A fishy tale - #6 - my tastebuds go somewhere beyond the sea

A fishy tale - my tastebuds go somewhere beyond the sea

I've never really considered myself to be a fussy eater. Like any child I went through phases of not liking things - in particular, at one family meal with my grandparents, I vividly remember refusing to have anything on my plate apart from Yorkshire Puddings and gravy. I'm pleased to report that my tastebuds and pallet have matured somewhat since.

However, there are some foods which I still can't stomach the thought of eating. Cauliflower being one - cheese being another - and of course, when the two collide in a gloopy gastronimacal monstrosity, my stomach lining skips a beat.

I think my dislike for cheese stems from the time my brothers pinned me down as a child and force-fed me cheddar. It was a tough and lonely life growing up as the youngest child in 1980s WV4 - but I'm getting through it.

But the one food type I've never been able to stand is fish. There are of course the odd exceptions to this rule; a 1970s-inspired prawn cocktail at Christmas (if doused in enough cocktail sauce) is of course a delight. And Captain Birdseye did his bit to help too - I have fond childhood memories of Birdseye fish fingers being dished alongside shrivelled Birdseye peas which had been boiled-to-within-an-inch-of-their-lives, and a slightly anaemic looking Birdseye Potato Waffle.

But, at the age of 28, I've decided my aversion to eating weird looking things from the sea should come to an end.

I think a lot of this mostly stems from the smell. You see, us Angus's are notoriously good sniffers - and if something honks, we'll generally look to avoid it at all costs.

I think my dislike for seafood emanates from the pungent smells that would often waft through my childhood home on a Saturday lunch time. The smell would be from some horrifically processed fish paste sandwich filler - either salmon, tuna or, at its worst, sardine. Lashings of orange, flakey tinned salmon would also be dished up on occassion which, to me, resembled the look and texture of cat's vomit, doused in vinegar.

And then of course there were the kids at school who'd have tuna sandwiches as part of their packed lunch. The grey, mushy slop which had reached an unhealthily high temperature after sitting at the bottom of their school bags for five hours before they'd come to consume it. The thought of it to this day makes me gag.

But in recent years, thanks to Gordon, Jamie, Hugh and the plethora of TV chefs now adorning our screens - coupled with the smell of fresh fish, marinated in garlic and herbs, particularly from sea-front restaurants abroad - have generated a slight stir in my now maturing tastebuds. So - on this trip I was on a mission to overcome my seafood aversion and complete (and enjoy) number six on my list of things to do before I'm 30: eat seafood overlooking San Francisco Bay.

 

In preparation for my final challenge, I decided to do some warm up attempts...I tried, for the first ever time, sushi.

You see, in New Zealand, and particularly Auckland, there's a huge Asian (or Far East if you like) influence so sushi bars are far more commonplace than here in the UK. And not a sign of a ropey, barely warm 'all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet and the food poisoning comes for free', in sight.

With more than an element of trepidation, I set about trying sushi - but only after ten minutes of trying to figure out how to use chopsticks.

Dare I say I was not completely repulsed by it. It reminded me of a line from the Lion King when Simba tries a grub -  'slimy...yet satisfying'.

And my fish-themed day didn't end there. I really enjoyed tucking in to fish and chips with Rich and his housemates Pedro and Kylie at Mission Bay later that evening. There's something about that aroma of fried batter, salt, seaweed and sand at dusk which brought childhood memories of Weymouth harbour or Borth seafront flooding back.

So - after flirting with the whole seafood thing in New Zealand, it was time to complete my challenge.

On my final evening in San Francisco I headed straight to Fisherman's Wharf, just a block or two from the famous Pier 39. It was there I stumbled upon the famous (and somewhat expensive) Scoma's restaurant overlooking the harbour and the 'Cisco Bay. Hey, if I was going to do this then I was going to do it in style. In hindsight, my choice of wearing my battered old Puma trainers and jeans may have been a tad out of keeping with the ambience of this particular restaurant but hey ho.

My waiter, Nicolo, came to my table. I explained to him my challenge. In hindsight, going alone to a high-end seafood restaurant in San Francisco and opening with the line 'I'm from England. I don't like fish' probably explains the very odd look he gave me. I ordered a Sonoma Valley white wine (after a half day wine tasting session the day before, I of course now consider myself an expert in all things wine). It came, it was clear, full bodied, with depths of fruity and spiced flavours which tasted like....well, grapes and alcohol really. I'm more of a cultured Blue Nun or Hock kind of guy.

