After a quick panic that we would never be able to find our way out of Christchurch, we found ourselves on the long and winding road to Lake Tekapo.
We had seen pictures on the internet and in guidebooks of the lake and its surroundings, but nothing that small could adequately sum up the breathtaking tranquillity of the place as you tipped over the hill down into the valley. At that point, it was the most beautiful landscape that I had ever seen. And I´ve been to Ironbridge.
We pulled up by the church that was perched at the top of a small hill, Dan had said that he had stayed there the previous night. We couldn´t see him, but took the time to soak up the view and the serenity of the lake.
We got back in the van and went up into the 'town' area, which consisted of a petrol station, a post office and a public loo. We grabbed some quick-cook noodles from the garage and as we were returning to the church area we noticed a horrifically garish van was parked down by the lake. As we approached we read the message on the back of it, 'POLICE... PLEASE STOP FOLLOWING ME. I´M EVER SO NERVOUS...'
If our van was a bit bigoted, Dan's was at best ill-conceived. Apart from the fact that it obviously attracted the wrong sort of attention, it was written as though they thought they had a much bigger van to draw on. The last sentence was crammed into about a square foot whilst the 'PLEASE' and 'STOP' were huge. This was the first time of at least a thousand that we read it and winced.
Sneaking up behind Dan's car, the best we could in a nine foot monstrosity of an Espace vehicle, we jumped out and bashed on his window. Cue much hugging and rejoicing at finally making it. The next thought on our minds was, of course, where on earth are we going to poo?
We jumped into our travel-wagons and cruised down right next to the lake. This was slightly naughty, but Dan insisted that he had slept there the night before and no one had forcibly evicted him, like the gypsy scum that he pretends not to be. We can all see through that moustache Daniel. The upper lip is not the window to your blackened soul, and the hair band makes you look rather silly. Where was I? Erm...
We set up camp (or parked, as it´s known) under a big tree and surveyed the area once more. It truly was inconceivably stunning. The lake was a blue that you see on adverts for big TVs that talk about outstanding colour (which, incidentally, I've never understood, as if I can see that the colour is good on that tele from my own tele, why would I need the other tele?), the snow tipped mountains in the distance shimmered under the heat of the sun and the clouds were beginning to form in the crevice between the hills like a giant cotton finger scratching a magnificent green arse.
We got our camping stoves out and made our first of very many batches of the Kiwi equivalent of Super Noodles. Then it dawned on me, I´m going to shit myself in the most beautiful place I've ever been.
The public toilets were too far away and there was no way that I could lengthen my stride to a jog without a disaster. Then I spotted a small hostel off up the small hill. This was it, all of the practice doing McPoo's was going to have to come to fruition here.
Scrambling like a three legged giraffe with its head stuck in the passenger window of a mini metro up the small but seemingly ever increasing hill, I reached the front door of the hostel. Fuck. Fucking receptionist bastard. Right, think Chris, think. Use the McPoo with Lies technique. I couldn´t think clearly though, as the massive sign on the door saying 'This hostel and all of its amenities are for paying guests only' was clouding my brain.
'Hi, I'm looking for John, has he checked in yet?' I murmured with all the confidence of a eunuch at a porn shoot.
'Erm, let me just have a look... We've got three Johns here at the moment actually, which one are you looking for?' Said the hostel man, he could smell the fear on my breath. Fear and Mega Noodles.
'I don't actually know his surname, we only met in Auckland a couple of days ago. He's quite a big guy, with hair.' With hair? Jesus Crispies.
'Ah, that John! He's just gone to the post office, do you want to wait for him?'
'If that's all right, yeah. Cheers.'
I went to walk into the common room where I could see someone playing pool, but the bloke pulled me back with an 'Erm...' Fuck. He gestured to the chair behind me. There was no way I could poo on that. Not with him there looking right at me anyway.
I had no choice. I made a quick dash to the bog and locked the toilet behind me. Luckily, as I'm not great under pressure, I didn't have much choice in the matter of whether I would be able to go to the toilet or not. I was expecting a bang on the door any minute. Or for the whole toilet to collapse and a T-Rex to pick me up in its gnashers and swing me round breaking every bone in my body. But nothing came.
'Do you want to leave a message for John?' the Receptionist asked, almost as though I hadn't just broken rule 1a of the hostel code.
'Yes please. Can you tell him that I haven't forgotten about what he did for me.'
'Sorry?'
'No, I´m not sorry.'
