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batesmotel · 8 years ago

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Gene Harlow: Bates Motel Final Fan Fic

It was almost the following Christmas by the time Alex was released from prison. Two years. Two years for lying about his relationship with Rebecca. They couldn't pin anything else on him though - He was careful. He had always been careful. So they had had to make an example out of him - An elected official, "a pillar of the community" - That's what the judge had called him during the sentencing. "A pillar of the community committing perjury? I simply cannot be lenient under the circumstances. I'm recommending a full two year sentence with a chance to appeal after one year served." Rapists usually served less prison time.

He was out in a year, with the help of his father's old, shrewd lawyer. Alex felt no real yearning for freedom, not now She was gone, but his desire for vengeance grew stronger with every passing day. And so he nodded his head in contrition and promised to never do anything like this again and followed his corrupt, slimy lawyer's instructions down to the letter, and sure enough, the following December, he was out, back in polite society.

Day one of freedom was spent sitting in the dark in his old house, drinking the bottle of scotch he'd been saving for... Well, he didn't know what he'd been saving it for, but now seemed as good a time as any to drink it. He looked at the three items lined up on his coffee table, downing the last of his glass and pouring himself another.

His gun, the one he'd been retrieving when he was arrested was lying next to the ring, his mother's ring... Norma's ring. And now she was cold in the ground, and her ring was lying next to the gun he was going to end his life with. He sighed, taking another long drink, wincing at the burn in his throat. He'd missed it - He hadn't drank since he'd married her, but he welcomed the blurring tug of oblivion pulling at his senses now, as he cast his eyes over to the final object lying there, taunting him.

It was a gift. A Christmas gift from last year, beautifully wrapped in charming, classic wrapping paper, adorned with ribbons and bows. A shiny golden gift tag kept catching the light from passing cars outside, blinding him for a split second every time. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands. He didn't need to read it. He remembered it what it said.

"Alex. Merry Christmas! To many more together. All my love, Norma x"

It was a reasonably large box, quite heavy and he remembered her warning him not to shake it, with a wry smile on her face. "What is it?" He'd asked, cocking his head at the large box, as she placed it under the tree, only days before she was taken from him. "It's a box full of rocks." She'd answered, smiling over her shoulder at him, catching him hungrily watching her bending over.

"Perfect. Just what I've always wanted." He'd swallowed her pretty giggle, pulling her in for a kiss under the mistletoe she seemed to have covered their home in.

He was startled awake by that same giggle, echoing from his half dream, jerking awake, the contents of the box rattling from where it was balanced on his knees. It didn't matter what it was. Just that it was the last thing of hers. The last thing she'd ever give him. It really could be a box of rocks for all he cared.

But it could wait. He had things to do before could finish this. He set it carefully back on the table, before slumping back in his chair, letting unconsciousness take him.

He awoke with the birds, his head pounding, his mouth dry, his eyes landing on the gun first. Maybe he should just end it all now? His eyes flicked over to the ring. No. He'd been planning this all year. There was an order to this. There were things he needed to do first.

"Hello?" He croaked, after spending the morning on the phone to old buddies at old stations around Oregon, calling in favours from people who just didn't want to owe him anything anymore.

"Hello, Massett residence." Emma's voice bubbled through the phone line, giggling as if he'd just caught them in the middle of an inside joke.

He ended the call abruptly, staring at the phone for a long time, taking slow deep breaths through his pounding hangover. "Massett residence"? His heart constricted painfully at the thought of Norma not attending her oldest son's wedding. He waited for what felt like an eternity before dialling the number again, sighing with relief when Dylan picked up.

"Yeah?"

"Dylan?"

"Yeah. Who's this?" The gruff, familiar voice came through the line and Alex felt a strange swell in his chest.

"Romero."

There was a long pause.

"It's Alex." He said, not sure Dylan had heard him.

"Hi." Dylan said finally, puffing out a long breath. "What did he do now?" He said quietly, his tone reserved and Alex heard a door press shut quietly on the other end of the line, like he didn't want Emma to hear the conversation.

"He's..." Alex started, trying to keep the shake out of his voice, trying to figure out what to say. "It's your mother. She's..." He trailed off, unable to voice the words.

There was a long intake of breath and the sound of a chair creaking as Dylan sat himself heavily in it.

