You can never go home

I love Google maps – they take me to places I need to get to this afternoon. They take me to places I dream of going, like Tromso at the top of the Norwegian fiords, where I hope to go one summer and see the northern lights. And sometimes they take me places I once

Hard as Nails

I love New York.

Home, no matter where you find it

Arrowtrown, at the foot of the Crown Range, a truly lovely, preserved old town. It formed in the 1860s, populated by European and Chinese gold miners, some of whom left when the takings dried up, moving onto the west coast. But others stayed and the town survived as a farming community. Ups and downs –

Titirangi

Titirangi. I named this blog Titirangi Storyteller after the village I call home. It’s part of Waitakere City, considered one of the ‘rougher’ areas of Auckland – but the way I see it, that rep keeps the house prices down and snooty folks who work in ‘firms’ rather than for companies’ away from the place.

Queen Elizabeth Square, downtown Auckland

I was last in Queen Elizabeth Square last summer, around Christmastime. It was buzzing and beautiful, with giant ornaments, reminiscent of Jeff Koons installations, placed here and there. Near the waterfront with the ferry docks and cargo ships nearby, a real hub of activity a spot in Auckland a visitor shouldn’t miss. My newly formed

No phones, no internet, oh no!

The first thing we need is electricity. Without that, nothing works at all. Secondly we need our communication tools – the telephone and internet. Life as we know it springs from those two things. I live in the woods. The road down here has been paved for less than 20 years and is barely wide

Heroes

I know the word hero is bandied about freely, so I kind of hate to use it. But tonight I spent the evening with one of mine – Neil Finn. He was on stage and I was in the audience, which is the way it should be. It began with “I Got You”, which cracked

Rainy Monday, ain’t got no blues

The rain is comes down in big, soft drops, occasionally working up a gust of wind to toss the towering kanukas and kauris around. The sky is the colour of the letter Y, translucent and lonely, marred by a lost tropical parakeet, its bobbing blood-red head a shock on the eye. My mother hated rainy