A massive exercise in extreme vulgarity.

I have never been one to shy away from vulgarity.  Those that know me well, and those that don't know me well at all either, will still probably know that vulgarity is something I positively embrace.  In fact, at times I am so vulgar that I would probably wait until vulgarity falls asleep whilst I am embracing it, and then do something extremely vulgar to it.

This year's end of season party didn't really offer me much chance to be too vulgar however.  With a retro ski theme, the best I could do was to borrow a bright yellow one piece, and wear very little underneath it.  I tried, with what little I had to work with, and at one point was talking to the co-owner of the company stripped down to the waist whilst covering my nipples, (or not covering my nipples, who knows, I had taken advantage of the open bar a little too much by that point), (or walked around after her trying to encourage her to touch my nipples depending on whose version of events you get), but that is about as far as I went that night.  My decision to wear little under the ski suit I came to regret early on, when we were taken on another jet boat ride before the evening began unfortunately in the freezing rain.

So here I go on a bit of a tangent.  As you can tell by my little "about me" box up there to the right, I fled normal life in England a while ago.  Yep, I had a proper job, for about 10 years.  I liked it a lot.  It was sometimes challenging, it was in an area I liked (not geographically), and it paid well.  Not well enough for me to buy a llama to lead around town to spit on all the chavvy scum I deemed unworthy of my own saliva.  Nor could I pay a midget and a dwarf to fight to the death on a whim, to finally discover which is the superior race.  But I did alright.  I rented a nice flat, had a car that looked a little bit like K.I.T.T. off of Knight Rider (if you really squinted, from a distance, looking through tracing paper), and didn't have to think twice if I needed to buy clean/flat clothes because mine were dirty/needed ironing.

But it was a life/quality balance.  I had no responsibility, no-one depended on me, and I was plodding.  Waking up every day to the same old routine, shower, work, finish work, have dinner, wait for the weekend, binge drink all weekend and wake up on Sunday to fingers that smell of chili sauce (careful now, despite my vulgarity I wasn't going there), and a lounge that stinks of half eaten kebab (but you can make of that one what you will), spend all Sunday watching movies on the couch in my underwear, go to bed, Monday.

So yeah, see above.  I jacked it in.  I yearned to be in a place where I had to actually save for something I really wanted.  I figured that you appreciate the material possessions more when you have to work hard and make sacrifices to obtain them.  And so here I am now, in a beautiful place where I wake up every morning to the view you see right at the top of the page, in a job with some awesome people that I love, where I get to meet new and interesting people every day, where I also get to meet old and dull people every day, not earning the greatest wage in the world, but it's enough to keep me living here and pay for coffee and the occasional beer which is all I really need in life.

Does it sound like I am trying to convince myself I did the right thing?  Of course I am.  I always am.  Every now and again I wake up wondering if I have done the right thing.  Should I have got this out of the way when I was younger?  Maybe so.  Do I worry that I threw away a life back home that was pretty comfortable to live in an environment where every six months I have a tense wait to see if my visa will be renewed or not?  Of course.  But you know what, if I hadn't taken that potentially massive leap, I wouldn't have met half of the amazing people I have.  I wouldn't have made friends and formed relationships with all the people all over the globe if I hadn't decided I wasn't really "going places" back home.  And I wouldn't have done anywhere near the amount of amazing things I have done here.  And here comes the vulgarity......

Since I have been in Queenstown, I have:

• Been to Milford Sound on a coach day trip
• White water rafting
• Canyon Swing
• Nevis Bungy (134m)
• Nevis Arc
• Kawarau Bridge Bungy (43m)
• Kawarau Jet (twice)
• Shotover Jet
• Skippers Canyon Jet
• Wilderness Safari (including another jet boat ride)
• River Surfing
• Paragliding
• Hang gliding
• Quad biking
• Snowmobiling
• Skydiving
• TSS Earnslaw Steamship
• Kayaking
• Clay target shooting
• Gondola, Kiwi Haka show and buffet dinner
• Gondola and buffet dinner
• Season passes for one of the ski hills for 2 seasons

And most recently I went back to Milford Sound, this time flying there and back.  You tend to forget that behind the mountains you can see, there are other mountains.  Loads of them in fact.  We flew over the Routeburn and Milford walking tracks, at least one of which I hope to do during the summer, and I got to sit in the front seat next to the pilot on the way back, an experience which left me sitting rigid with fear just in case my knee rubbed against the big red button that says "Do not rub knee against".  There were only four of us on the cruise this time around, which made the experience all the more personal, however the day was tainted by the fact that one of the others on the cruise was wearing the same trainers as me.  And to top it all off, despite spending well over a year selling a Milford Sound day trip to people, and telling those people to wrap up warm because it will be cold, I turned up for a cruise at 9 o'clock in the morning wearing shorts and a thin hoodie.  It was a morning where I didn't need to strip down to the waist as my nipples were clearly visible from a distance of miles through the scant clothing I was wearing.