"He do it?" He murmured quietly.

Alex couldn't repress a quiet sob at Dylan's question.

"Yeah." He ground out through gritted teeth.

"Shit." Dylan was silent for a long time. "You get him?"

"No. I... I can't prove anything." He faltered as he admitted his own failings. He had failed to protect her and he had failed at bringing her killer to justice.

"Why are you calling me, Alex?" Dylan said suddenly. "What do you want me to do?" He sighed wearily, like he was tired of being pulled back into this mess, like he had finally felt free, at least for a little while.

"Nothing." Alex said honestly. "There's nothing to do. I just needed to let you know."

"Ok." There was a rustling sound as Dylan covered the mouth piece and Alex dutifully pretended he couldn't hear a few moments of muffled crying as Dylan broke down.

"That was all I wanted to tell you." Alex mumbled, his voice almost robotic. "I'm sorry, Dylan."

Dylan sniffled, and cleared his throat.

"Hey." Alex blurted out suddenly. "Did you and Emma get married?"

"What? No." He heard the confusion in Dylan's voice, and felt strangely comforted for a second.

"She'll want to go to the funeral. When is it?"

Alex stared at the ring glinting in the gloom of his darkened living room, focusing on it until it began to blur through his tears. He opened his mouth to speak, the words not coming out. He had planned to tell Dylan about Norma. That was all. This was too much.

"Er... I'll let you know." His voice breaking obviously before he slammed the phone down, finally breathing out the anguished sob he'd been holding in the entire call. He should have told Dylan the truth. But he couldn't. He couldn't manage it. It wouldn't matter. It would all be over soon anyway.

He tried to stand, his weak legs buckling under him. When was the last time he'd eaten? Or consumed anything that wasn't fifty year old scotch? Or slept anywhere but fitfully on this chair?

He wasn't ready for the big showdown. Not like this.

Day two of freedom had more of a sense of purpose around it. He stood, staring at himself in the mirror, not recognising himself. He'd aged a decade in the past year, the lines around his eyes deeper than before; the light sprinkling of grey in his hair that Norma used to tease him about was now threatening to take over. He ate, he showered, he dressed, going through the motions like he was going to work, not to kill his wife's son. And then himself. It felt strange, how entirely normal it felt.

The day dragged on into the afternoon, the sun beginning it's slow descent as the light shifted, and Alex looked up, realising he'd been staring at the gift she'd given him last Christmas for hours, not even seeing it. He stood, reaching past the gift, taking the ring and tucking it securely into his pocket, and then grabbing the gun, palming it's heavy weight, weighing up the implications of what he was about to do.

"She wouldn't want this." That voice piped up in his head, the voice that sometimes sounded like her. "She wouldn't want you to kill him."

He sighed. He knew that. He'd wrestled with that same thought for the whole year.

Maybe just one more drink? To calm the shake in his hands? He poured it, catching a movement out of the corner of his eye.

"Don't do this." Her voice rang out, clear and sharp and unmistakable. There was a rustle and her form stepped forwards from out of the shadows, the swishing of her skirt around her bringing back such fond memories.

"He's my son." She said, her voice breaking, her eyes burning a fierce midnight blue through the gloom of the curtained room. He could see the tears glistening on her face.

"This isn't... You're not real..." He stammered, as she took another step towards him, growing clearer with each step.

"Please, Alex..." She implored, and he squeezed his eyes shut not wanting to hear it.

He awoke with a start, his eyes immediately flying to the darkened corner where she had stood, finding no-one there. The gun was still in his hand, resting on his lap, where he was slumped, slumbering in his chair again. He sat up, making a decision, slowly placing the gun back on the table. He didn't believe in ghost or angels or heaven or any of that bullshit, but maybe she was his conscience, telling him not to do this. Maybe she was right? It wouldn't bring him any peace. There was no peace for him now.

He moved to stand up, the neatly wrapped gift catching his eye once more. It didn't matter what it was. But... his curiosity won out, and he leaned forwards, feeling his eyes prickle as he read over the tag one more time. He ran his fingers along the seams, pulling the paper away gently, tugging the ribbon open reverently, like he was undressing a woman, not opening a present.

