Brain surgery with a blunt axe

Quite a few years ago, Jude & I , well more me than her, where rash enough to sell a freehold home & buy a hot bread shop. it didnt work out. We went broke & homeless with a dull thud, ending up in Mum & Dad's spare bedroom. We went from there to a one bedroom flat that was absolutely soulless, but never the less, a roof over our heads where we could lick our wounds for a while. Clapton got it right when he sang how, "Nobody loves you, when you're down & out" Even our lawyer had harsh words to say to us when he saw us relaxing after a hard week trying to earn sufficient to live on & service our debts.

Trying to acquire reasonable rental acomodation wasnt easy & it was only due to the intervention of a very dear friend that we finally managed a house in Waiomu. For those thatare interested, Waiomu translates as,"The place where Mu stopped for a pee." Who exactly Mu was, nobody is quite certain. I dont particularly care anyway. This little house although small & cramped, has many pleasant memories for us as it really was our first step towards rehabilitation into respectable society. It was situated across the road from the local motorcamp. The camp had these little cabins that were let out on a long term basis. One such cabin was rented by a chap that every dole day used to buy a bottle of something strong & spiritous & celebrated his uniqueness with solo partying to the wee small hours. This wouldnt have been so bad if his celebrating didnt include badly out of tune singing accompanied only by the syncopated rhythm of a wooden spoon on a pot bottom, but it was OK, because it was only one night a fortnight & he was actually a decent sort of harmless bloke that kept himself to him self.

Every year , the same old Mama Ducks that used to live there would bring their babies across to meet us & would generously allow us to feed them all with bread soaked in water. For the 6 weeks over Xmas we would watch in amazement as the camp grew to the proportions of a small town, with the influx of holiday makers & become a happy noisy place. The camp also had a set area for permanently placed caravans, some of which were also permanently occupied.

There is a creek that flows around the back of the camp, a haven for ducks, eels & small children. If you tire of fresh water, the beach is literally 2 minutes casual stroll away, all this with a lovely little store where you could get an icecream of generous proportions, collect your mail & chat with Max, the proprietor , who was also our landlord.

The native bush behind in the ranges is a natural catchment area & brings a lot of rain, sometimes too much rain, as happened one year when the little stream became a raging torrent, destroyed several caravans & took the life of an elderly lady. Since then it has flooded again on more than one occasion, although not with the same results. I delivered some ground cloth there today & was shocked. Environment Waikato have purchased the place & everyone with semipermanent facilitys there has been ordered to move out. Insted of a nice neat camping ground, we now have something that resembles ground zero at Hiroshima. The former owner has been given two months free rent to remove his chattels. he has bought a motel in Cambridge. In his words, "Anywhere but on the fucking Coromandel."

The place is apparently going to be turned into a flood catchment area. Surely, it would have been better just to take a part of this ground, enough to build a decent stop bank on & upgrade the sadly outdated & far too small bridge that restricts the flow of water & thus causes the backup & flooding. Elsewhere, they have built a solid wooden wall to divert the water away from homes that would otherwise be threatened. Instead , we now have a wasteland that looks a total mess instead of a charming & picturesque asset to the peninsula.. As i say, brain surgery with a blunt axe