I ordered the clam chowder for starters (sorry, entrée) and, at Nicolo's recommendation, I ordered the shellfish platter. That's it - I wasn't messing around with tuna or salmon or swordfish; I was going for the jugular - I was headed straight for the shellfish family.

The clam chowder, somewhat of a local speciality here, arrived. I was pleasantly surprised. Thick, and creamy with potatoes, celery and mushrooms with the texture of rice pudding. I was pleasantly surprised.

And then came the main event. It arrived. A plate full of prawns, scallops, crab legs and petit lobster tails all sauteed in a garlic, herbs and mushroom jus on a bed of steamed vegetables (including bloody cauliflower!), pasta and rice. To some this would seem heavenly. To me - it was my Everest. But here I was, overlooking San Francisco Bay attempting to broaden my culinary horizons - and what better place, aside from Grimsby obviously, to achieve it.

Did I enjoy it? Well - sort of. The presentation was excellent, the smell was appetising, the textures weren't too repulsive and the flavour...well, it was actually quite nice. It was the anxiety of each mouthful - wondering if this would be the unfortunate fishy mouthful which would leave me gagging. But it never came - I'd even come Rennie-prepared just in case.

I survived. I was pleased I did it and I'll definitely order and cook more seafood at home now. I'm sure I've been missing out over the years - but I think I'll have the fish without the side order of anxiety next time.

Number 6 on my list - done. And what's more, it goes to show any fin is possible if you put your mind to it. In fact, I'd say I was a prawn again convert. Ok - fish puns end here. Honest, they reely do.

Couldn't think of any fish-related songs so I chose this musical scene from the film Beyond the Sea. A fine voice from Mr Kevin Spacey and the closest connection to fish I could think of...

#13 My new job: the Daily Mail, The Wanted and farewell South Staffordshire

Farewell South Staffordshire Council

The council's offices in Codsall
- my home since 2007.

After more than five and a half years, tomorrow I will bid farewell to my friends and colleagues at South Staffordshire Council.

I'm expecting it to be an emotional rollercoaster of a ride - I've made an awful lot of good friends in Codsall over the years and I have to say, I've thoroughly enjoyed my time there as its Communications Officer.

But after nearly six years, the time feels right for a change of scenery, a fresh challenge and the opportunity to get my teeth into something new.

I was a fresh faced 23 year old when I turned up for my first day on 23rd July 2007. Since then I've met government ministers; worked with journos from the Express & Star to The Sun; and have regularly been threatened with legal action by developers who have taken exception to my quotes in the press. I've travelled the world, spreading the South Staffordshire mantra; taking photographs of wheelie bins from Auckland to San Francisco; and I've even met a man from Kinver, in New Zealand, who was so delighted to know he'd be returning home after his travels to find a new blue recycling bin, he text his wife who was on the beach to tell her.

Personally, I'm not sure Malcolm Tucker and I
 share the same managerial style.

My most memorable moments

I've been called the 'king of spin', Alastair Campbell, Andy Coulson and, up until recently, even Max Clifford. I'm glad that nickname ceased. My personal favourite is Malcolm Tucker although I'm not sure my style is exactly the same as his.

There have been some memorable moments over the years - both good and bad.

I've been pilloried in the Daily Mail for my campaign to introduce plain English at the council. The message boards that day were somewhat critical of my plan - especially given that my quote had the phrase 'our levels of avoidable contact have fallen year on year'. In hindsight, perhaps I should have said 'we've had less people complain about the fact they don't know what the hell we're going on about!'. In fairness though, that final line was supposed to be 'off the record' - thanks to my good friend and former Express & Star journalist Alex Campbell for that one!  


'Jamie and his Olympic Torch'.
The stress of the Olympic Torch led me to gain a few pounds!
Standing next to The Wanted does
 nothing for your self confidence either.

For the record, here's the article. Thanks again to my mate Dav Tomlinson who printed the article and framed it for me. It takes pride of place. But it was I who had the last laugh... the inaccuracies still make me chuckle. They named the wrong council, put a picture of the wrong council offices and referred to me as having a 'communications department'. As a one man band for more than five years I'd have loved to have a whole department!

