Like most other Wellingtonians, Tane and I have spent the weekend frantically relaxing in the sun. No-one can frantically relax like a Wellingtonian. I think the Wellingtonian brain works something like this: "Sun! There is sun today! I might not see another day of sun until next Christmas! I must go as quickly as I can to relax at the beach/in the park/in my yard!" Only that train of thought could possibly explain the masses who flock to Oriental Bay on a sunny day, even if it is July and only 5 degrees.
On Saturday, a group of us had a picnic in the park to celebrate Stephen's birthday. It felt like something out of a Famous Five novel, but with more beer and smutty jokes. We had a portable gramophone to play songs that the Botanical Garden's probably hasn't heard for 60 years . We had a bun stuffed with cicada shells that Stephen tried to trick Kerry into eating. And best of all, we had a croquet set.
Stephen pumps up the boom box
Croquet sounds like an innocent and simple game, but don't let the blunt mallets fool you. Oh no. Those sticks can be vicious, and on account of the twiggy terrain, the game quite a challenge. I had the honour of being the worst croquet player ever, and Tane gets a special mention for being the person whose ball I knocked out of the way most often. I am determined to secretly practice my croquet skills to enable me to wow and dazzle the next time they get cranked out. Or, at least, good enough to knock everyone else's balls out of the way to take everyone down to my level :)
Erin hit what was was universally agreed to be the Best Shot Ever