On the road again (for a bit)

I always miss home, mum and parents, my brother and sister, my friends, but it's usually a wee quite trickle in the background. It's only when I go home or see someone from home that it becomes so much more acute.

I have just had the most excellent couple of weeks on the road in New Zealand with my dad. Taupo for the floatplane, bungy and Craters of the Moon. Rotorua for Mt Tarawera and more geothermal stuff. We just made it over the unsealed, windy, hilly Waikaremoana back road to Napier on a quarter tank of petrol, stopping off along the way in a tiny rural village for the best mussel chowder I've ever had. Frolics in Napier were followed by a tour round the semi-ghost towns and wharfs of the East Coast before landing in the Bay of Plenty. Or rather the Bay of Bugger All as it has now been rechristened, since torrential rain and galeforce winds scuppered all available activities in the area except for the excellent Classic Flyers Museum. So we fled to a more weatherproof option and went blackwater rafting in the Waitomo Caves before cruising homeward. Oh and wine, there was lots of wine all along the way.

It's been a very special fortnight with my dad and I can't quite believe it's over already. I'm going to miss him lots and it's reminded me all too sharply of how far away home is.

The Hicks Bay school of customer service

The envy is palpable. The occupants of neighbouring tables are practically drooling. Dad and I have just been served our starters in the restaurant at the Hicks Bay Motel, the only place to eat and sleep halfway along the East Coast Highway. The Lonely Planet describes it as 'sternly managed', which is certainly accurate, if missing the second descriptor of 'incompetently managed'.

We've waiting 45 mins for our first course. In the meantime we've watched all the truckers be served the roast lamb we were informed had sold out, and the rest of the tourists who did not order starters are progressing to second bottles of wine and a new level of irritation and hunger.

2 hours after ordering, the 17-year-old waitressed finally present us with our dry, tasteless main courses. Not much later, the arrogant, ignorant motel manager responds to his customers' various complaints and comments by yelling excuses and stomping off in a huff. There is clearly a lot we can learn from this man...