Sail a yacht. I did it, and by ‘it’ I mean that I manned the helm for a while. Occasionally I did some winching, or tailed when someone else winched. Fed out some slack as someone else winched, sometimes too.
Me – sailing (or rather, motoring) out from the Lakki Marina, on Nisos Leros.
Sometimes it was hard work, but mostly, when you’re sailing around the Mediterranean/Aegean Sea, it’s really just lying around the boat in the sun. Or, if you’re like me, concentrating very hard on not being horrifically ill, because it turns out you get seasick.
My cousin Morf for my birthday said that he’d help me cross something off The List, and zorbing was it. He, Bunny + I drove the hour out to Dorchester in Dorset while we were in Sommerset to do it. And woah buddy. It. Was. BRILLIANT!
Me + Bunny did the harnessed version first. They strap you in, and you go head over heels over and over and round and round down a hill. Takes about 20 seconds to get down, and woah buddy. There was no screaming. No, instead there was maniacal giggling. Uncontrollable giggles and delight and it was brilliant.
The second trip down we did the hydro version. They threw a bucket of (warm, thankfully) water in, and the three of us, unstrapped, rolled down the hill. I definitely preferred this version. Rolling over each other, down the hill, more maniacal giggling. It was brilliant! It was less brilliant when we had to get out and the wind chilled our wet selves to the bone. Still, I had a great time!
The staff were super awesome (shout out to Kyle + Guy who were hilarious). The set up was low key, but amusing. You wait at the bottom of the hill, and they drive you up when they pick up the Zorbs (these ones were all stamped ‘Made in New Zealand’. Because rolling down the hill in a giant hamster ball is something only a kiwi would invent), you jump in and they push you off. Fun times.
I once watched my friend learn to play the saxophone, and we spent a good long while in giggles while he made pretty much fart noises while he figured out his embouchure (it’s what you do with your lips and things to make a note with the reed + the mouth piece). Because of that singular, incredibly amusing experience, I thought it was difficult.
Turns out it’s not really difficult at all. My friend Cee had a sax, and when I told her I’d added this to The List, she offered to teach me. An hour or two later (with only a few random fart noises) I was making many clear notes. Fun times!
I didn’t expect it be that easy, so this was taken on my phone. It’s a bit shit, but perfectly demonstrates that woo, #122 – done!
When I was riding my bike to work (in that amazing time before my hip got all nana-like) I’d ride to work through Regents Park. On the outer circle there is a massive trapeze set up with the Gorilla Circus. Knowing full well it was on The List I noted the url on a banner, and booked me and two friends into a beginners class.
It was pretty amazing. They teach you on a low bar how to put your legs above your head and hang on to a bar by your legs. They then put you on a rather high platform, and do the same again. It was both exhilarating and demonstrated my complete lack of flexibility and upper body strength. Well fun. You get a two or three practice goes. And then, towards the end, they set you up for the catch. The catch is where you you stand on a platform and jump off. You swing out, and as you do you put your feet over the bar. On the swing in you let go with your hands, and on the next swing out you’re caught by the catcher.
Now, I’m a pretty determined person (read: stubborn as). When I want to do something, I usually do it. On the ground I was determined that I was going to do the catch. Up the ladder, and on the platform, I was going to do the catch. While I was on the bar? While I was on the bar I learnt a few things about myself. One is that when a lady yells at me to let go of a bar and swing from my legs, my initial, completely irrational response to yell back ‘Woah buddy, not happening’.
Turns out that on a swinging bar a ten metres up in the air as I’m flying in a not especially graceful arc is when my inner coward comes out. Which is a bizarre realisation to have when you’re pumped with adrenaline and feel like you can (and should be able to) do anything. I didn’t fear the fall, because I’d already fallen. You need to, to get down. We weren’t up high enough to fear the height. I knew, rationally, that my legs were perfectly capable of holding my weight, more so than my arms.
My reaction was irrational, and completely instinct based. It was a very bizarre experience.
Still, I got up there, and gave it go, and I’m down with that. When my hip is less painful I’ll try again. Loads of fun, Trapeze. Hard work, though. Using muscles you never use, and expect your hands to be pretty raw by the time you’re done. I had mad calluses!
I’m glad I went, it was well fun. Number 74, done!
The Breakdown. The class is in Regents Park, and you can book online at gorillacircus.com. It was £23.50 per person plus booking fee, and is about an hour and a bit lesson. You’re in a class with 9 others, and you’ll get 3-4 turns on the trapeze. Fun times all round!
I’m Maori, and that means I’m very much part of that racial minority. Which is all well and good, most of the time. Most of the time I don’t even think about it. But sometimes, sometimes something twigs and it makes me wonder. Maori culture also happens to be, well, declining. There aren’t any ‘pureblood’ Maoris alive today. I don’t speak Maori, and culturally I live my life more along the pakeha lines than any other, as is the way I’ve been raised. It’s easier to live up that side of my life too, considering I’m over here in England. My Maori habits (specifically my everyday use of Maori language) are diminishing.
The other thing about being a minority is that finding a stem cell match is well, it’s not easy. So I signed up with Anthony Nolan to become a stem cell donor, in the hope that in case someone needs it, my minority cells will be able to help their minority cells.
Anthony Nolan is a UK based charity that has international reach. That international reach part was especially important for me, considering the minority I’d be helping is very probably back home in New Zealand. Anthony Nolan not only helps match donors to people in need, but also conducts research about stem cell matching and transplants to help improve the process. Nice, aye?
The process was pretty simple. I filled out the online form where they asked a few things to make sure I was all fit and healthy and suitable to register as a donor. They sent out a ‘spit kit’, where mostly the hardest thing to do was to make sure that I didn’t spit over the line (seriously). I put my spit in a tube (now with added purple) in an envelope and then in the post. They did some magic behind the scenes, sent me a card, and I’m in! Easy as!
What really surprised me though, is that when I told people they kind of wrinkled their nose, and asked if donation would hurt. Turns out, not really. They can take stem cell donation by blood now. Which is where you get a few injections to boost your stem cells in your blood stream, and then you give up some blood. They hook you up to a machine where your blood goes out one arm, into the machine where they separate out the stem cells, and then your stem cell-less blood goes back into the other arm. And giving blood doesn’t hurt that much. I’ve done it before.
The other process is a bit more involved, and requires a hospital stay. You get a general anaesthetic (lovely lovely unconsciousness) and they take some bone marrow from your pelvis with a needle. Apparently there’s a little bruising, but nothing too bad. Definitely not as bad as say, having your wisdoms out. They say the after-effects are like you’ve played a hard game of football. Not as sore as the rumours, is it?
Once they’ve got your donation, it’s spirited away and off to someone who needs it. Often saving their life, apparently. There are many heart wrenching stories of success on the Anthony Nolan website, but I shan’t guilt you with them. There’s this whole spiel about potentially saving someones life, which I have to say, did make me feel a bit warm and fuzzy.
So yeah. Me + my stem cells are registered. Number 43 – Done!
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