Over the past five and a half years I've:

• met pop stars
• held the Olympic torch
• been given free reign to ridicule the management team at our annual awards (although I suspect this will be returned ten-fold tomorrow!)
• had the pleasure of working with Jaguar Land Rover on the i54 'South Staffordshire' project which is a huge boost for Staffordshire and Wolverhampton.

I've also propelled the council into the world of Twitter, Facebook and YouTube. I've even written, directed and starred in my first film! Can you spot my cameo appearances in this video?

We've also teamed up with Dominic Littlewood to expose rogue fly-tippers, been the but of jokes on Harry Hill's TV Burp and even made it national when we prosecuted former Wolves striker Freddy Eastwood for a fly-tipping-related offence (Mark Mudie, you are welcome).

My favourite memory?

It's not very often South Staffordshire Council gets sandwiched between Barack Obama and Gordon Brown on Sky News' headline cycle...but that's exactly what happened in December 2008.

A somewhat dubious 'Lapland'-inspired winter wonderland event was to be staged in the village of Essington just before Christmas. But without a licence or any sort of permission, the council were asked to step in. We were the big bad council who were set to ruin Christmas. But it transpired there was a little more to it than that.

A similar, although unconnected, event had been closed down by trading standards teams in the south of the country just weeks before and all the signs suggested this was to be of a similar ilk. Broken first by the Express & Star, anticipation was growing as to whether the event would take place or not. We were taking calls from ITV News, the BBC, Reuters, The Sun and The Guardian. It was going to be a busy week! The organisers had promised 'huskies, reindeers, real snow, a bungee trampoline and cartoon characters skating on ice'. By the time the event was scrapped, TV crews captured one or two tatty marquees, one burger van, a white-painted plywood “ice rink” and, if memory serves me rightly, some tatty-looking tinsel and a pornagraphic magazine. A Christmas 'Winter Wonderland' it certainly wasn't. I think most people managed to get a refund after a bit of a battle which was good news. It was a busy week - but one I look back on with a smile.

I will miss South Staffordshire and will really miss some of the great friends I've worked with there. So where now? On Monday I take up my new position as Head of Communications and Engagement at Wolverhampton Homes. As with any new job, I'm approaching it with a mix of excitement and anticipation with a dash of nerves thrown into the mix for good measure! But it's set to be a fresh challenge and the opportunity to get involved in some new projects and learn a lot more too.

I'm sad to leave South Staffordshire behind - it's been a blast. But for now, it's time to hurl myself into a new challenge. #13 - get a new job. Done.

#3 on my list, the Hotel Utah and the German Brian Blessed

#3 on my list, the Hotel Utah and the German Brian Blessed

The penultimate day of my travels saw me take in a wine tasting tour of the Sonoma and Napa valleys - the heart of Californian wine country. On our way we'd crossed the Golden Gate Bridge but the fog and mist had descended upon the city meaning the iconic landmark was, yet again, almost completely hidden from view.

Walking across the Golden Gate Bridge was #3 on my list - but at this stage I feared I'd never get to see the bridge in all its glory. Fortunately, on our return from wine country, the sun was out, the skies were clear and the tour guide took a detour and we found ourselves on a hillside looking down over the bridge. It was an inspiring moment - one that I was so glad I got the chance to see.

Feeling elated and ready to sign off my holiday in style, I got back to the hotel, had a quick shower and then headed out to explore the city at night and take in some live, San Francisco music. So I went to a local bar, had a drink and asked the barmaids if there was anywhere they'd recommend for live music. They told me to get the bus to Soma district and find the Hotel Utah.

It was a good 30 minute bus ride but when I arrived something didn't quite feel right. I found myself walking under the concrete overpass of the freeway and wandering into a part of the city which I hadn't been around on the sightseeing bus. I had to walk about six blocks. I eventually arrived and learnt a very valuable lesson in life. When you ask someone if there's somewhere which plays live music - you should really stipulate which genre. For those who remember the upstairs of the Varsity in Wolverhampton; well that was like the O2 arena compared to this. There I was, stood in a rock/grunge fest looking exceptionally uncomfortable. Think Hugh Grant at a Blink 182 concert and you'll begin to picture just how out of I place I both felt and looked. I  couldn't quite tell whether there were more tattoos or body piercings - it was a close call.

