Sunday-empty Auckland my pre-breakfast escape, Sheep-spotted mountains in early morning mist, Whangarei marina for a cauldron of cappuccino. Shop of metal sheep starts a day of Kiwi weirdness, Of customer requesting glassblowing lessons, and βAll Blacksβ silk boxers, unworn by players I hope.
Driving to Dargaville for Mr. M. Ujdur museum treat, That late gum-digging, Esperanto teaching, vintner. Beside a colossal collection of accordions with muzak, Playing an instrument-impossible Whiter Shade of Pale, Plus coins and buttons and stamps and Scotsmen, Left feeling stunned, like I was tripping on acid.