i like: travelling time

When I first arrived at the new job in October before we all moved over together, the inevitable questions were politely asked and I was very quickly made to feel welcome and at home (well, as homely as any job can be at any rate). The main query raised however was "where are you planning to live when you get here?"

On our previous trips to New Zealand - and specifically the South Island (or whatever it's real name is meant to be) - we always knew that we would settle in or around Christchurch. We had already decided that the lesser populated island was the one for us, taking the hopefully not unreasonable view that there was little point in leaving the UK to live in another large and busy city such as Auckland or Wellington. We wanted space and a bit of freedom, and most importantly - for our livelihood rather than for quality of life - I needed a job. There are plenty of IT jobs in Christchurch, less so elsewhere on the South Island, and certainly not many in our preferred destination of Nelson. Rest assured, choosing Christchurch was - and has proven to be - no hardship; it's a nice city to be in.

Except we don't actually live in Christchuch, we live in Sumner, a seaside town to the east of the city. Sumner - or Pomner as it's known locally due to the proliferation of British migrants who have made the place their home - is around 11k from Christchurch centre and has a nice village feel to it. We never planned to be part of an ex-pat community (which conjures up images of obscenely tanned essex wideboys on the Costa del Sol), but there must be something about living near the sea - and it's hard to be more than 5 minutes walk wherever you live on the flat (the area not in the hills) - that obviously appeals to many people here.

I'll expand upon Sumner itself at later date, but taking you back to the start of this entry and the question asked by people in work. "Sumner, " they'd reply, "that's a bit of a way out!" And in Christchurch terms I suppose it is. I drive (or car-share) to work each morning as it's too far to walk or cycle, and it takes anywhere between 18 and 25 minutes each way. That's right, it takes considerably less than my old commute from York to Leeds (anywhere between 60 and 80 minutes on a morning commute) and is just the right amount of time for my shell-shocked mind to recover from it's rude awakening and ready itself for a day's honest toil (or cutting and pasting as Cathy likes to disparagingly describe software development).

I really enjoy the drive to work, but it's fair to say that I always enjoy the drive home more.

what we didn't pack

Between gaining acceptance on the 18th November and leaving the UK on the 21st December there was an awful lot to cram in, both figuratively and literally. Of course we had been expecting/hoping that the final confirmation was imminent, but there had been a number of frustrating false starts re medicals that meant that we were in a semi-limbo state, albeit one that involved writing a large number of cheques to private consultants in order for them to tell me what I already knew (well, mostly).

So there were leaving-drinks to arrange, family visits (to Liverpool and Middlesbrough), flights, accomodation in and around Christchurch, money to transfer, paid work to finish off, house-cleaning for any new tenants, and the new tenants themselves. And we had to pack.

Kiwi friends who had migrated back home 5 or so years earlier had regularly told us that they wished they'd brought more possessions back with them. However over the years we had - like 99.9% of the population I'd imagine - accumulated a vast amount of what can only be described as crap. We had been together for over 12 years and there were still suitcases and boxes from our first rented flat back in 1996. Boxes full of photographs and 'treasured' possessions rotting silently caked in years of damp and neglect. Surely never a better time to take stock and organise.

Personally I sold, gave away or destroyed many things I kind of, sort of still wanted, but realised that I would never use. This included 25+ years of comics, an unused-for-5-years guitar, books, clothes (patiently waiting until I could once again fit into a 34inch waist), shoes, vhs videos and assorted technical and electrical goods and paraphenalia such as phone-chargers, modems, manuals, cd-roms and routers.

As a family we gave away our lovely piano to friends. I bought it for £10 (plus £100 delivery) 4 years earlier, and Katie - my eldest daughter - and I were taking lessons at the same time with the same teacher. We knew it couldn't come with us as there was 100% chance the MAF would condemn it as a health risk, but I do miss walking past and playing the first few bars of 'Hark The Herald Angels Sing' to the continued annoyance of the rest of the family. (There may be something inherently wrong in playing christmas carols in the blazing sunshine, but that's a gripe for another time...)

If I was honest, there's not much materially that I regret leaving behind. Most things can be bought here, New Zealand being, after all, a pretty civilised nation. However there are two items I regret not stocking up on, and it's only now - and too late - that I realise how much a creature of clothing habit I have become over at least the last 8 years.

Next Jeans - 36 inch waist (yes, I know) long leg, boot-fit. It took me years to find jeans that I loved wearing - and I really did experiment for many years after leaving university and entering the realm of the moderately paid - and once I found them I never let them go. Except I left one pair in Middlesbrough, and the two remaining pairs I brought with me are pretty 'well-worn'.

Adidas Superstar II trainers - size 11, white (mostly), stripe colour negotiable, shell-toe mandatory. Again, my love affair with these classics took a while to take off, and I'm vaguely aware that there is a slightly chav-like element to wearing them, but I'll enjoy them until the transition to cardigan and slippers becomes inevitable.

So instead of paying £20 for jeans and £25 for trainers back home, buying them in bulk to fill the empty space in the container, I have just paid over twice as much in total through ebay to have one pair of each shipped over. I don't get much post, and I have to admit I'm really looking forward to their arrival.

our possessions arrive at last
image © Paul Allan White

six months on

Non essential work - which is what blogging quickly began to feel like not long into our new life in New Zealand - was always likely to fall far beneath the able-to-fit-into-my-hectic-schedule threshold once I started work in an office. Leaving the house at 7.30am on a weekday morning was a monumental shock to the system that has yet to fully dissipate, and I've found that there is little time left available in my working day to empty my thoughts onto my laptop, and that's even taking into account the paucity of watchable programmes available on five 'free-to-air' tv channels.

To be fair, I am home by 6pm at the absolute latest (and that sometime includes time for a cheeky drink either in work or in the local bar over the road from my rented house), but for someone who has spent the best part of the last five years working at home and for himself, this takes some getting used to.

So, that's the piss-poor excuse out of the way... The reality is that real-life, as I've no doubt tediously mentioned more times than anyone can care to remember, gets in the way; at least it does for me.

We arrived in Christchurch nearly six months ago on December 23rd, and headed straight to our rented farm house (which happened to be free on condition of feeding the cats, doves, horses, etc) for a peculiarly jet-lagged and overly warm Christmas. This was followed by friends coming to stay with us into the new year, and all was good as effectively we were on holiday and annoyances such as work and earning money for a living were pushed to the back of our collective minds. We, or rather Cathy, even managed to keep a log / diary of events with the intention that we would chronicle at least our first year here. Fanciful ideas regarding writing a book based on our emigration experience were half-heartedly endorsed as something fun (and, ultimately of course, financially rewarding).

So, it didn't quite pan out the way I planned it, and the few people (i.e. friends and family) who actually bothered to read the blog in the first place drifted away presuming that all's just ticking over nicely and event-free. Which it is by the way, but my lethargy and plain bone-idle nature means that I've not been communicating enough with people 'back home' (and by this I mean by any medium including emails, telephone calls and Skype), something I intend to immediately rectify before I become one of those people who never keep in touch and only have myself to blame when becoming a bitter, lonely old fool.

This blog entry is a line in the sand, and if you're interested in what we've been up to over the last six months and beyond - including our take on all those differences inherent in living on the other side of the world - then please come back now and again as I intend to update at least weekly.

I was relatively prolific while venting my frustrations regarding the NZ Immigration process, so please feel free to read any previous posts while I get around to filling in the six month blanks...

the whites in sumner
image © Alan Riboldi-Tunnicliffe