So next time I wake up and wonder what the hell I am doing here, on the other side of the world, away from all the people I have known and loved for years, I will take a deep breath and think about all the friendships and relationships I have since formed, how I now have friends worldwide who I hope would be happy to see me (in small doses), how my quality of life has improved despite how horrified my Mother would be if she saw the amount of holes in my underwear, how I am not stuck commuting every day on a sweaty train, or bumper to bumper on the motorway, how I love being here and would be exceptionally sad if I had to leave, and how I have managed to experience over $6500 worth of products and adventures for absolutely nothing.  Zilch, nada, gratis, zero, nil, fuck-all.  So there's your cock-shitting vulgarity.

Festive bitching, other cultures, free shit and disableds.

New Years Eve, 2009, and I am standing in a taxi queue just after midnight. A few of us had walked down to the lake front to watch the fireworks after being at a house party for a bit. Although I wasn't too fussed about the fireworks, I have voiced my opinion on them previously, the atmosphere itself was buzzing. The front was full of revellers having a good time, we all wished each other a happy new year at midnight, however my lady wasn't feeling too good so being ever the gentleman I took her home.

The taxi queue was long, about 45 minutes long, but you know what? I'm British. Therefore I am genetically predisposed to love queuing so I was completely in my element. I had had a good night, I was on my way home, and I was already in my first queue of 2010. What more could a Brit want out of life?

Then my moment was spoilt. Someone tried to edge into the queue in front of me with utmost stealth. Two people in fact. To the untrained eye maybe it wasn't even noticeable, but God-damn it, I know how to queue, they weren't getting ahead of me in a million years, so they squeezed in behind us jumping approximately half the queue in the process. Nothing was said by anyone. Presumably because one of them was in a wheelchair.

I like to think I am very tolerant of others. I will not judge you based on the way you look, your gender, the way you dress, the colour of your skin, your sexual preference, your disability, we are still all human after all. But is it wrong of me to get angry at a disabled for trying to jump the queue presumably just because she is disabled? I don't think so. If anything I think people should have been able to jump in front of her, I mean after all we are all having to stand and wait while she has a nice comfy seat.

So 2010 is here already, and I have been gainfully employed now for just over two months, and it is largely going great. I say largely, obviously taking advantage of the free stuff I get thrown at me helps immensely. Since my last entry I have been busy reaping the rewards of a job that allows you free stuff.

I spent one morning kayaking across Lake Wakatipu to Pigeon Island in a sea kayak, a two person kayak with a rudder at the back operated by the person sitting in the rear seat. It's a company run by a pleasant dread locked hippy, and includes a guided tour and commentary around Pigeon Island, situated funnily enough in the middle of the lake. As you would expect, the island is a large land mass with trees, bushes, birds and insects, surrounded by water. But it's a nice serene setting, with a hut which is free to stay in as long as you can get over there, and is very reminiscent of the Evil Dead. Once you have toured around the Island, you paddle around the side of it before heading back to main land. The morning was marred only by the sour faced Scandinavian "girl" steering the kayak I was in. On the way back she pointed out that it wouldn't matter how hard I paddled to try and make us change direction, the way we were going was completely controlled by her. "So how about you steer us in the same direction as the rest of the fucking group then you dumb bitch", I imagined myself saying before imagining my paddle accidentally scalping her.

I have done my first bungy jump, the Nevis. A cabin suspended by cables 134m in the air which you obviously jump off attached to a long piece of elastic made of multiple strands of that white round elastic you used to get in those black plimsolls you wore at school. There's something they don't advertise. Plummeting towards the ground for 8ish seconds was a bizarre feeling. People have previously said that the scariest part is jumping off. That's crap, absolute crap. Jumping is easy. I jump down the last 3 stairs at home all the time. Toddlers can jump, animals can jump, disableds can jump (granted, just queues but it's still jumping). No, the scariest part is the few seconds after you have jumped, when all you can do is question whether jumping was a sensible thing to do.

On the same day I did the Nevis Arc, the worlds highest swing, in tandem with one of the girls I work with. You are loaded into the swing and dropped, free fall for a while and then get kicked into a swing across towards the canyon wall at around 150kph. In all honesty I found this scarier than the bungy, purely because the control is passed onto someone else so even though I knew the fall was coming, I still screamed a VERY masculine scream (the girly ones belonged to my tandem partner) when we were released.

