First, my apologies to Gaia, who is Italian, not Brazilian. Benvenuto
We finally got back on the bus at the Roxy, to travel the 1km to the Weta Cave. I say finally, because first we had to do the obligatory "Count the number of passengers and chase the incontinent ones out of the toilets" game. Plus an ageing hubby who sat down beside his wife of 60 years (married) declared she wasn't there and insisted on getting off the bus again to look for her.
If I ever get that bad, please just shoot me, or at least give me an overdose of Barbiturates and Whisky (Malt, I've got to go in style)
At last at the Weta Cave.
Now I know I'm a bit of a simpleton (I'm a teacher for G*d's sake, what did you expect; f*cking Einstein) but I really expected a bit more. It was basically an opportunity to buy a lot of collectible models and T-shirts produced by Weta Workshop. Admittedly, a lot of the models on display were superb, especially those produced by Doctor Grordborts, who is an unashamed lunatic of the extreme Jingoistic persuasion. Reference his book for boys containing "Adventure, Technology, Violence (and Sex)"
See a clip here:
There was a 20 minute theaterette (I know it's twee, but that's what the bloody sign said) video of the history of Weta Workshops and Weta Digital, quite amusing.
Unfortunately, about ½ of the bus group were either in the toilets or were so hard of hearing that they didn't hear the announcement that the SHOW WAS ON NOW, so they missed it. Then those of us who actually made it to the show at the assigned time has to spend another 20 minutes mooching around the Cave until they'd watched the second showing. It was raining outside, and the bus driver had buggered off (to the pub I suspect).
|One of the modelsI wouldn't mind owning|
Then on to Lunch. I wasn't quite sure where we were going, but I trusted my Beloved.
No,no, I don't mean she's not my Beloved, she is and will be for evermore (until Alzheimer's strikes, but I won't care then) but she trusted the organisers.
Dear Reader, we ended up at the Fisherman's Table in Oriental Parade in Wellington.
- Got Lost
- Forgotten that Wellington had One-Way Streets
- Forgotten that whole new bus routes and pedestrian routes had just been changed.
- Become infected by the last semi-lethal dose of Octogenarian fart gas
|Mussels. Responsible for more food poisoning than any other seafood.|