He brought me a bird.

I’m sure I should’ve been flattered by the offering, but winged creatures in the living room just aren’t my thing.

I applaud the cat for doing what comes naturally, and I take my hat off to him for managing to catch anything at all given the raucous bell around his neck, but we eventually came to an agreement that we were both better off without the bird.

I spun him the old line about how, if it was “meant to be” the bird would come back to him, but that pinning it to the floor with his claws just made him look desperate.

I don’t know if the bird went back to where it came from, but hopefully it’s in a place where it should be and enjoying a second chance at life.

The near-miss bird got me thinking about fate.

A friend recently described being an expat with touching simplicity. I’m paraphrasing, but he said something like, “It’s not where I’m from, but it’s where I’m meant to be.”

Whilst it’s often complex and painful to try and justify being so far from my family and friends in the Motherland, this weekend I couldn’t argue with the sentiment that this is a wonderful place to be.

Today was Auckland Anniversary Day, so while other parts of the country tackled their Monday demons, we embraced our extra day off.

We had planned to go sailing for the long weekend but despite the sunshine, it was too windy. I know your hearts are bleeding for me while you crank up the heating and watch the temperature gauge struggle uphill towards a maximum of 1 degree celsius.

But while I meandered around the countryside, let it be said, I was thinking of you the whole time.

When you see the rolling hills in parts of New Zealand, there is little to distinguish it from rural Britain.

No doubt, New Zealand is a land of dramatic landscapes that have made the country unspeakably beautiful, but Britain holds its own with a different kind of magnificence.

In Kazuo Ishiguro’s The Remains of the Day, the main character, Mr Stevens, takes his first road trip through the rolling English countryside and is taken aback by its beauty.

“We call this land of ours Great Britain, and there may be those who believe this a somewhat immodest practice...I would say that it is the very lack of obvious drama or spectacle that sets the beauty of our land apart.”

Perhaps I was always destined to be somewhere great.

Being here with someone great certainly helps fend off the home sickness. Working towards man of the year status (and it’s only February), my Kiwi man whisked me off to an impromptu vineyard lunch on the Matakana winery trail over the weekend.

His tendency for “winging it” has previously led him into tricky pastures, but today it put him up there with George Clooney in terms of desirability.

I love New Zealand wineries. Before I came here I thought vineyards were for the elite, the posh, and the people who know their pinot from their pinotage.

But Kiwis know how to do vineyards for you and me.

You don’t have to know the right people, wear the right clothes, or display wine sniffing etiquette. You just rock up at the cellar door in your flip flops and shorts, and you’re as good as the Queen of England in terms of getting the royal treatment.

We didn’t even make a booking.

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Our waitress was a lady in her twilight years with a European accent I couldn’t place, silver hair, and a contented smile that suggested she had no regrets. I was transfixed with her.

I told her the wine was lovely and she agreed and remarked on what a beautiful day it was. I rambled through a gushing agreement with her, inexplicably trying to make something of an impression on her, in return for her impression on me.

She just smiled and said “It’s good to be alive”.

I can neither compete with that nor contradict it.

Until next time, from the land of the long white cloud, all my love.

xx

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