It was a plain brown box and he frowned, pulling open the top to reveal a box of Styrofoam packing peanuts. He cocked his head, starting to dig through them, feeling the slightest tug of genuine excitement at whatever she had got him. He laughed out a harsh, surprised laugh when he reached the bottom, his hand closing around several large rocks, weighing the box down. She hadn't been joking. She really had got him a box of rocks. And now she could never explain to him why this had been funny to her at the time. He wanted to laugh, and then he wanted to cry - He'd been obsessing over this package for an entire year, consumed with finding out it's contents, and it had been some obscure joke he would never understand. He almost hated her in that moment.

His eyes fell on a post it note, stuck to the top of a large flat rock in the corner.

"Did I fool you?" Read her swirly, pretty handwriting and he grinned, happy to have another part of her with him now. She'd drawn a little smiley face next to it. And underneath that, "Turn me over..."

He dutifully lifted the rock from the corner of the box, turning it over in his hands and freezing, feeling his heart stop in his chest. His blood ran cold, the breath forced from his body in a short, sharp breath that hurt his lungs. There, taped to the underside of the rock was a pregnancy test, with another post-it note stuck to it. "Surprise!"

"Are you happy?" He could imagine her saying, her voice crystal clear and hesitantly excited, his brain forming the image of her sitting there, pretending to be unsure as he gazed at the little white stick in his hands.

He stood abruptly, the box and it's contents falling to the floor, throwing the rock down with it and reaching for his gun.

"Alex, wait." Her voice was ringing out again but he ignored her this time.

"This isn't what I want!" She sobbed.

"You're dead. I don't give a fuck what you want." He ground out, tucking the gun into his waistband and charging out of the house with a renewed determination.

Nothing prepared Alex for what he would find at the house. He swung his rental car into the parking lot, immediately seeing the unfamiliar car there, right next to Norma's old Mercedes. He immediately knew who it was.

"Dammit, Dylan." He muttered to himself, heaving his aching body and aching soul out of the car and sprinting up the steps.

He could hear the grunting and sounds of a scuffle as he quietly entered the house, allowing himself to listen for a moment.

"You never liked her anyway! Why do you care, Dylan?" Norman screamed and there was a roar and a clatter.

"She was our mother, Norman! How could you do that?!" Dylan yelled and Alex had heard enough, charging down the basement steps. It was dark, almost impossible to see, until he rounded the bottom of the steps, the basement dimly lit with dozens of tiny candles.

"Norman!" He yelled, and Norman turned, being released by Dylan as they both turned in shock to look at him. Norman's mouth closed, blinking slowly like he'd been expecting this all along.

"Hello Sheriff." He said politely, bowing his head at him. Alex glared, a rush of what to do now he was here flooding through him. He'd pictured this moment all year, but now it had arrived and he was unsure of what to say first.

"I'm glad you're here actually. Your wife wanted to see you." Norman said, so calmly that, for a split second, Alex didn't take in what he was saying. He gestured to the large dividing wall that had sprung up since the last time Alex had been here, cutting the room in half. There was a loud humming noise coming from it, and Alex took a deep breath, feeling his hands start to shake.

"What is..." He started, as Norman nodded his head, gesturing for Alex to follow him.

"Come. You too Dylan. She missed you." He said, his voice eerily calm.

Dylan exchanged a terrified glance with Alex, both of them taking a hesitant step forwards, towards the vast iron door in front of them. Alex's hand slid to his lower back, stealthily getting a grip on his weapon, making sure he was ready for whatever was behind the door.

Norman turned, smiling the whitest, sharpest smile they'd ever seen, before swinging the door open with a flourish and stepping back. For a moment, a burst of cold air and a swirl of freezing mist blinded them, before it cleared and they took in the ghastly sight before them.

Norma Bates, or some version of her was sitting in a golden chair, her skin pale and blue tinted, icicles hanging from her skin, her eyes, her hair. Her eyes, once the brightest shade of azure he'd ever seen were now lifeless and dead, glazed over with a film of icy pale blue. Around her were flowers and candles, chocolates and old records and stuffed birds surrounding her, like he was bringing a lover all of her favourite things, like he was building a shrine, with the ultimate doll in the centre of it all.

He heard Dylan gasp from next to him, grounding him and, on instinct, he shoved Dylan to the side suddenly, the split second before Norman brought the kitchen knife slicing down into Alex's body. Hot met cold as he felt the warm blood soaking down his back, contrasting with the frigid air from Norma's icy tomb meeting the front of his body.

