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Sunday 26 April 2015

The Mondayfication of Anzac Day

Anzac weekend now draws to a close and because of the Mondayfication (horrible word) of the day itself, seems to have gone on far too long.
Like so many of our neighbours I suspect, we fully intended to get up in time to attend the dawn service outside the War Memorial Museum but somehow failed to make it.   Six fifteen am found me sleepily watching Maori TV instead.   I have to say Maori TV and pageantry seem to go together;  they do it particularly well so I started crying at six thirty and cried on and off all day.  By the time Prince Charles laid his third or fourth wreath of the day at around eleven pm I felt totally exhausted. 
We did get to the ten forty five am Museum service along with thousands of others complete with small children in double pushchairs and picnics.    The very fair haired family in front of us on the grass got through a huge number of sandwiches and muesli bars and the three year old daughter dressed completely in white was heard to announce loudly `When all  this prayers stuff is over I'm going to get a pie - but only if I'm a good girl'.    I looked at her disapprovingly but she didn't seem to notice.
For the eight year old boy on my left boredom began to set in around the middle of `Abide With Me' and that's when he began to closely examine the dog excrement on the path, crumbling it through his fingers and offering some to his small brother who wisely declined.   I gave him an even sterner look which he noticed immediately and half stuck out his tongue so I fully stuck out mine which seemed to startle him. 
We had coffee at Non Solo Pizza on the way back to Farnham Street where the rather beautiful Italian waitress the husband is currently in love with, apologetically said there was a surcharge because of Anzac Day and we said that was quite okay.  Anyhow it's definitely the best coffee in Auckland whatever it costs.   So home just in time for me to start making lasagne and half watch the dawn service live from Gallipoli.  A much better bugler than the one at the Museum of course and inevitably more tears.
I finally fell into bed at midnight after Charles did his thing at Chanuk Bair - and oh my goodness aren't those disembodied voices of  the wailing Maori women just gut wrenching?   I vaguely wondered what I was going to do with all the lasagne cooling in the frig.
Yesterday we drove up to Red Beach for a splendid lunch with Kevin and Shirley O'Brien and assorted guests. It was an Italian lunch and yes, one of Shirley's dishes was lasagne!
While we ate I sat next to Jennifer and we talked about writing which is what we normally talk about.  The men at the table began to look bored and started to talk about medicine.    However, a great time was had by all and Shirley's desserts, especially her Mediterranean Walnut Cake, were spectacular as usual.   
It was getting dark when we got home and as I had warned the husband that he should not expect dinner, he did not mention food all evening.  We watched the two hour first session of `When We Go To War' which was a bit like a play I might have written when I was fifteen or sixteen.  The dialogue was embarrassingly trite.  However, some of the shots of Edwardian Auckland were fun to watch and try to decide just how they had managed it.
Today was Mondayfication Day itself and as number one son had half said he might call in for coffee, I more than half expected him all morning but he failed to appear on the horizon and I can only imagine he imbibed a little more than he intended to yesterday.   So I finished the housework, while a storm raged outside, stepping carefully around the reading husband who is now on to the second of the Wolf Hall books called something like Bring Up The Bodies.   The deluge has now ceased and the courtyard plants look totally refreshed.    And guess what, we're definitely eating some of that lasagne tonight!

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