The glorious and sad saga of the driveway from hell

I think my driveway is glorious, but many people hate it. Read for yourself and decide who’s right.

The driveway from the road runs along a valley, winds around a hill, climbs steeply past the orchard and chook house, and finally drops to my house. It’s 800 metres long. (I’ll tell you how I know this shortly.)

It’s home to an unreliable rabbit named Nicholas Augustus, several families of quail that appear each year with their puffball babies, and occasionally a mysterious cat (probably hunting the quail).

Taxi drivers vs the driveway from hell

I travel to Auckland quite often, and the taxi drivers who arrive at the house at 5:30am to pick me up inevitably have one of two reactions:

Reaction 1: What a terrifying driveway! I almost didn’t make it here. Do you actually drive up and down it?

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A happy story about a chicken called Sarah

Sarah the chicken overcomes her emotional wounds and finds happiness eating chook food with her friends near the house.

Sarah the black hen came to live in her new home as a pullet (young hen) with her speckled brown friend, Clementine.

Clementine got a fancy name because the people who sold her to us assured us she would lay blue eggs, though she was too young to lay at the time. Sarah, on the other hand, got a dull name because she was expected to lay white eggs.

As it turned out, both Clementine and Sarah lay slightly bluish eggs, but not blue enough for me to definitively convince myself that they’re not white. Perhaps the two hens split the difference.

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One of those days

A post about nothing at all. Plus a little writing inspiration.

I ran a Twitter poll recently asking if you wanted more or fewer book not-reviews.

The results were:

11% think I post too many not-reviews

19% think I post just enough reviews

11% think I should post more reviews

and 59% want chocolate.

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Happy birthday, dear blog

For my blog’s first birthday, I thought I’d look back over my first year blogging and spout wisdom. But then I drank tea and wrote random stuff instead.

Yesterday my blog turned a year old.

Yes, despite the constant concern that I would wake up one day with absolutely nothing to say, I’ve somehow managed to post twice a week for 52 weeks.

(To be fair, I often don’t say anything.)

The one year mark seems like the appropriate time to say certain things. Here they are.

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A confession and the true value of this blog

I have a confession to make.

Since I went back to work a month and a half ago, I’ve done very little writing.

None at all some weeks, an odd and unproductive hour other weeks.

I could make excuses, but honestly I’ve been run down to the ground, and surviving has taken priority over writing. I don’t feel bad about it.

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