He sank to his knees, keeping his eyes fixed on her, not able to drag his eyes away from her, even as he heard the sounds of fighting coming from behind him. It sounded far away and distant, his vision beginning to blur as the pain radiating through his shoulder and his back started to spread. He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers experimentally. He was already beginning to lose feeling. Good.

A sudden smell of smoke filled his nostrils and he dragged his eyes away from the defiled corpse of the woman he loved to see Norman and Dylan fighting, Dylan landing blow after blow as Norman tried his best to fend off his older brother's fists. Smoke swirled around them, flames starting to lick upwards from a candle, upturned during the fray, a frayed velvet curtain catching fire suddenly. Flames roared along the fabric, lighting up the room in a sudden burst of orange, casting a golden glow over Norman and Dylan, suddenly frozen in place.

Norman took the opportunity to hit back, landing a blow on the side of Dylan's head that knocked him off his feet, and Norman scrambled, all three of them coughing as smoke filled their lungs, throwing himself on top of Dylan, closing his hands around his throat, pressing with all his might. Dylan choked, and spluttered for what little oxygen was left in the air, and Alex didn't hesitate, lunging, his body protesting at the movement, throwing his weight at Norman. They toppled off Dylan, who took a grateful lungful of acrid air, before sitting up with difficulty and pulling Norman back. The boy fell easily, his head knocking into the edge of the open freezer door, the clang echoing loudly before he fell limply onto the ground, unconscious.

"Alex! Alex, come on!" Dylan shouted over the roar of the flames, reaching through the smoke, for Alex's jacket, getting a hold on him. He pulled him to his feet, frowning when he resisted his grip.

"No..." He protested weakly, watching for a second as the velvet drapes fluttered down in torn ashen tatters, obscuring their view of her body for a second, still perfect and serene, even in the chaos of the basement. He reached for her, his numb, shaking hands faltering as Dylan pulled him back.

"We gotta go! We can't do anything for her. We..." He paused, to cough, struggling to breathe the thick, grey air. "We can't..." He trailed off, tugging Alex up with the last of his strength, dragging him towards the stairs, both of them casting one last look back before taking a step.

His eyes landed on her face, almost totally obscured through the smoke now, and he shoved Dylan forwards suddenly, pushing him up the steps.

"Go! Go! I'll be right behind. Call 911!" Dylan hesitated for a moment, before something flitted across his face, and Alex could tell he just thought of Emma, of getting back to her. He nodded stoically, running the last few steps and throwing the basement door open, fresh air flooding down for a moment, before the oxygen fed the flames and they grew impossibly higher.

He felt his skin start to burn, felt the lick of the flames around his feet as he turned, staggering through the haze, feeling for the body on the floor. There was a quiet groan, and Alex summoned every ounce of strength he had left in his fragile, broken body, ignoring the fresh wave of hot blood pouring down his back, ignoring the searing pain tearing through his chest. He pulled Norman up, grabbing at his wrist, dragging him to the steps and then flopping backwards, exhaustion taking hold.

No. He wasn't letting him die down here.

He coughed again, a horrible wracking cough, feeling for the banister, his vision useless now, clawing at Norman, his fingers managing to grip onto his sweater, heaving him up the stairs. He didn't know how he did it, how he managed to drag himself and the boy up the stairs. He had heard of mothers whose adrenaline made them able to lift cars of their trapped children. Norman wasn't his child. He hated him. More than anything, he wanted to leave him down there, to choke and burn and die, knowing he was paying for what he'd done.

But then he'd thought of Her. And he'd somehow made it to the top of the stairs, to where he could hear Dylan shouting and struggling from the doorway.

"They're there! They're they are!" He shouted, and Alex felt the weight of Norman being taken from him, and then strong hands were taking a hold of him too, and there were flashes of bright, reflective yellow uniforms as his eyes fluttered open and closed a few times.

And then finally he was outside and he took a grateful deep breath of cold air. It wasn't enough. He knew that now. He'd known it the second he'd turned around on those stairs, collapsing as soon as he was outisde, his weight slowly being lowered to the floor.

"You're going to be ok." A strong voice was saying, but he couldn't open his eyes to reply. He felt an oxygen mask being placed over his face. Pointless now.

