The PR Blog

Back in the 1990’s I was asked to “ help out “ at an educational facility in the " balmy " southern city of Invercargill in New Zealand. Just a few months, over winter, to be a relief teacher for someone who was “ sick. “ I obliged.

When I fronted up, I discovered that my predecessor was on sick leave because of a nervous breakdown from teaching the classes that I was taking over. Strange how that fact was left out. As the cool April weather closed in, the days shortened and the southerlies blew in from Antarctica, I began one of the most memorable attacks of frostbite I have ever had. OK, chilblains, but you get my drift.

I think it’s safe to say that adventures of the more daring kind are often hatched during enthusiastic exchanges fuelled by the romantic powers of the wine bottle. This little sojourn was no different.

A drunken sailor is part of folklore and on this particular night, I was a born-again landlubber turned pirate encouraged by the delights of the fermented grape. 

Why did I say yes? You may well ask. But say Yes I did, and it began a journey that I will recount over the coming weeks. A journey that began in a conversation with a few friends.

Few blades hold as storied a history as the Kukri knife. Hailing from the rugged terrain of Nepal, this distinctive weapon has etched its mark across centuries of warfare and played a crucial role in the daily lives of the people as an agricultural implement.

The roots of the Kukri knife reach deep into the rich tapestry of Nepalese culture and traditions. It is believed that this unique blade design was first forged during the medieval period, with some evidence pointing to its emergence in the early 14th century. Drawing inspiration from earlier curved blades and machetes prevalent in the region, the Kukri gradually evolved into the formidable tool and weapon we know today.

My wife and I are rapt in long distance train travel. It is the only way to see another country in comfort. You live in a luxurious hotel on wheels in the company of other like-minded souls and do trips to the hinterland of wherever the train decides to stop for a sightseeing tour. No airports, no changing hotels.

In 2008 a mate of mine and our wives embarked on a trip to India run by the same English company that did the Trans-Siberian; GW Travel. The tour was called Viceroy of India Darjeeling Mail. The real attraction for me was the Darjeeling Mail part, the most famous steam train journey in the world and an item on my bucket list. The names of places we visited are all the old fashioned ones. I can’t come to grips with the more enlightened names of places I learned about in school and have stuck with me ever since.

India may seem a strange place to go as a tourist. At school we learned that India was a place of masses of, disease, poverty and pestilence. The text books were wrong. The bad parts are worse than that and the good parts are never mentioned apart from the Taj Mahal monument at Agra.

When I was starting out in real estate sales, I learned a lot.

The first thing was being given the listing of the unsellable house. It is something that happens when you are new on the job: you are given a listing that no one else wants.

My unsellable house was a cracker. It had lime green shag pile carpet; a bright orange kitchen and covered in wallpaper with bold patterns of mission brown and orange. The toilets were red. Outside, there was a huge collection of garden gnomes.

It had been on the market for years and as soon as people saw the large collection of garden gnomes, they would not venture inside. The few that did waded through the shag pile green carpet into the kitchen, shook their heads and said " Move on. " 

Life has become complicated of late, hasn't it? Simple things have become difficult and that which once was taken as a given, has suddenly become rather tainted by political intrigue and manipulation. 

Nothing is straightforward anymore. What we say, what we cook, how we cook,  what we drive, what we think. All have been brought under scrutiny and are weighed on the scales of left or right; not on the scales of justice. It has become so political. 

All around the world, we are being told to do the right thing. And it is subjective what this infinitely elusive " right thing " is.

To me, life is about having a life worth living.