I am totally going to get in trouble posting this photo
Well, this blog thing is going really well, isn't it. Not a single blog entry in February! Come on Lauren, truly pathetic. OK; an attempt at a catch up.
Way back in early February, a group of us ex pat New Zealanders celebrated Waitangi Day by getting drunk on the underground. It is a strange way to celebrate New Zealand's national day, but I've done it twice now, and it doesn't disappoint. I was hesitant, in 2011, didn't commit to it too much – wore an All Blacks shirt under my winter coat – but soon got in to it, drinking on the street with a four pack of Strongbow in a Tesco bag swinging from my arm.
This year, we were the Maori colours of the rainbow, which ended up being a good choice, as it meant we could wear coats of various colours – the temperature had dropped significantly the week before and it was hovering around the zero mark. I wore heat generating leggings under my jeans, two pairs of socks, two thermals under my t-shirt, a coat, a beret, scarf and gloves. It actually ended up being enough.
There weren't as many people out as the year before, I think the cold kept many away, and the costumes weren't as impressive, which again was probably the fault of the temperature. But everyone was as good natured as always. I'm sure residents of these areas are used to this Kiwi invasion by now but there definitely were some confused tourists wondering what they'd missed.
As per usual, we ran in to people we knew, and a few times, I recognised people from the dusty recesses of my past. Living in New Zealand it is quite usual to run in to people you know when you’re out and about. In London, it is a very uncommon occurrence.
Before leaving NZ, I would have never have called myself a very patriotic person. I knew NZ was a pretty sweet place to live, and I really loved growing up in Wellington, but overly sentimental shows of patriotism always left me feeling a little uncomfortable. That has totally changed since living in London. I got up in the middle of the night to watch the All Blacks play during the World Cup. I woke up early on a Sunday to watch the final and I cried when we won. Thanks to Waitangi Day pub crawl, I can now say that I’ve sung our national anthem at the top of my lungs on a packed underground train. I mean, if that’s not patriotism, I’m not sure what is.
After getting to Westminster and watching some brave (silly? Drunk?) Kiwi men take their shirts off to do the haka, we decided to head to the Temple Walkabout for a few hours. At about five thirty we realised it was snowing, for the first time that London winter.
So, no more Temple Walkabout for us. We decided it was back home for some drunken dinner and some drunken playing in the snow.
On our way back to the Temple underground station, we stopped to have photos with a very good natured cop. He let Katie wear his hat for a photo, and was easily convinced to wear it sideways for another photo. There was a huge stink in New Zealand (not so much over here; although maybe I just didn't notice) about the London Waitangi Day pub crawl – some New Zealander complained to the New Zealand High Commission about the behaviour of Kiwi's on the pub crawl.
It's absolute crap, obviously – thousands of us drinking in the streets and not a single arrest? And it's not for lack of cops, they were everywhere we went. I was happy to read the response of the police chief for the Westminster Borough, saying that his cops look forward to policing the Waitangi Day pub crawl due to the good natured attitude of the Kiwi's involved. I would say that is absolutely true – at Gloucester Road we saw a cop happily tucking in to a bag of Burger Rings. At Westminster, Kiwi’s were having their photo taken with cops wearing those hard bucket hat things. And this guy at Temple was loving life hanging out outside the Temple Walkabout.
The snow that night was the first and only proper snow in London this winter (and I hope I can say that with confidence, as it is now March). Being on a Saturday and on a day that we were together as a big group gave the whole experience a sort of Christmas-y feeling, which I understand is a really odd way to describe it. Perhaps it's the fact that you can't help but be reduced to childish antics when faced with a snowfall - snowmen and snowballs and snow angels. It makes you feel like your normal adult rules have been suspended.
The last time I went out in the snow that night was at about half past two. It had stopped snowing but the light was still funny, the sky had a yellowish tinge to it. Theresa and I threw another couple of snowballs, but when we accidentally hit the neighbour's window, we figured it was time to call it a night.
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