bru cintrel
This weekend Jason and I flew to Wellington, NZ, for dinner. An absurd extravagance!
In our defence, this was not the original plan. We were going to fly from Wellington to a wedding in the Queen Charlotte Sound. Jason was determined to attend his good friends Bryce and Lucy's wedding, despite the fact that it was only accessible by boat or plane and we didn't have any leave from work. He planned a convoluted weekend trip involving a chartered seaplane: allowing us 23 hours (!!) to spend at our final destination on the Queen Charlotte sound, before returning to Melbourne in time for work on Monday.
I was actually pretty excited about the whole ridiculous palava. Jason had visions of jumping from the seaplane in his dinner suit, Jason Bond-style. I was excited about seeing the Queen Charlotte sound, seeing our friends and drinking some good wine.
Unfortunately, things didn't quite work out. Saturday morning was overcast with a persistent drizzle. At breakfast in the motel dining room Jason received a phone call. I thought that was very grand until I realised it was the seaplane pilot telling us he couldn't fly in this weather.
Thus began a frustrating day of wondering around the Porirua shopping centre, calling the eternally optomistic seaplane pilot every ninety minutes or so, only to be told to call back again 'when the weather lifts'. Finally, at 4pm, the pilot conceded that he would not be able to get us to the Furneaux lodge.
So we returned to Wellington...and the international rugby 7s!! The city streets were filled with people in ridiculous costumes. It was, to use Jason's highest form of praise for a social event, 'lively'.
It was bro cintrel!
In our defence, this was not the original plan. We were going to fly from Wellington to a wedding in the Queen Charlotte Sound. Jason was determined to attend his good friends Bryce and Lucy's wedding, despite the fact that it was only accessible by boat or plane and we didn't have any leave from work. He planned a convoluted weekend trip involving a chartered seaplane: allowing us 23 hours (!!) to spend at our final destination on the Queen Charlotte sound, before returning to Melbourne in time for work on Monday.
I was actually pretty excited about the whole ridiculous palava. Jason had visions of jumping from the seaplane in his dinner suit, Jason Bond-style. I was excited about seeing the Queen Charlotte sound, seeing our friends and drinking some good wine.
Unfortunately, things didn't quite work out. Saturday morning was overcast with a persistent drizzle. At breakfast in the motel dining room Jason received a phone call. I thought that was very grand until I realised it was the seaplane pilot telling us he couldn't fly in this weather.
Thus began a frustrating day of wondering around the Porirua shopping centre, calling the eternally optomistic seaplane pilot every ninety minutes or so, only to be told to call back again 'when the weather lifts'. Finally, at 4pm, the pilot conceded that he would not be able to get us to the Furneaux lodge.
So we returned to Wellington...and the international rugby 7s!! The city streets were filled with people in ridiculous costumes. It was, to use Jason's highest form of praise for a social event, 'lively'.
It was bro cintrel!
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