He took one deep breath, feeling a sharp painful jolt from deep within his chest, feeling a splattering of blood cough out into the mask as he exhaled.

"Shit. What-"

He opened his eyes, for one last time, his hand weakly slipping into his pocket, feeling his heartrate slowing. His fingers brushed against the ring there, feeling the cool metal against his fingertips, the last thing he'd ever feel. Through the smoke and the blur, he could make out Dylan, wrapped in a silver blanket sitting a few feet away, staring helplessly at him, and he turned his head, glancing over at the stretcher being carefully carried down the steps. Norman's hand flopped over the side and for one horrifying second, Alex thought it had all been in vain. But then he saw Norman's fingers twitch, managed to make out the telltale rise and fall of his chest as he breathed through the oxygen mask.

Blood poured out of the corner of his mouth as he let his head fall, ignoring the paramedics and the firefighters bustling around him, uselessly trying to save him. He watched as the flames began to engulf the house, engulfing Norma Bates, her final resting place the home she had created here.

And there it was. The most selfless thing Alex had ever done. His final act of love for her, saving the son she loved - The man he hated. Because she would have wanted him to.

"I love you. I always will. Whether you're here or not." As the darkness pulled at him, feeling the icy grip of death finally taking hold, he thought of his final words to her. He had meant them.

He smiled, his world fading to nothing.

"Always..."

"You did the right thing, Dylan." Emma assured him gently, as they stared down at the gravestones, side by side, like they always should have been. Hers was empty, like it always had been, but they both pretended they didn't know that.

"If I hadn't left him down there...?" Dylan said, turning away for a second. They both knew it was about more than the night at the house. "Maybe if I hadn't left altogether? They might both be-"

"Shush..." She murmured softly, taking his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"Has he- Has he talked anymore about... 'her'?"

He cut her off sharply.

"No. They keep him medicated now. He can't see her- Or whoever the fuck he was seeing before anymore. He won't be seeing her again." Dylan spat the words harshly, and Emma turned, nodding to herself, taking a deep breath. She crouched down, settling the bunch of fresh peonies and daisies between the two headstones.

"Bye Norma... Bye Alex." She sniffled to herself, rubbing her mittened hand under her eyes, before standing up again, and tugging his hand slightly. They turned, starting to walk away, before Dylan paused, stroking his fingertips over the cool granite.

"Goodbye Mom..."

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rachelisnotatwork · 8 years ago

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Week 4: hitch-hikers, rain and sad penguins

Monday dawned kind of grey and cloudy in Picton. After a subpar breakfast (I blame too many British tourists; as a nation we do not demand enough when it comes to restaurants), we decided to head out to an area called French Pass which supposedly had a beautiful drive out to it.

On our way out of town we saw a couple trying to catch a lift by the side of the road. We decided to be nice and pick them up (we normally can’t take hitchhikers as the downside of our policy of hiring tiny cars is you have to put at least one suitcase in the back seat) as they met our criteria of not looking like a serial killer and/or being a bedbug carrier and/or looking like they might want to talk about astrology/the mind expanding properties of weed/juggling. As they got closer to the car we noticed that whilst the girl looked in her early 20s, the guy looked about 50. We prepared to be creeped out by a super age-inappropriate relationship. Thankfully as they got in the car they introduced themselves and they were a dad and his daughter! They were heading to Nelson, so we drove them about halfway. The dad was a pilot and his daugher was a pre-med at Yale, so they were pretty interesting as car companions go. They were planning on a multi-day hike, so we felt pretty sorry for them at several points on the next few days as the heavens opened.

The drive didn’t look that long on the map, but thanks to multiple twisting mountain roads and areas where the road became gravel it took FOREVER and most of the drive was forested so you couldn’t see anything really. Last 10 kilometres were beautiful though, but I’m not sure it merited about 3 hours in the car.

The end of the drive, French Pass, was a tiny hamlet that was full of cars. All the official spaces full, all of the verges parked on. But no people. It was very weird. Like a zombie apocalypse only with nil visible blood. We had brought stuff for a picnic but it was REALLY windy out there, so we ate it in the car (so basically a very typical British picnic).

