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I really love blogging but am finding that roaming access to internet limits the usage I have. As such, it seems there is so much to write about, now that I actually have a chance. And so I am rendered somewhat overwhelmed by all I would love to ramble on about.

A couple of mates recently noted that they particularly like when I poke fun at ol’ Mountain Dad, Shea. I’m not sure I even have the gumption to rustle up one of those right now. I was musing on twisting the tale of the gate, whereby our van was idling by the farm fence while the Silly Bugger waited for another van to move through before closing it again. It was only on latching the gate that Silly Bugger realised that not only was our van on the wrong side of the gate (as in, not yet driven through) but so was the Silly Bugger herself. I love using a bit of poetic licence in the re-telling of our tales and am happy in the knowledge that until Mountain Dad gets his own blog no-one is to be the wiser. Unfortunately in the occasion of the gate the other van was driven by my parents who witnessed the closing of my own van and own-self inside the paddock.

We’re in Rotorua right now for a few days and will be heading off on a multi-day hike soonish. We’ve not made it very far in the North Island yet, staying true to our snail-like pace. In fact I just learnt today that we are about 170km from Auckland airport where we began this journey two months ago.

You last heard from me when we had stopped for a week for Shea to pick lettuce and earn some bread for his dependents. We then visited with some friends in the town of love and ventured out on Adelaide’s first overnight hike to a cabin. She fared well while I struggled beneath her burgeoning weight. We met my folks in the Coromandel for a blissful week of shared campervan-ing and I have oodles of photo’s of all of this that I will post very soon.

For now I will leave you with the funny thought of Mountain Dad laughing to our hosts last night that “Camille always blames everything with Adelaide on teething.” And in whose mouth do you think we found four wee white protrusions this afternoon?

first meat pie.