The Canyon Swing is a similar experience, the main differences being that when you drop you can go a variety of different ways, you drop down the side of a rocky canyon wall, and the crew mess with your head in a big way. Generally asking if you are ready to die, that kind of humorous thing. Questions such as "How many times have you done this?" are met with a response like "This?? Never, it's way too dangerous. I know when the ropes were last changed". I went off on the chair, you are strapped into a plastic chair and told to rock back onto the rear two legs. As you dangle precariously over the edge, the crew mess even further by slowly releasing you only to pull you back up at the last minute a number of times. Eventually, exasperated, you cry "For Christ's sake, will you just get on wissssshhhhhhhhiiiiiiiitttttt".

Finally, I eventually got on a sky dive. 15,000ft, 60 seconds of free fall, a very concerned look on my face as they strap me to a chick about half my size. No offence, she was awesome. Knew what she was doing, had thousands of jumps under her belt, I appreciate her keeping me alive. But it could very well have been a different story if it was her week. While everyone else on the DVD looked like they were having a great time, I was masking my joy with the face of a man unable to work out how to get air into my lungs. Make no mistake, I loved it, and would do it again at the drop of a hat. I just look like I am concentrating really hard on something, and I am going to assume it was either the amazing views of the Remarkables, or just keeping my mouth from making some "jokey" sexist remark that would get me all kinds of dropped out of the sky without a parachute.

I can't say it's all been fun and laughter though. My job involves dealing with people. And people are generally idiots. Sure, there are some great people you meet, and it's kind of heartwarming when someone stops by to say thanks. I've done nothing but facilitate their trip/experience by taking money off them and reserving them a place, the experience or trip is made by the operators, the crew that take them out there, the experience itself, so they have no need to come and thank me, but some do. And it's nice. But the idiots far outweigh the genuinely nice people.

I've had a couple moaning a little that their trip to Milford Sound was boring. "Boring?" I asked. It's some of the most spectacular, testicle numbing scenery you will see, how was it boring?

"It was 5 hours on a coach". I would have liked to have pointed out to her that the boredom was most likely instigated and perpetuated by her travelling companion, who looked like he could turn the most orgasmic experience into a dull, trudging funeral march.

And other cultures who are used to bartering. Obviously being from the U.K. we aren't so into haggling when we make a purchase, but I believe that to get a discount on something you are buying, you at least need to offer something in exchange. Maybe that you are working for a similar company and can promote whatever it is you are buying, or at the least produce some kind of coupon. Every day I wake up wishing I was in the position to offer discounts if people dance for me. Not just a little jig, a proper dance for two straight hours. And they also have to provide me with sharp objects to throw at them, and snacks too, I'll need snacks to keep my throwing arm nice and strong. No sir, you can't get a group discount for booking two people instead of one. A second person barely counts as having company for the day, it certainly will not get you a group discount.

Finally, before I put this entry out of its misery, Christmas came and went. My Christmas was great, thanks for asking. There was a house party at my house, at which I sank about half a litre of Jim Beam in a relatively short period, and another house party later in the evening which I don't remember much of due to the Jim Beam from the first party.

It didn't feel like Christmas largely due to the weather, and it being light late. I associate Christmas with cold, crisp winter evenings, darkness, and the bustle of people late night shopping in towns adorned with festive decorations. Queenstown was bare. The only festiveness available was at Starbucks, where they were using cups with a Christmas design, and playing Christmas music halfway through November. I know I should avoid Starbucks, the amount of coffee I drink on a daily basis can't be good for my guts anyway, but coffee and festive happiness at least half a month before December I can't deal with in any kind of sane manner.

We had festive adverts though. Almost 2010, and the must-haves for this Christmas in New Zealand were Enya's Greatest Hits (honestly - I didn't realise she had more than one song), and Soda Stream. Honest to God. Well into the 21st century, and it seems New Zealand is only just getting busy with the fizzy.

Wow. Awkward.

I despise awkward situations. You know those times where you say or do something you know you shouldn't say or do, to the wrong person, or even to the right person who takes it the wrong way, and end up looking down at your shoes, raising your eyebrows slightly, whistling to fill the uncomfortable silence before bidding a stuttering farewell knowing full well that when that person says, "See you later", you know they have no intention of doing so and are in fact thinking, "What a prick".

Despite my hatred of these situations, I quite often find myself in them. Don't get me wrong, I am no Prince Phillip. I don't stumble around all day working my way into Larry David-esque situations of awkwardness. But my socially-acceptable-and-appropriate scale often differs to that of other people.