After sipping a pint nervously and wondering how the hell I would get out of here, two guys approached me asking if they could take the chair which was opposite me. I said that was fine and they clearly clocked my accent as being British. The one guy said "you're British...the last Brit we met in here, we set his hair on fire". I nervously smiled whilst secretly thinking 'I'm dead' and wondering whether the barmaid who'd sent me here was still chuckling to herself.

Turns out it had been some bong experiment which had gone wrong. James and Jeff, as it turns out, were two really nice guys who bought me a beer before telling me to catch a cab to Mission, to a bar called Blondie's on Valencia Street.

It turned out to be the best piece of advice I'd received in a long time. When I arrived, there was a 1930s/1940s blues/jazz band playing. Saxophone, stand up bass, piano and a great singer. The bar was buzzing - helped no doubt by revellers dancing a proper jive dance. It was a great night - I was ready to go home after this; I was happy.

But I couldn't head home without doing my walk across the Golden Gate Bridge. I'd had an aborted attempt earlier in my stay when I took in a guided walk - but that only went half way across. So, on my final morning I got up at 8am and made my way to the bridge. As I made my way across the 1.7 miles of crossing I put Chuck Berry on my ipod - and I reflected upon my travels. It was a calm, serene morning - although I did inadvertently end up in the middle of my first 'Free Tibet' demonstration. That inspired me to listen to Bob Dylan on the way back over. And no word of a lie - 'The Times They Are-A-Changin' came on as I stepped off the bridge to complete my quest. How apt.

Heading for home

Well, aside from a 10 hour flight back to Heathrow - that was my travels done. I hoped for a quiet flight where I could maybe get a few hours sleep before landing back home. It wasn't quite to be. I was a little grumpy and on edge by the time I got to the airport anyway - so in the departure lounge, when this really loud German guy sat three seats down from me and began incessantly tapping his arm rest, I was beginning to get irritated. So I moved seat. When I got on the plane I began to relax  - but then the big loud guy came into view. He couldn't possibly....could he? Yes. Plonked himself right down next to me. I was not amused. Turns out he was a German living in London who'd been on some computer geek conference. Not only was he loud but he was a really big unit too. The man even yawned in decibels. I christened him the German Brian Blessed. I of course didn't get a wink of sleep as he tossed and turned and continually tried to tell me which films were good to watch. Grrrrr!

Still, I landed home safely after what had been an incredible three and a half weeks to be greeted by my good mate Bordy and his wife Becky who had kindly agreed to pick me up. It was nice to be home.

So - that was my journey. I've seen some amazing things, met some incredible people and got myself into a few scrapes along the way too.

I've completed a few more things on my list - but there's plenty still to do.

Thanks for reading - have a nice day...

Time Travel, Otis Redding, #2 and #4 on my list

#2 - Visit the United States of America

I've always wanted to go states-side. It probably stems from my dad's love of 1950s Rock 'n' Roll music - but there's something about America which has always fascinated me.

 

So - on my way back from New Zealand I thought I'd tick another number off my list and take in a few days in the good old U.S of A.

 

My destination: San Francisco. Home of the Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz and, of course, hippies.

 

But before I arrrived, my brain had to navigate its way back through time. I set off from Auckland at 7.30pm on the 26th March. I arrived in San Francisco at 2.30pm on the 26th March. Somehow I'd managed to land before I'd even taken off. Crossing time zones really messes with your head. To give you some idea as to how long that day was - I'd woken up 13 hours ahead of the UK - and went to bed that evening 8 hours behind it.



It's midnight, I'm drunk - let's play Chuck Berry

 

My first evening was supposed to be a quiet one - it turned out to be far from that, far from that indeed.

 

I left my hotel and bumped into a woman who said "hi". I said "hi" back - she engaged me in some brief small talk before asking "do you like girls?". My response was typically naive and British..."it's been known in the past" I said. She then said "'cos I've got some girlfriends who are working in the area". Brilliant, the first woman I speak to and she's a hooker. Well done James, well done.

