In Uncategorized on February 3, 2009 at 7:44 am


Spent the weekend in the Wairarapa valley to the north of Wellington and it was too bloody hot for my liking. On Saturday I was having my first beer in a back garden in Featherstone, a town in the valley, when I heard an air raid siren. I’d never heard one before and suspected the very worst. Thankfully it was the local fire station’s call to arms. It was 35˚ and the risk of firse was heightened. The next day decided to go on to Martinborough a winemaking   on the way saw a Stonhenge replica on a farm and an abandoned house.


That night I realised that my hands were peppered with sand fly bites. I drank some local Sauvignon Blanc to mask the itching. As I drifted off to sleep I tortured myself with the idea of being on my own in the abandoned house at 2am. The dream proper that followed was worse and revolved around a horrible orgy in an oast house where some people were writhing in manure and gagging as they rutted. I woke up the next morning hotfooted it to a phramacy to getsome antihitstamine.



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