On our way back we stopped at a river that is theoretically great for swimming, but since it was still pretty grey and windy we decided to just have a long walk on the banks and to a waterfall before having a really bad dinner (Picton- short on good dining options).

The next day we woke up to pouring rain and leaden skies. Our next stop was Kaikoura, which should be about a 2 hour drive down the coast...but the November earthquake ruined that. So instead we had to take a 6 hour detour through the interior. The first three hours where Marcel was driving the rain was continuous. Then we swapped, just in time for the weather to be really nice so Marcel got to enjoy all the views whilst I concentrated on the “many hazards” (as the warning signs advertised) of an earthquake-damaged road.

By the time we got there the skies were beautifully clear so we took a long walk along the beach, which was beautifully empty. Just us and some fairly dim endangered seabirds (dotterels) that had a nesting strategy of a vague dent in the sand and would run away pretending to have a broken wing so you’d chase them when you got close.

Quite a few of the places in town were damaged by the earthquake; the motel next to where we were staying was shut due to damage. The only resident was a super friendly tail-less cat, that was so desperate to be stroked that if you held your hand out it would leap up like a dolphin so it’s back would be stroked by your hand.

Kaikoura is famous for whale watching, which is why Marcel originally wanted to go. Having suffered more than I on the ferry crossing though, there was no way he could be persuaded to go anywhere near a boat again. I was fairly ambivalent on it because I’m fairly cursed with wildlife watching (due to be spectacularly unobservant) so was reasonably certain I would see no whales. The other big draw is swimming with wild seals, but I wasn’t really convinced they would want to swim with us and I can go for a swim sans seals for a lot less than the $130 they wanted to charge. So we decided to walk around the peninsula. The weather forecast said it would be great in the morning and terrible in the afternoon so we dragged ourselves out of bed at dawn (read: 9am) and found... it was already raining. Thankfully there was a small break in the weather which we used to have a walk along the cliff tops, where you could see colonies of seals and thousands of gulls. And there was a seal hanging out in the car park, so again- free seals and I didn’t have to don a wetsuit (never really felt comfortable with renting wetsuits after my sister told me a story about them, which I won’t repeat so that you aren’t similarly limited).

We decided to try and find somewhere for coffee in town as Marcel was jones-ing. Luckily whilst I’m bad at spotting wildlife I can find a hipster cafe in seconds. Found one so trendy even google maps didn’t know it existed. We headed in and ordered food and the heavens opened. Pretty much saw children clinging to logs floating past. Thankfully the service was pretty slow so it had settled down to torrential downpour by the time we were ready to leave.

As a result we had a lazy afternoon where I started a weird form of Japanese quilting/embroidery called sashiko and Marcel planned our trip.

The rain kept falling. Eventually at about 8pm it dried up briefly and we snatched a quick walk at a beach down the coast.

The next morning naturally dawned clear and sunny. We drove down to Christchurch and after dropping our stuff in our airbnb headed straight out for a place called Akaroa, which is on a headland nearby. For some reason (I didn’t read the history) it seemed to be super French, which meant great cafe food for a late lunch and lots of French place names as we had a leisurely walk down the harbour. Also apparently the birth place of Frank Worsley who is a bit of an Antarctica legend if you like that sort of thing (I do).

Afterwards we decided take a walk in a nearby nature reserve. It’s privately owned and run by someone who seemed to have despaired on humanity so had written lots of sarcastic notes around the place.

It was incredibly beautiful though, and we walked to two “knobs” (oh the immaturity) with great look outs. As always it was pretty windy, and Marcel had forgotten his jumper so had to wear his raincoat and look like a flasher.

The route back was via a gorgeous (if windswept) scenic road. We managed to use the car as a prop to get the occasional photo of both of us.

The next day we decided to treat ourselves to brunch, so went to a local trendy hipster spot and I had fried banana bread with mascapone, himalayan sea salt and honeycomb. It came garnished with flowers. I was not confident that our moustachioed staff knew what flowers were edible and what weren’t, so I decided to leave them.

Our next stop was the International Antarctic Centre. As Christchurch is the nearest English language reasonable sized outpost to Antarctica, both the NZ and USA programmes head out of there, so they decided to build a huge, expensive and super fun museum there. They had huskies outside you could play with (or correction, which Marcel could play with whilst I hid a safe distance away) and with your ticket you got a free obstacle course ride on a Haggland, which is basically some weird tractor thing that is amphibious and can drive across a crevasse, which they do.

