meeting up with Ben, who Tim and I met in Peru over 10 years ago, for a couple of indulgent sunny afternoon wines. Catching up over a delicious Mexican meal with my school friend, Chris, and his now wife, Genevieve. Everything was the same as it had been three years previous. But so very different. I think the same is true of Janelle too. And that makes me happy. We've both come a long way in three years. All for the better.
From Melbourne it was on to Singapore for what turned out to be a drunken haze of a weekend with Pam and Mick. There was champagne on Pam's terrace to celebrate the birth of her nephew. Frozen margaritas and a Mexican meal to celebrate her friend's birthday on Arab Street. Shisha and buckets of beer at a street cafe one balmy evening. More drinks with a very old family friend - I was bridesmaid at his sister's wedding when I was 9. He just happened to be in Singapore on business that weekend; it's a small world. A mani pedi. Of course. A rugby game - cheering Mick on as he played in the sweltering Singaporean heat. How, I don't know. Then a house party with very drunken rugby boys and WAGs and on to Club Street. A night that somehow involved a fight with an overly agressive bouncer (not me, I hasten to add), the police being called and me telling a very drunken boy about T as the only way to connect with him in his drunken fury. Then the aftermath. Waking up to Babybel wrappers and hangovers. Struggling through lunch in China Town. An afternoon of back-to-back dvds (and some sleeping during the very long, not overly riveting Lincoln) and McDonald's home delivery. I'd expect nothing less from a weekend with Pam!
On Monday I managed 100 lengths in the pool before meeting Pam after work and heading, in a torrential downpour, to a hawker centre to meet Mick for dinner. Then it was time for me to get a taxi back to the airport, yet another amazing trip to the southern hemisphere drawing to a close.
Coming back to the flat was hard. Partly because I'd just stepped off a long-haul overnight flight. Partly because the tenants had left the place in a mess. Partly because I was coming home after 8 amazing months away. Partly because it felt like going back in time, back to a previous life that didn't feel connected to my present life. Partly because it was winter and cold and grey and depressing. I literally burst into tears as I walked through the door. Didn't want to be there. At all.
Since then I've settled back into life in my flat. It's nice to have access to more than one suitcase's worth of stuff. It's nice to have a base and not feel like I'm constantly relying on generous friends' hospitality. Nice to be sleeping in the same bed for more than a few nights in a row. My bed. I've started, slowly, to clear shit out the loft. Shit that I've been hoarding for far too long. Two-people's worth of shit. It's not always easy, but it's necessary. I'm also working again. That bit's the easy bit. It's good having some routine, earning some money, having a distraction and some purpose. I'm doing pilates at least twice a week and absolutely love it. I'm going to give Bikram yoga a try too. I've discovered a nice independent coffee shop in my hood. Like hanging out there. I've bumped into a friend at the station after work and gone for an impromptu G&T. I've had Graeme to stay, and my Italian friend Luisella. I've caught up with London-based friends. People who always welcome me back into their lives with open arms, regardless of how long I've been away. That all helps.
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