In recent years I have found myself being incredibly rude about the Scottish and how they would deep fry their shoes if shoes were edible. Generally accepted as fact by most people, but not the girl I was talking to at the time who turned out to be Scottish. I guess I should have paid attention to the accent.

Cutting out a square of masking tape at work, colouring it in black and sticking it to the top lip in a hilarious homage to Adolf Hitler can be awkward when you turn around and come nose to nose with a customer you didn't realise was there.

Babies and pregnancy can be a massive minefield for us guys. Especially when you are talking to a friend of a friend about their impending delivery when they have in fact already delivered said baby months previously. I guess the clue should have been the fact that she didn't look pregnant in any way at all, and was in a pub drinking alcohol.

Waking up next to a one-night relationship only for her to turn and face you, then leap out of bed screaming "Oh my God, you're not my boyfriend". Where do you go from there?

None of the above however, comes even close to the end of ski season party I recently attended. If you have read previous posts, you will know that I was highly likely to go as something offensive or disgusting. And I don't like to think I disappointed. But as much as I expected something like this to happen, nothing could prepare me for the moment that the wife of the director of the company who kindly employed me during the winter, and who I hoped to work for during the summer approached me and asked what I had come as. My eyes dropped to the floor to look at my shoes. My eyebrows raised slightly and as I got ready to fill the uncomfortable silence with whistling before walking off, I murmured "A scrotum".



In my defense, I had heard people tell me they were going as a sperm, sanitary towels, and other equally disgusting items. No-one followed through on that, leaving me with the dubious honour of wearing the only oversized genital-related costume in the room.

To be fair, I spent a lot of time over the previous days working on my scrotum. I would sit alone, in my room, whiling away the hours, just peacefully working on my scrotum. And a work of art it was, aside from the fact that being made from chicken wire fencing with no protection on the inside, I was essentially wearing an outfit made from barbed wire, which my arms did not thank me for the next day. And this also led to more awkwardness when I spoke to my mother who said, and I quote, "I saw the photos of your scrotum on Facebook". A sentence I NEVER want to hear from my mothers' mouth again.

And so after a month of unemployment, I now have a job once again. I attended a few interviews, none of which led to any hilariously uncomfortable situations, and in the end was hired once more by the company I worked for during the winter. This time in a front line sales role, meaning I get to talk to people, and sell them all the activities Queenstown has to offer. But more importantly, I get to do all the activities for nowt. Zilch. Nada. Gratis. Frickin free innit. And the activities we sell that the company actually own, I get paid to do.

So I went to Milford Sound, which is a sound rather than a fjord, which is a body of water and not a car. That's all I learnt from the trip, but I did take lots of photos in an effort to try and be a tourist again. I was surprisingly impressed with some of the scenery on the way. I arrogantly say that because working seasonal jobs means that frequently you wake up with a mountain in your back garden, so some of it is very, well, pah. However a lot of the Lord of the Rings locations are on the way, and it is obvious why they were filmed there as a lot of the journey is breath-taking.

I have also been River Surfing, which involves a body board, a wet suit, a river, some rapids and a lot of struggling to stay alive. And this time I DID freak out when my face got wet, purely due to the amount of water I inhaled, and a feeling of impending doom as I slapped the surface of the water like a tantrum throwing 7 year old with mental health issues. The jury is still out on how much I enjoyed this, having (as I previously mentioned) not been involved in any kind of water activity for many years. It also led to another awkward moment on the bus, involving the question "So who was it that pissed in the wetsuit"? and a finger pointed squarely at my head. It wasn't due to fear, purely that I couldn't hold it any longer. For Christ's sake, my bladder was full because I had drunk half the river on the way down it!

I have also fulfilled a childhood ambition, and been Hang Gliding. I recall wanting to do it when I was a tiny person, and looked into doing for charity. There was a fee of £275 to do it, unless you raise £3,500 for whichever charity it was at which point it was free, both scenarios slightly out of a ten year olds grasp. Also, my mum wouldn't let me. But now I am older! And I can do it free! And my mum is on the other side of the world! So that's one childhood ambition realised, now if I can just get close enough to Winona Ryders drink, I may fulfil the other.

I have a few other things planned which will be in the coming weeks hopefully. The Nevis arc and bungy (highest bungy in the world I believe), skydiving (fingers crossed), canyoning (despite them not hiring me), it's an endless extreme playground right now, and I don't have to pay for any of it!

So there you have it kids, until next time if I can leave you with one tiny snippet of fucked up wisdom, it would be that nothing says "employ me" like talking to your bosses as a giant ball sac.