Inside they have lots of exhibitions (not much new they can teach this polar nerd though), a 4D movie about going to Antarctica, where a bird shits on the camera lens and they spray you with water at the same time (quite who wants this I don’t know), an HD movie with loads of aerial footage of Antarctica (slightly ruined by the fly in the projection room, which kept clambering on the lens, giving the impression that Antarctica was besieged by 20ft shadow beasts) and a tank full of disabled blue penguins they’ve saved from the wild. I’m probably going to hell for laughing at some of their efforts to swim. They also had a “storm room” where you get a coat and some little rubber overshoes and then they stick you in a room full of snow and blast a -18c wind at you. Not the best day to be wearing flipflops and a dress.

Afterwards we headed to the Botanical gardens for a walk. Naturally it started to rain on us as we’d got about as far from our car as we could get. Thankfully earlier that day I’d stolen Marcel’s hoodie with a waterproof hood, so I was fine...

We decided to have a quick look around Christchurch before dinner. We thought, given that it was 6pm on a Friday night, it might be quite lively. It was a ghost town. Not sure if it was the high number of damaged buildings in the area or the fact people here are still on Christmas holidays but it felt abandoned. We did manage to drag out looking about with a bit of statue posing until a respectable dinner time (7pm. Only infants and Americans eat before 7pm).

We went out for Burmese for dinner, which neither of us had ever had before, but was delicious. Had a pickled tea leaf salad, which I think was the first and only time I’ve ever enjoyed tea. The deserts seemed odd though, so we decided to go to a nearby place for frozen yoghurt. New Zealand hasn’t really got the concept of it yet. It was not good.

Saturday we headed down for Dunedin. It was quite a long drive but we’d planned to break it up with a stop off to see the Moeraki boulders, which are weird giant natural cement-y boulders. We stopped and bought a kilo of amazingly delicious cherries and ate an obscene amount of them as we drove. The whole drive it threatened rain. Right before we arrived, it delivered. There seemed to be a break in the rain so we headed down to the beach to see these weird boulders. They were pretty cool, and straight after them the beach was long and empty, so we decided to go for a walk. Again, just as we decided we’d walked far enough and we should turn back, it started to rain. And rain. And rain. Drenching rain of the sort that runs straight off your rain coat and onto your legs. I was not amused. When we reached the car I had to eat a lot of cherries to cheer up.

Speaking of things which do not cheer you up, when we arrived in Dunedin, it was 12c. And that was the high for the day. Thank god before leaving Kate’s place, I had borrowed her ski coat which I rapidly put on. Our airbnb was a holiday cottage right on the cliffs though, so at least there was a beautiful view of the cold, windswept beach. Internet barely worked though. Can only assume below a certain summer temperature, it despairs. I know I do.

On Sunday, the sun rose on...leaden skies. We managed to get a quick walk in at Blackhead beach (everything in the area is called Blackhead, which is not the most appealing of names) before it actually started to rain and then we had a casual afternoon of lazing and internet surfing before heading out for our evening activity.

Now I’ve made my opinion on bird watching clear before but there are some exceptions. In my mind the world can be divided into two sorts of birds- exciting birds (penguins, albatrosses, peacocks) and really fucking boring birds (all of the rest of them). Luckily this peninsula had not one but two types of penguins.

First up was the yellow-eyed penguins, which are very endangered because people ruin everything. Also they are anti-social, don’t like to see other penguins and like to nest in shady places, so that doesn’t really help when you’ve got a deforested coastline and penguins that want to be alone. The conservation group had dug this weird maze of tunnels along which you could walk so the penguins wouldn’t be disturbed and the birds would be at eye height. There was however only one baby bird to be seen (looking ridiculous and pointedly ignoring a nearby goose) and two returning (separate) adults in the distance who march furiously across the sand like they are running late for a business meeting.

They did compensate though by having lots of sexually frustrated bachelor seals fighting around the place and you got a closer look at some penguins, because they keep the injured ones in a hospital. They had a graph outside the hospital of colony numbers and... think they might be seeing approximately 0 birds in a few years time on these tours.

And so ended the week, in the twilight, getting rained on, staring at doomed penguins. So just the average end to a week in NZ

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