So I made a quick getaway seeking refuge in a nearby bar. After an hour or so I got talking to two guys: Ryan and Josh. They were friends from Nashville. Ryan had lived in San Francisco for a couple of years but Josh had only been there a few days. We got talking - music, sports a bit of politics for good measure - they were really cool guys. Turned out they'd both been through a break-up process too so soon enough they'd bought me a drink with the obligatory tequila chaser. We drank some more then headed to a few more bars. Note to self; tequila is a bad idea...always a bad idea. Come midnight we were all fairly sozzled and a bit peckish. Now, back home it would be ropey kebab with a side serving of salmonella - but in San Francisco...oh no. It was Mel's 1950s diner. A Jukebox, 1950s Rock 'n' Roll and meat. It was bloody brilliant!

 

Now my midnight snack had potentially taken years off my life expectancy but the hangover in the morning could have shaved at least a decade off too. Still, I had more sightseeing to do and no time to waste. So I hopped on a sightseeing bus, crossed the Golden Gate Bridge for the first time (more about that later) and headed to the small marine town of Sausalito - just on the otherside of San Francisco Bay.  

 

Despite the sun failing to make an appearance - the views looking out over the bay were incredible. To see the famous landmarks of the Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz and the famous San Francisco skyline was breathtaking.

 

And it was here I found out my favourite fascinating fact of my entire trip. One of the most iconic soul tracks of all time, Otis Redding's 'Sitting On The Dock of The Bay'  was penned in Sausalito. And there I was, sitting on the dock of the bay too - not so much wasting time - more nursing a hangover and meat sweats. But nonetheless, I could empathise with what Otis was saying. But that wasn't my favourite fact - no. One tour guide explained that the whistling which you hear at the end of the song wasn't suppossed to be on the final track. Otis had recorded the song but whistled where a final verse was to go. Apparently he'd written to a friend in Georgia telling him he'd recorded this song but that he thought it needed more soul and he'd re-record it later on. But there was to be no later on. Otis Redding perished in a plane crash just weeks later. The track was released posthumously, whistles and all.

#4 - Visit Alcatraz

#4 on my list - visit Alcatraz, the world's most infamous prison.

 

I have to admit, although I've always thought it would be a cool place to go - I've never really known a huge amount about it.

 

But what struck me the most was how close it is to the mainland. The ferry crossing takes less than 10 minutes and that thought must have been excruciating for the prisoners; knowing freedom was so close - yet so far away.

 

I spent a good few hours going around the island, taking in a really interesting audio tour and finding out more about Al Capone and 'the Birdman'. What I found really peculiar is that prison officers and their families used to live on the island - what a strange place to raise a family.

 

Really glad I got chance to go there - it was a really interesting place with a fascinating story to tell.

I ended that day with a walk along the famour Pier 39. Now that's a strange place. A bit like a pimped-up Llandudno pier, minus the Welsh teenagers menacingly hanging around the slot machines.

 

With my hangover subsiding and jet lag kicking in - I headed to bed before, what would turn out to be, a very eventful day.

 

My final blog on my travels will see me achieve #3 on my list, ending up on the wrong side of the tracks and a German Brian Blessed.

 

In the meantime - I'll leave you with this...

 

 

 

 

 



Wellington, the Vomit Comet and the South Island

Wellington, the Vomit Comet and the South Island



There are worse places to have breakfast I guess

Rich and I arrived in Wellington and checked into yet another hostel - but this time it was a private twin room with no scary Germans and no odour-ridden Dutch travellers.

Wellington's a bustling, if not windy, city. We started our day with breakfast at the Quayside where I proceeded to choke on a cup of coffee - much to Rich's amusement of course.

We then thought we'd take in some culture and visit the New Zealand 'Te Papa' museum. Rich got to see the world's biggest squid preserved in formaldehyde. His inner-geek was clearly very excited. For that matter his outer-geek was rather excitable too.

We took in a hike to the top of Mt Victoria which overlooks the city before traipsing across the city to get sight of New Zealand's parliament building; the 'Beehive'. We managed to catch the final guided tour of the day. It was now time for my inner-geek to shine. They sat us down and showed a 20 minute DVD on the history of the parliament and its buildings. It was about 14 minutes in during a fascinating piece about the origins of the stained glass windows in the lobby when I became aware that Rich was perhaps not enjoying this as much as I was. The clue was the closed eyes, the heavy breathing and the dribble from the corner of his mouth. In fairness, back home he could have passed as a Member of the House of Lords.

