Compulsory Annual Post

So it is Wimbledon again. It seems that something happens that makes me want to blog about it each year...so here we go.

Last night I stayed up (ok, for normal people it wasn't that late but I'd been planning an early night with my book as Husbink was on nights) to watch the Murray match. Having seen at least some of all of his matches so far, I found this one really intriguing - because it felt so much more familiar.

At last, the crowd knew what they were meant to be doing. At last, there were sections that I couldn't watch. At last, I had to walk away from the TV fairly frequently - because I really did have to get other things done and couldn't fritter away the entire evening on a game of tennis.

Watching last week, Husbink and I had both felt that the crowd - including us - didn't quite know what to do with straight sets. This isn't what we are used to from "our man". We are used to agony. When Murray was simply playing fantastic shots, there were cheers, there was applause but it was slightly lacklustre. Once things started to go a little pear-shaped, we were comfortable again. We can scream and shout and cheer. Hanging our heads one minute, pulling out our hair before leaping up in triumph, pumping the air the next.

I'm always a little amazed by the British desire to support the underdog. In some instances, as with tennis matches, this is partly due to the fact that you get a better game if the underdog puts up a fight, but I think there is more to it than that. We feel like the underdog so often (which is a whole other discussion) that we support them whoever they are. When one of ours starts to do well, yes we enjoy it but we don't quite know what to do with it. The Ashes will be at their best if England scrape through. A resounding victory in each Test and we wouldn't know where to look.

I don't want to go through the trauma of the end of the fourth set last night again. I would like Murray to win each match from here on comfortably but for us the spectators, the experience might be slightly dimmed.

PS we were on holiday last week and shortly (when I have done the picture sorting thing) there will be a couple of lengthy posts...including some propaganda)

I do feel rather sorry for Mr Brown

I know it isn't fashionable and I suspect it isn't sensible but I do feel really rather sorry for Gordon Brown at the moment.
I've had a soft spot for him for years and years since his baby died. (My mum wrote to him as someone who had been through the death of a baby and at that point was working for FSID (Foundation for the Study of Infant Deaths - you know why they prefer to use the initials!) to empathise and received a very kind letter back - not entirely personal but not entirely impersonal either. It was enough to impress me.)
So anyway, I suspect the poor chap should never have become PM under any circumstances but certainly not under the circumstances that he did. And now the world seems to be falling apart beneath him, poor poppet.
He's not an upfront leader type. He's not charismatic. He doesn't inspire people. He shouldn't be there. But now he is do we have to be so horrid all the time? Yes, he should resign and maintain just a little bit of dignity (actually, I think it is too late for that - his only shot at dignity now is for something AMAZING to happen that vindicates everything he's ever done...so holding on and hoping perhaps is *his* best option just now) but please, please, please can we/they/everyone just be a smidgy bit nicer to him while he goes?

The Difference Between Me And Kiwis. No, not the birds. Or the fruit.

I came to realise today one of the big differences between me and your average Kiwi.
Mostly, in what I'm going to describe I'd rather be like them than me but I accept (to a large extent) that I am a product of my country and my upbringing and although, with awareness I may change a little, I do not think I will change drastically in this area. Of course, what follows is also gross generalisation.
Kiwis are blunt. They may appear rude in various circumstances. They do not wave to say thank you when you let them pass you on the road. They do not make many attempts at "the customer is always right" if they believe you to be entirely wrong.
Kiwis are also exceedingly friendly. They will not gush at you or bounce at you or bubble at you. But they will invite you into their home and expect you to understand that that invitation really is an open one. You will, if you wish it, find yourself with several surrogate families. And not just one layer of those families. We have two surrogate families here. Both are wonderful and we will miss both very much. Even outside our surrogate families, we have good, good friends who will help us out at a moments notice, even if they are lost in the midst of Christmas shopping with three small, not wonderfully happy children. Even if they are people that perhaps we would say we didn't know so well, we know they will help, always.
And I am the opposite of this. I will be very excited to meet you. I will bounce. I will chatter. I will want you to feel at home. But my home will not, much as I might wish otherwise, be one that you feel you can just drop in on. I hope when you do come round that you will feel very welcome but I know that you will have waited for an invitation rather than just appearing on the doorstep. When you ask me for help, I will have to swallow all the thoughts that bubble up first (what about this plan or that plan, I'm not sure I have time, I need to do this, I can't do that, urgh) before I can help you. I will still help you most of the time but I don't think I'll be as helpful as I would if I didn't have to push aside those thoughts first. The flip side is that most of the time, I won't ask you for help because I won't want to put you out either.
I've had to learn this over the past year and a half. First, that Kiwis aren't rude or even abrupt, they just aren't spending their energy where I do. Second, that actually, I should ask for help, it is always there and keen to be given. If I ask for more help then perhaps I will learn to give more help too. Third, being polite and friendly at first meeting is ok too. :)

World Famous in New Zealand Since Ages Ago

One of the things I'm finding most odd about preparing to go home is knowing that Husbink and I now have 18 months of shared culture that no one at home is going to understand or know about.
No one (or basically no one) will know who Dave Dobbyn or Supergroove are
No one will have seen the Trumpet togs/undies ad
No one will know all the words to Why Does Love Do This To Me by The Exponents (compulsory listening for granting of a visa into NZ...)
No one will call their flip-flops jandals or their swimming costumes togs...
And so on...

Of course the flip side to this is that people will understand when I mention Terry, Eurovision, Radio 2, Strictly Come Dancing... People will (hopefully...) understand when I start to sing the Challenge Anneka theme tune whenever required to do something in a limited time frame (though I suspect there might just be one or two people who understand that! And bizarrely it is the thing that comes up most often here that I want to make a reference to and know no one will understand).

Of course, there is also much shared culture. Most films, a lot of music, TV and so on is shared between New Zealand and England (and Australia and the US and...) but even then there is a different take on it all.

What is most strange about this is that it was also one of the hardest things about arriving here. Not knowing who any of the famous people were, not understanding in jokes and cultural comments and all that sort of thing. I'd say we still don't know all that much and there are plenty of times when we are left clueless. But there are times when we are not and it will be just the same when we get home. We've lost 18 months of British culture but we've gained 18 months of NZ culture - when we get confused, we'll just confuse everyone right back!

C'mon Tiiiiiiiim!

(There are other things I planned to blog about today but perhaps they shall come later)

So, living on the other side of the world we have spent the last few weeks saying "Is it Wimbledon yet?" "Have we missed it?" and feeling slightly adrift from all summery, homely roots... (yes, I gather it isn't all that summery at the moment, apologies)

I have just now turned on the BBC website to see the Henman vs Moya - LIVE - I couldn't not click on it, that isn't allowed, right? I would have been banned on return to the UK or something surely?

And in a few short seconds of scanning the score, ten years worth of Wimbledons came crashing back in...I feel so close to home now!

(But as I still have this really weird pain in my chest from the surgery (they inflate you with CO2 and then it works its way out...causing much pain at times and none at others) I don't think I can keep watching...let me know the score!)