After six years, incumbent Alan McLay has lost his gold chain and has to hand it over to the new guy. A proto-conservative with a good heart and good mediation skills is now lost to the district.

It will be interesting how the new guy handles a council with new faces but the same old challenges:

• stagnating population
• growing visitor numbers and their effects on the district’s infrastructure
• compared to the rest of the country a significantly higher percentage of over 65-year-olds who tend to find local rates ill affordable
• dealing with environmental concerns in a district that is rapidly filling up with dairy cows
• a stroppy core of victorian rabble rousers who with charm and aplomb stir up the establishment
• and, finally, a group of European residents who observe the whole thing, shaking their heads.

I, for one, welcome my new mayoral overlord from Palmerston, Alex Familton.

He’s got his work cut out for him.

Hayden Meikle, the Otago Daily Times’ rugby correspondent, will have to eat some serious humble pie: just three days ago he was scathing about the french rugby team and their chances to play the demi-god like revered All Blacks. In an opinion piece dripping with confidence he shared his belief that the quarter final joust against France was just another walk-over. I don’t know whether Kiwiana’s finest shared that belief, but everyone certainly must now be back on the bleary grounds of reality. After the 20:18 loss against a fiercely defending french team the dreams of this nation have been squandered and it just again proves that the All Blacks play excellent rugby outside the world cup, but when the chips were down and the intensity of the tournament atmosphere combined with the hopes of four million rugby nuts are on their shoulders, this bunch of actually rather pleasant men fumbled.

The consequences for this tiny nation somewhere in the South Pacific will be stark: tomorrow everybody will wake up with a significant hangover, the government will ask itsself how much bad luck they will be able to take 12 months before the elections, the All Black sponsors will get out the red marker pen and write off their losses and fifteen men will have to face the shame of being the first team kicked out of the Rugby World Cup in the quarter finals.

On the other hand, employers will get their staff back refreshed after a good night sleep due to an acute reduction of overnight rugby watching, the front pages of the nation’s newspapers will be free again for international news and coffee break chats can finally focus again on lambing.

There’s always the soccer world cup in 2010: maybe the Kiwis can qualify for that for a change.

And if it all goes wrong, we always have softball, rowing and netball. Sports we can all identify with.

Circa six months ago I was walking around one of Changi’s bookstores, bleary eyed and grumpy, after a particularly gruelling first leg from Frankfurt to Christchurch. A nicely designed Science Fiction paperback caught my eye: ‘Hidden Empire’, (the first in a seven novel series) by a person naming him/herself Kevin J. Anderson (you never know with all those pseudonyms floating around) promised to be a ‘Space Opera at its most entertaining’ and because I wasn’t awake enough to read anything more sensible, I bought the thing. The cover design was just too nice and shiny and it promised aliens and spaceships. What else does a man need before attempting his second 11 hour flight in a row?

To come to a belated point: I read the thing in one go. Not because it’s astonishingly great, no. Kevin can’t really handle dialogue very well and some of his protagonists are rather contrived and not particularly multilayered, but it hums along at a nice pace, has a cast of literally dozens, and, by Shatner, the guy can spin a yarn. And he can hold it together. He is now writing the seventh installation of this pulp fiction epic and I imagine him standing in a room full of little notes pinned to the wall reminding him what actually happened and what his creations are a actually called again.

So, it’s not great literature, far from it: He really doesn’t have a sense of humour, lacks Pratchett’s irony and sense for language, but if spaceships, nasty robots, insectoid overlords, cute AI’s and heroic aliens are your thing and you like your baddies wearing black and red and the heroes white and green then these are your books.

Not that I endorse that sort of thing.

I just bought the sixth installment. Just to leer at it, of course.

One of the best groups ever here in NZ. How could I not go?

I came to appreciate Steely Dan rather late in life: I only started to appreciate them after listening to Donald Fagen’s The Nightfly and soon found out that Gaucho and Aja were actually not so far off Fagen’s solo work. Then in 2000 I saw them in London at a rather uninspired gig at Wembley Arena that confused me terribly, but last night was a momentous occasion: Steely Dan for the first time ever live in New Zealand, they certainly managed to send the (by the way very nice) Vector Arena into happy conniptions. But let’s start at the beginning:

The best girlfriend and I had relocated for one weekend to Auckland, and made our way to the Vector Arena around seven, and were surprised by this pleasant urban space (there are not a lot in Auckland, you know): modern, yet simple with a beautiful water feature that Charlie Dimmock herself couldn’t fault. Surrounding apartment buildings were unusually stylish for Auckland and punters were civilised and mainly grey (or bald) or brought their kids. An exceedingly happy atmosphere, fueled by a generous amount of horrible Kiwi lager.

Openers World Party showcased a great collection of party leader Karl Wallinger’s greatest hits and at the end of the gig had the audience suitably aroused. I for one wouldn’t have mind if they would have played on for another hour, and even the best girlfriend ever, who normally doesn’t have any opinion on music, made guttural supportive noises. Wallinger had the laughs on his side when, during the opening chords of ‘She’s the one’ (which was covered successfully by the horrible Robbie Williams) mentioned casually:

“I hate to break this to you, but this one’s me”

After about 45 minutes of fun with World Party and a short period of general beer getting and toilet going, Becker and Fagen entered the stage to rapturous applause (the best girlfriend ever commenting that the audience greeted Fagen ‘like a Pop-star’. Well, how else should they greet him? Like the Queen?) and greeted the audience with a dry ‘Hello Kids”.

The set-list was heavy on the seventies: Black Cow, Haitian Divorce, Aja, Hey nineteen, Deacon Blues etc oozed beautifully out of the humungous speakers, and by the time ‘My old School‘ was played during the encore the audience was going wild, on their feet, clapping and yelling and egging the band on. Fagen, bewildered by the passion that was clearly palpable, quipped:

‘whoa. Some wild Dudes out there’

And so it ended. Highlights were Keith Carlock, the amazing drummer they brought along. A bloke that looked more like a rugby player behind his small, modest drum set (Hi-hat, Snare, 3 tom toms and two crash cymbals) but unleashed an unforgettable, manic energy. You could already tell during the initial songs with the vigor his left foot attacked the hi-hat that this guy meant business. His solos were out of this world, and if the DVD to this tour is ever released, I’d probably by it just for the drummer.

One big omission: their excellent bass player Freddie Washington could just as well have stayed at home: due to some unfortunate acoustic setup his bass was not perceived at all, and if just as some low frequency rumbling. Shame.

Nevertheless, thanks to Becker, Fagen and Wallinger the best 3 hours I had in a long long time.

btw, nice review (if a bit more ascerbic) over at NZBC.

Oamaru to Christchurch, Saturday morning flight. You should really not be tall or broad (or have a fear of small planes):

This Beechcraft 3200 from Air National (btw: not the “Spirit of Waitaki“) seats 17 people. Scary. Nevertheless always an enjoyable ride (if it decides to be there). So now I made it to the home of the Jaffa Auckland. Just found out that World Party will be the opening act for Steely Dan. How spiffing! The views from the Hyatt Regency are brillant as usual:

Always nice to be in urban spaces again, even if it’s the location you dare not to speak about Auckland.