Still - things looked up later that evening - Rich and I were hitting the town. We started off at a Welsh Bar and ended up talking to an ex-pat called Jeremy...he was originally from Grimsby. On my trip to New Zealand I wasn't expecting to talk about Clive Mendonca, Paul Crichton and other stars of Grimsby's 1990s Division 1 heights. I also never realised Grimsby had such a rivalry with Scunthorpe, and as Jeremy so eloquently put it, you can't spell Scunthorpe without a c**t. It was only the next morning we concluded that a witty retort would have been to say you can't spell Grimsby without 'grim'. Still, never mind.

We then made our way to a few more bars before we reached decision time. Do we carry on drinking, hook up with some backpacking honeys and party into the early hours or grab a bite to eat and call it a night? I had a lamb kebab.

The following morning was ferry-time. It was to be a three hour ferry crossing across notoriously choppy seas. Before boarding, Rich had already christened the ferry the 'vomit comet'. Delightful.

Still, a few hours later we were hiking along a mountain range. This meant two things: firstly we arrived in tact; secondly, and more importantly, so had my stomach lining.

We arrived in the port of Picton and set out on a trek to Bob's Bay. It took us nearly an hour but the views were stunningly beautiful. We pondered along the way as to what Bob's Bay would be like - and indeed who Bob was. Was it Bob's Bay - perhaps some local legend or was it Bobs Bay - the bay belonging to all the Bobs? When we arrived we found an information board which read "Bob was a fisherman, but that's where the story ends". Bit of an anti-climax really.

Still ,the following day we made our way to the town of Nelson, checked into another hostel, then made our way to the Abel Tasman National Park - and to what I can safely say is the most beautiful place I have ever seen. We sat on the beach at Kaiteriteri and just took in the views. The clear blue sky, the golden beach - it was stunning. We returned the following day and hopped on a boat to travel further down the Abel Tasman to Torrent Bay where we'd walk for a few hours before resting up at Bark Bay. I am running out of superlatives to describe this country. It was a nirvana of tranquility set against a truly stunning backdrop of mountain terrain, golden, sun-kissed shore lines and crystal blue waters.

The only minor irritant were the midges who, quite frankly, bit us to buggery. But I'd take that incessant itching to see those views for five minutes longer. Plus, I'd pay money to see Rich being chased down the beach Mr Bean-style by the mama of all bumble bees just one more time.

We only managed a few days in the south island - I could have stayed there for a lifetime. Soon enough we packed our bags and headed back to Auckland. Although not before Rich pointed out that this was the most middle-class 'backpacking' experience of all time. We'd taken planes, ferries, rented cars, ate steak, BBQ ribs and had drunk the finest beers and wines our hosts could offer. Come to think of it - Rich didn't even have a backpack - he had a suitcase on wheels. Still - it was an experience.  

So, that was it. A couple of days in Auckland then I was flying off to San Francisco. New Zealand is a stunningly beautiful country. If you ever get the chance to go - don't even think twice; just do it.

Next time: Falling for Fran; Otis Redding facts and achieving numbers 2,3 and 4 on my list.

Youth Hostels, a blossoming bromance and black water rafting

Youth Hostels, a blossoming bromance and black water rafting

 
Rich and I left Auckland on the Saturday morning and were heading for the town of Rotarua. The drive took about three hours. Driving in New Zealand reminds me a bit of driving in Wales. There isn't really a motorway network here, it's mostly long, winding A-roads - reminiscent of my trips to and from Aberystwyth as a student - minus the obligatory McDonald's stop in Newtown of course.
 
It was on that journey I began the process of reconnecting with Rich. Despite having rarely seen each other for a decade, things with Rich never change.

Dr Richard William Naylor PhD...
brain of Einstein, humour maturity of a toilet duck

I said many years ago that Rich was the most likely of my friends to marry a supermodel and find the cure for cancer...then lose it. I still stand by this. Whilst I have settled for the more modest surroundings of Lanesfield then Gornal, Rich's work has seen him travel the world. He has a PhD yet this a man for whom word 'poo' still illicits childish giggles - as indeed do the names of several local towns in New Zealand.