Sprinting full pelt back to the van I realised that I no longer knew how to lie.
We had seen pictures on the internet and in guidebooks of the lake and its surroundings, but nothing that small could adequately sum up the breathtaking tranquillity of the place as you tipped over the hill down into the valley. At that point, it was the most beautiful landscape that I had ever seen. And I´ve been to Ironbridge.
We pulled up by the church that was perched at the top of a small hill, Dan had said that he had stayed there the previous night. We couldn´t see him, but took the time to soak up the view and the serenity of the lake.
We got back in the van and went up into the 'town' area, which consisted of a petrol station, a post office and a public loo. We grabbed some quick-cook noodles from the garage and as we were returning to the church area we noticed a horrifically garish van was parked down by the lake. As we approached we read the message on the back of it, 'POLICE... PLEASE STOP FOLLOWING ME. I´M EVER SO NERVOUS...'
If our van was a bit bigoted, Dan's was at best ill-conceived. Apart from the fact that it obviously attracted the wrong sort of attention, it was written as though they thought they had a much bigger van to draw on. The last sentence was crammed into about a square foot whilst the 'PLEASE' and 'STOP' were huge. This was the first time of at least a thousand that we read it and winced.
Sneaking up behind Dan's car, the best we could in a nine foot monstrosity of an Espace vehicle, we jumped out and bashed on his window. Cue much hugging and rejoicing at finally making it. The next thought on our minds was, of course, where on earth are we going to poo?
We jumped into our travel-wagons and cruised down right next to the lake. This was slightly naughty, but Dan insisted that he had slept there the night before and no one had forcibly evicted him, like the gypsy scum that he pretends not to be. We can all see through that moustache Daniel. The upper lip is not the window to your blackened soul, and the hair band makes you look rather silly. Where was I? Erm...
We set up camp (or parked, as it´s known) under a big tree and surveyed the area once more. It truly was inconceivably stunning. The lake was a blue that you see on adverts for big TVs that talk about outstanding colour (which, incidentally, I've never understood, as if I can see that the colour is good on that tele from my own tele, why would I need the other tele?), the snow tipped mountains in the distance shimmered under the heat of the sun and the clouds were beginning to form in the crevice between the hills like a giant cotton finger scratching a magnificent green arse.
We got our camping stoves out and made our first of very many batches of the Kiwi equivalent of Super Noodles. Then it dawned on me, I´m going to shit myself in the most beautiful place I've ever been.
The public toilets were too far away and there was no way that I could lengthen my stride to a jog without a disaster. Then I spotted a small hostel off up the small hill. This was it, all of the practice doing McPoo's was going to have to come to fruition here.
Scrambling like a three legged giraffe with its head stuck in the passenger window of a mini metro up the small but seemingly ever increasing hill, I reached the front door of the hostel. Fuck. Fucking receptionist bastard. Right, think Chris, think. Use the McPoo with Lies technique. I couldn´t think clearly though, as the massive sign on the door saying 'This hostel and all of its amenities are for paying guests only' was clouding my brain.
'Hi, I'm looking for John, has he checked in yet?' I murmured with all the confidence of a eunuch at a porn shoot.
'Erm, let me just have a look... We've got three Johns here at the moment actually, which one are you looking for?' Said the hostel man, he could smell the fear on my breath. Fear and Mega Noodles.
'I don't actually know his surname, we only met in Auckland a couple of days ago. He's quite a big guy, with hair.' With hair? Jesus Crispies.
'Ah, that John! He's just gone to the post office, do you want to wait for him?'
'If that's all right, yeah. Cheers.'
I went to walk into the common room where I could see someone playing pool, but the bloke pulled me back with an 'Erm...' Fuck. He gestured to the chair behind me. There was no way I could poo on that. Not with him there looking right at me anyway.
I had no choice. I made a quick dash to the bog and locked the toilet behind me. Luckily, as I'm not great under pressure, I didn't have much choice in the matter of whether I would be able to go to the toilet or not. I was expecting a bang on the door any minute. Or for the whole toilet to collapse and a T-Rex to pick me up in its gnashers and swing me round breaking every bone in my body. But nothing came.
'Do you want to leave a message for John?' the Receptionist asked, almost as though I hadn't just broken rule 1a of the hostel code.
'Yes please. Can you tell him that I haven't forgotten about what he did for me.'
'Sorry?'
'No, I´m not sorry.'
Sprinting full pelt back to the van I realised that I no longer knew how to lie.
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