ILLINGTON * VISIT

* It's probably a bit unfair to make fun of Wellington's woes as most cities in New Zealand are suffering from the same things - declining 'High Street' retail sales, boarded up commercial premises, the flight of businesses to shopping malls, homeless people and beggars accosting workers and tourists,  overabundance of $2 shops, noodle bars and takeaway outlets etc. Certainly my town, Whangarei is declining and Auckland and Christchurch cities are in a worse state than Wellington and, in hindsight, I don't think that Wellington deserves to be called Illington at all but still, as I've said before and Samual Clements said it before me "never let the truth get in the way of a good story."

The main reason for going down to Wellington was to attend a 'family' meeting - a 'High Tea' with the managers of the retirement village in Waikanae that my sister is now (safely and securely) living in.

High Tea but with sausage rolls - yum!

 

That went very well and I'm pleased with my sister's state of physical and mental health and the great support that she gets in this facility - Charles Fleming which is part of the Ryman Group. To get there I took the train - I like travelling by train - a fact that an old ex schoolteacher who probably knows nothing about mathematics is aware of but mocks me over (more of this to follow) - and I walked about Wellington central city and made my way by bus from Courtenay Place where I was staying to the railway station on the Tuesday of the Charles Fleming visit.

I had noticed the previous evening when I arrived, the number of 'homeless' people with mattresses and sleeping bags set up in doorways. They accost passers by with requests and, in some cases demands for money. I'm tempted to say to them that they, with the various benefits they receive are likely on a greater income than an old pensioner like me but it'd likely go over their heads. As I walked around the corner at the bottom of Tory street, near St James a youngish (30s) woman was packing up her 'bed' (props more likely) - which was a thin mattress and sleeping bag - by rolling it up and stacking it, along with her other props and paraphernalia, into a huge suitcase. I'd noticed this suitcase earlier and wondered why it was there. As she did this a friend of hers came along and asked "where are you off to Babe?" She answered " I'm just going down to my spot in Lambton Quay" and proceeded to board the same bus I did. Now, the thing about this was that along with the suitcase, I'd noticed that she was wearing really good shoes - new Nikes and a new designer baseball cap - both expensive items. She was not a rough sleeper but part of an organised scammer group who prey on the goodness of strangers. This pisses me off because it is dishonest and probably means that any needy and real homeless people miss out. I've seen this before in other places - San Francisco, Chicago and Verona to name a few - hey! I'll give you a couple of links to blog posts I've written on this. No need to thank me: HERE and  HERE 

Anyway - back to that old schoolteacher Richard. As you know, Richard likes to entertain visitors to Wellington by taking them on a tour of the city. If you don't believe me check out these reliable reports in earlier posts:

HERE , , HERE and HERE  

Well, recently Richard announced a revamp to RICHARD'S BASS BAG TOURS promising that it would be bigger, better and bodelicious (actually I just made that last description up) so, when he offered the new tour for my current visit I leapt to, accepted with ... mumbled OK. 

Richard reported on this in his recent post : HERE

In this he made many outrageous statements, falsehoods and examples of selective memory starting with this:

"I'm going to get in first and tell you the truth.'

It all went downhill from there. 

There were so many inaccuracies that I don't have time to report here but will instead pick one which is appropriate as a starter - - the rendezvous. Here's what Richard wrote:

"I rang Peter a little while back and we agreed to meet at a particular place in Tory St., Wellington. I told him I'd be there before 1pm.
I got up early and headed to Upper Hutt to do my morning teaching job. Then I dropped my violin off at home and headed towards Wellington. I normally park near Cuba St., but I decided to try for a park in Tory St., as that would save me a long walk. I was very lucky because I found a park right near our agreed meeting place. I put in lots of money so that I could park there a long time - we planned to go somewhere for lunch. I phoned Peter to tell him that I had arrived.
"I'm at Waterloo station waiting for a train. I love riding on trains." he told me.
[Waterloo station is near the city of Lower Hutt - quite a long way from Tory Street or from Wellington, for that matter.]
It had been a hot ride into Wellington, and I certainly didn't need more time weaving through busy traffic, but I agreed to pick him up from Wellington station. It took me a while, but I finally found a park near the station. It appears that the old chap had totally forgotten all about our telephone conversation. I guess that's old age for you. I feel lucky that I'm an awful lot younger."

This was not  an auspicious start and a bad look for the revised Richard's Bass Bag Tours. It was in fact a cock-up on the rendezvous front.

For the record I have no recollection of making a firm rendezvous of time and place and was awaiting a telephone call from the old guy to arrange this ON THE DAY. As I thought I had hours to kill I did, I admit, take a train out to the Hutt. On the Upper Hutt train I had a nagging feeling that Richard might ring soon, it was 1PM, so I left the train at Waterloo which was only half way on my journey and waited for a train back to Wellington. That's when Richard rang and, to be fair to him, some of what happened was reported accurately by him. I''ll edit out the lies, obfuscations and inaccuracies for you.

"I rang Peter a little while back and we agreed to meet at a particular place in Tory St., Wellington. I told him I'd be there before 1pm.
I got up early and headed to Upper Hutt to do my morning teaching job. Then I dropped my violin off at home and headed towards Wellington. I normally park near Cuba St., but I decided to try for a park in Tory St., as that would save me a long walk. I was very lucky because I found a park right near our agreed meeting place. I put in lots of money so that I could park there a long time - we planned to go somewhere for lunch. I phoned Peter to tell him that I had arrived.
"I'm at Waterloo station waiting for a train. I love riding on trains." he told me.
[Waterloo station is near the city of Lower Hutt - quite a long way from Tory Street or from Wellington, for that matter.]
It had been a hot ride into Wellington, and I certainly didn't need more time weaving through busy traffic, but I agreed to pick him up from Wellington station. It took me a while, but I finally found a park near the station. It appears that the old chap had totally forgotten all about our telephone conversation. I guess that's old age for you. I feel lucky that I'm an awful lot younger."

I did find Richard at Wellington train station. He was lurking behind some pillars and trying to hide behind a fat man wearing a red sweatshirt. It was kind of like the Eiffel Tower being disguised behind, well, the Eiffel Tower but I guess you can see what I mean.

The tour was remarkably like the earlier Richard's Bass Bag Tour tours I'd been on with the only difference that this time he had no itinerary, no plan and frankly was a bit bewildered. I put it down to old age and had to take. control having to direct him through traffic, remind him to keep his eyes on the road (he was ogling nubile young women who seemed to be everywhere) and select an eating place in Lyall Bay.

Nubiles with the '2024' fashion look - shorts and bare legs.

We did have a pleasant late lunch - cheesecake (not the nubiles) and a glass of wine each and a good catch-up.

I enjoy visiting Richard and we share a lot in common although not an understanding of how Bass Bag tours should be run.

Maybe, when I come back down at the end of January he might have sorted things out.