The Griswolds

I'm back from my holiday, and I'm tired. The Maori word for New Zealand, Aotearoa, means "Land of the Long White Cloud" although it could also easily mean "Land of the Wide Green Lawn" or even "Land of the Mashed Possum on the Freeway". The family and I drove most of the South Island of NZ, from Nelson in the north to Queenstown in the south, and saw many relatives along the way. More importantly, I went paragliding in Queenstown. That was a whole bunch of fun, although my significant mass almost sent me and my pilot crashing into a large mountain. Thank goodness for rampant thermal updrafts and Basque paragliding dudes who know what the hell they're doing.

Being in a minivan with the fam isn't always the best idea for a relaxing holiday though, particularly when you're on the road for hours and hours. Years of familiarities and differences bubble to the surface and swirl around the car in a sort of mild toxic fog. Someone demands a chai latte break, someone else wants lamb chops, and someone else wants to listen to Enya on repeat for four hours. Then the sarcasm descends, punctuated by scathing comments about childhood developmental problems, and finally devolves into long, chilly silences as the greenery rolls by. Families are great and all, but I think small doses are the key.

It goes without saying that there will be photos, but as this was a "do craploads of stuff" holidays I'm fairly destroyed by it all. I think I might need a "do as little as possible" holiday to recover. Then again, I might just go to work and load up on the boredom that way.