Well this blog entry is way overdue. I've been in New Zealand for 9 months now and I haven't blogged a blog. Now I don't know where to start. Maybe with Dingle Dell, the book Jack and I wrote together at the beginning of our amazing gap year. It all started when Jack's friend, Ned, came over for the school holidays and they found a body in the bush reserve up the road. They poked it with a stick, because they were 12 and that's what you do. When we went back it was gone of course but a little while later I came across a huge rugby league jumper and a bag full of bits and pieces - a shoe lace, some insect repellant, a movie stub, an empty box of crackers and a medicine bottle. Enough to spark a story? Of course it was! Not only was it the most fun I've ever had writing a story, (because I shared the experience with Jack,) it was also my coming home. New Zealand, how you've changed. The gap between rich and poor is a yawning chasm now. What a place you still are though. Where else could you see a volcano out your window? Where else can you walk up the street and, without leaving the city, be surrounded by tuis and fantails and punga ferns and streams and soggy, Kiwi bush... And bodies... Apparently...
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