The mention of Wai Pu (Why-poo), Uretiti (You're a titty), Whakepapa (F**k-a-papa) - and my personal favourite - Waikikamukau (Why-kick-a-moo-cow) sees the smartest man I know regress to a toddler. He also could barely contain his excitement as he told me of a town in Ireland called 'Muff'.
 

We laughed a lot on that journey - although it was tempered somewhat on our arrival at Rotarua. We'd made our way to the Waiotapu thermal pools which, in fairness, are spectacular. The bubbling mud pools are an incredible sight and the heat the omit is incredible - the only downside is the gases which emanate from them absolutely honk. The entire town has a sulphuric, egg-like whiff - a bit like a teenagers' bedroom the morning after a night of lager and a 2am Balti.
 
It was a great day though with plenty of laughter - typified by our evening dining experience. We sat outside a restaurant enjoying a well deserved beer when we were serenaded by a street band who's lead singer was a Maori in a mobility scooter who sang one Sam Cooke number then simply left leaving the rest of the band to finish the set. He simply wheeled off down the road. You couldn't make it up.
 
We stayed in our first youth hostel that evening - it was a cosy affair. Suffice to say there was a touch of Bert and Ernie from Sesame Street about us as we snuggled up in the final room the hostel had available...a double.

The following day we made our way to the nearby Waikite Valley to take in a rather bro-mantic thermal pool spa. It was a secluded, private spa, overlooking an almost rainforest-like terrain. Now the thermal spring water running out of the hot taps here come out a ferocious 70 degrees - so although the gesture of the pool attendant to top the hot water up for us was appreciated, the third degree burns our feet received as we attempted to get in the pool was somewhat reminiscent of a scene from the film Dante's Peak. I'd like to point out that Rich and I were not in a thermal pool for the same reason as the couple in that film!
 
Our next stop was at Lake Taupo - on St Patrick's Night. It was a fairly lively night and I can safely say we met one or two local characters who were clearly as p****d as a lephrecaun's fart that evening. But we weren't really in a party-mood. Our hike across the famous Tongariro crossing had been scuppered because the weather had nose-dived. I know Rich really wanted to do that hike too so I felt bad for him.

But unpeturbed - Rich and I made our way the following morning to Mt Ruapeho. Well, Rich told me the mountain was there - the mist was so bad we could barely see ten yards in front of ourselves. Still, we went on a lower level walk and stumbled upon the spectacular and most magnificent Taranaki Falls (right). It's the first time I've seen a waterfall - I was quite awestruck.
 
We were then back to Lake Taupo for our second night in our hostel. This hostel was a little different to the one in Rotarua - we were sharing with two others. On the first night it was with two Germans - Max and Rafael. They were nice guys to be fair - on the second night we weren't quite so fortunate. We were shacked up with another German, and a Dutch guy who's personal hygiene issues made Rich gag. All of a sudden the double bed 'spooning' in Rotarua seemed somewhat more appealing. Needless to say we were grateful for our 6.30am alarm call to escape the 'Dutch Oven'.

We then set off on our way to see the famous glow worm caves of Waitomo...and to take in some black water rafting!

The caves were really impressive and it was interesting to know that it's actually a big PR stunt. The worms are actually maggots and the light actually comes from their poo (cue Rich chuckling). But as Rich pointed out, 'come and see luminous maggot s**t' is quite a tough sell for the local tourist board.

Black water rafting - think wetsuit, helmet, a huge rubber ring, hypothermia-inducing water and caves 65 feet underground. Individually; 'water', 'rocks' and 'underground' are normally things I'd avoid at all costs - but together as one collective...my comfort zone was obliterated.

I think Rich sensed my hesitance so when the instructor asked for any volunteers to jump backwards of a ledge into the freezing cold water on their rubber rings, Rich did what all good mates do - he stepped up to the plate...and said 'he'll do it'; as he pointed at me and grinned. So, away I went. Not going to lie - a faceful of ice cold water whilst being dressed as an extra from 'Hole in the Wall' wasn't necessarily my idea of fun...but it's something I would never have even entertained doing just a few months ago. Another new experience - and that's what this trip was all about.

Next time...Wellington, the South Island and onwards to the US of A...

In the meantime - I don't think words could really do justice to the wonderment and beauty of the Taranaki Falls - and neither can this song to be honest. It's just the only song I could think of that bared any resemblance...

