I have wondered if Shakespeare had lived in New Zealand, he might have written about the Ides of January.
Because in Godzone, we’re annually forewarned about our destiny to encounter wicked weather around early summer.
We know it’ll pour or like now blow gales on our parade. Especially if we’re camping.
We tempt Papatuanuku (Mother Nature) when we organise to stay at a holiday park or DoC [Department of Conservation] site.
We pack hope, plus tents, or even a caravan, folding chairs, portable barbecues and half the contents of our kitchens. We’re too full of enthusiasm and visions of alfresco activities to ask the Rain Gods to end the drought.
For some unfathomable reason the Rain Gods don’t forget, they deliver a month’s world of water in a couple of days. It could be said we just couldn’t leave well enough alone and stay inside our dry apartment with non-zippered doors and a refrigerator.
No, the Squire and I may very well trade our comfy apartment again for the great outdoors, which becomes the great indoors when rain falls in bucket loads. We would be driven to the interiors of tents or the communal park kitchen where a TV blares horrendous children’s programmes over and over.
Think of all the forces of the natural world, we fear, like a cyclone, king tides, birds that squirt fresh laundry with poo. The damper to camping nirvana is humans at the next site. That’s another long story, maybe never to be told.
More pearls for the memory jar.
Even after all these tales of past woes, I share while dry with the warmth of the sun, we will look at each other and probably say “What were we even thinking about the notion of camping in January, it is always rubbish weather”. Having said that we will probably chat again in a month about our next camping foray.
Luckily for us and unlike Shakespeare’s Ides of March, our Ides of January haven’t seen tragedy.
It has been mostly comedy and sometimes soggy, with a side of hot sausages and cold beer.
Will we push our luck this coming New Year?
Not likely says she.