Christmas, dreaming, white...

This was my little altar on Christmas morning, the red cloth being the one always put round the tree when I was a child. The pyx lent me by Fr Ron Smith in Christchurch set off the security gate at the airport because I'd forgotten to take it out of my pocket.

The table was dug out of the Ross Ice Shelf, or rather, out of the snows that cover it...

and I was allowed to play my violin a little bit... the photos took ages to load, but there's always the feeling that everything will disappear if the blog doesn't get finished and posted, so it's now 3.30am on January the 1st 2012, though I have the consolation that most of the world is still in yesterday. Happy New Year!!

Raining, raining...

One of my classmates is running a sleep research project, so I'm paying more attention to my sleep than usual, which is a very good thing. I've woken up too early this morning though, and can't get back to sleep. The bookcase that was stolen from Strensall is going round in my head... Someone here suggested that if I alerted the relevant authorities, there may be some way of recovering some of the lost books. I'm not given to backing off from thoughts, but this lot is very painful. In any case, I don't think there is anything I can do at 7 in the morning in New Zealand... I've been awake since 5.30 and I haven't had enough sleep. Another classmate is the most wonderful writer. Her latest Facebook post says, "Three. More. Sleeps. I feel like a kid on rollerblades who hasn't figured out how to stop and has just launched themselves down the steepest hill in town...." It is just.. like.. that... My room is full of Antarctic gear and my head is full of unknown-ness.

The Ross Sea

Antarctic Toothfish is being sold in North America as "Chilean Sea Bass". Apparently it's very popular in Las Vegas. C'mon folks, eat something else! The week after next I will be camping on the Ross Ice Shelf. We will be pitching our tents in Windless Bight. I don't suppose I shall see a toothfish...

New Format. Not sure...

This is a picture of my granny, born Gladys Anderson, daughter of Andrew, who built the house "Murchiston" in 1881. I haven't been there yet this trip. I've spoken with the people who live there now - well, they don't actually live there, but in a new house built in the grounds. When the Andersons sold the place to the Smiths in 1928, the Smiths left it exactly as it was. When I stayed there in 1991 it was still the same. I'm not looking forward to seeing what the earthquakes have done, though I think I'm overdoing the dread... I had a book of music, inscribed by HT for Gladys, and one time when I was in the house I put it down on the piano and left it there. It seems so petty to be hoping so much that, after all that's happened, it'll still be there. I was going to put a picture of Dean's cottage and the wonderful eucalyptus tree that stands beside it, but I think I'll just put in a couple of pages where my grandad was doodling with my dad.

I have to write a 'Literary Review' by 9 o'clock on Monday morning. It's now Wednesday night and I've given up struggling with the technology and have printed everything out. Now at least I know how to go about it. I think it will involve a solid return to old-fashioned methods. Chocolate biscuits will be involved. Maybe even coffee. But I won't start any sentences with conjunctions. Or produce any without verbs. The last piece of written work I had to do was in 1984. Wish me luck...