 
 

 

 
 
 

Arriving in Auckland - and Glenn the tour guide

Arriving in Auckland - and Glenn the tour guide

From the departure lounge at Heathrow, to the arrivals gate at Auckland, it took around 30 excruciatingly long hours. That included a brief finger-printing intrusive stop-over at Los Angeles. LAX by the way is one of the dingiest airports I've been too. Looks like it had its finest day circa 1986. I've got no idea what Rachel Stevens was singing about. Mind you I suppose 'my sweet dreams my BHX' doesn't quite have the same ring.



Dr Richard William Naylor PhD

When I finally arrived in Auckland, I sat in the arrivals lounge waiting for my friend Rich to pick me up. Now, for those of you who don't know Richard William Naylor - he is one of life's 'characters'. He's a cross between Sheldon Cooper from the Big Bang Theory and Stephen Merchant. He happens to be king of the nerds, the brainiest guy I know - and one of my oldest, and bestest, friends.
Rich and I have known each other for almost 25 years. We went to the same play school group, then onto the same infants, junior and secondary schools. We played in the same football team, went on holidays to Borth and even hit the clubbing scene of Faliraki together.

After university - and after obtaining his PhD (told you he was brainy), Rich moved to Boston in the good old US of A. He then moved to Auckland, where he now lives. He's tried explaining what it is he does - but all I've been able to ascertain is that it involves a laboratory, a bunsen burner, a white jacket, kidneys and a tank of fish.

We've rarely seen each other over the past ten years but whenever he's made it home we've always met up and it's always been like picking up exactly where we've left off.

Rich met me at Auckland International and immediately drove me to Mount Eden, just on the outskirts of the city, so I could get my first glimpse of Auckland. It truly is a beautiful city.

It was great to see Rich - but for week one of my trip I was pretty much on my own. Rich was at work still so the days were my own - that meant it was time to go exploring.

Without sounding too smug, especially given the arctic-biting temperatures back home, the weather in New Zealand was rather pleasant. Whilst snow drifts brought parts of the UK to a standstill and, as my Dad dug himself through the snow into my house in Dudley, I was exploring Auckland in temperatures of around 25 degrees at the tail-end of one of New Zealand's hottest summers for many, many years.

The city is great - but where you want to be is out on the harbour; taking the ferry out to the nearby ports and islands like Devonport or - my personal favourite - Waiheke Island.

I took a mini bus tour of Waiheke Island when I was there. It turned out to be one of the more amusing guided tours I'd take on my travels.

Glenn was our tour guide. A middle-aged guy with a thick head of white hair; Glenn looked like the unfortunate love child of failed US Presidential candidate John Kerry and former Wolves boss Mick McCarthy.

Glenn was driving the blue, 12-seater minibus which would take us around one of the most beautiful islands I've ever been to. I was joined on the tour by a group of elderly American tourists with Hawaiian shirts, baseball caps and some rather fetching socks and sandles combos.

I should also mention that Glenn had a lisp, which, when you're a tour guide reciting the history of an island through a minibus sound system from 1976, makes understanding him a tad tricky. That said, five minutes in, Glenn was cracking a mother-in-law joke. Like a Kiwi Les Dawson. I liked Glenn.

We made our way across the island, taking in some of the stunning landscapes and lounging around on almost deserted sun-kissed beaches. But it was on the way back to the ferry when Glenn came into his own. We drove through one village on the island when Glenn announced over the crackling tannoy that the locals on this part of the island were "all a bit Cadbury's". The Americans on board looked at each other, clearly very confused. Glenn then finished - "you know, they're all a bit fruit and nuts". The Americans still looked baffled...I chuckled quietly to myself.

My first week was all about discovering Auckland, discovering the local islands and soaking up the city's rich and diverse cutlure and cuisines. But week two was all about 'Jay and Rich's week of fun!'. Rich was booking a week off work and we were going on a road trip!

It would take us to egg-smelling towns, glow-worm caves, a nap in parliament and a ride on the 'vomit comet'. But more of that in my next instalment.

Auckland is a wonderful city which I fell head over heels for. So, I'll end this blog with a tribute to the Kiwi's greatest (and only?) music export...oh and, fortuntately it turns out that you don't take the weather with you at all. There wasn't a flake of snow in sight...