Of his time in New Zealand, Charles Darwin commentated: “I believe we were all glad to leave New Zealand. It was not a pleasant place”. Of Australia, he also said: “Nothing but sharp necessity would induce me to immigrate” (1836) Clearly, he’s a hard man to please – and if I am honest, when I initially landed in Australia I shared them same mindset as the man who is donned on the £10 note. (As it currently stands, I am echoing his New Zealand sentiments, too). However, my mind opinion of Australia drastically changed, and I am hopeful that the same will happen now I’m on the other side of the ditch.

Could you imagine going backpacking ‘Down Under’ with Charlie? He would have been a nightmare, what with his flagrant disregard for all things Australasian, and his frequent ability to slag everything off. However, having ventured to our weekly pub quiz sojourn, I understand that he did refer to the Samoan Islands as the ‘Friendly Isles’. Apparently, the people there were just that – friendly, so maybe he’s not that hard to please after all. (By the way, we got that question right, but flunked the others at the quiz).

Moving on, and if Darwin was here today I am sure he would have something biting to say about this, I can now tell people that I have been present in a country that has been hit by an earthquake (15/7). 30 km’s off the south west coast of New Zealand, a quake measuring 7.8 on the Richter Scale had us shook up and consequently, a tsunami warning was issued for this part of the world. (South island New Zealand, Tasmania, and the south east coast of Australia – Victoria and NSW – were on high alert). Auckland, located north of the north island felt nothing, but those in southern cities such as Queenstown reported shaking and all the other symptoms that go with a quake of such magnitude. Luckily, no damage was reported either from the quake or the tsunami itself, but I am still going to tell my grandchildren that I have been in a country where an earthquake has struck. (When both Mike and I were in Bangkok all those moons ago, there was a quake in Laos, near its capital city Vientienne, but we felt nothing despite aftershocks apparently ringing through Thailand at the time. Of course, I cannot claim that as ‘being in a country that has been hit by an earthquake’, but ironically, Vientienne and Bangkok are probably closer in distance than that of Auckland and the south west of New Zealand.)

From all my irreverent procrastinating, you have probably guessed that I am still unemployed. Believe me, measure have been taken, and are afoot, to fix the situation, but so far I have found little glee in my search. One possible glimmer of hope, however, lies in a role that I applied for several weeks ago (1/7). It’s what I would class as a long-term assignment (it could potentially last for several months depending on the work flow), but the job details are still a little sketchy. (I think I’ll be contacting clients about the company, or the company about clients - I don’t know). I think I can safely say, however, that it won’t be rocket science, or nearly as exciting as working with rockets, but it appeals as it’s one of only a handful of roles that does not discriminate against my nationality.

Personally, I understand where the companies who have rejected me are coming from. Not only have they got to invest time, effort and resources into me for any given role, they also know that 12 months’ down the line I will be off to pastures new. Given the current climate, whom do you think a company is going to employ? A non-native backpacker or a Kiwi?

However, I do not want this to be seen as an excuse. I have applied, and have continued to apply, for jobs on a daily basis. Furthermore, the aforementioned role, where I was informed that ‘I should expect a call towards the end of the month (I am still waiting) confirming my start date’ saw over 120 people apply. They’re currently looking for a dozen people or so, but I was told in the interview that this scenario is reflective of the current market. My fingers are crossed that this agency delivers the goods, but given the delay, and the tone of the interviewee during our meeting, I am not sure of a positive outcome. (This person, in their characteristically haphazardous way, told me to my face that the company ‘are not going to get the best (staff) for the money on offer’. There’s a sure fire way to give yours truly a confidence lift).

I haven’t taken that jibe personally. (Not because this very person had the professionalism of a goose, but because life’s too short.) Moreover, I have actually landed some temporary work – labouring at a nearby location. The role is still in its infancy (and it’s due to end soon, but I am awaiting confirmation for a date), but I spend most of my days generally looking busy (the orders from the boss, so it’s practically legal) and dodging authority (which sort of ties in with the bosses orders’). I have encountered a few jobsworths to contend with, but generally speaking I am feeling pretty happy to have a reason to rise in the morning. Furthermore, the notion of getting paid, although it’s an experience I last encountered a few months ago, will make the efforts even more worthwhile.

Finally on all things monetarily related, up until now, I was yet to suffer at the hands of the recession. In Australia, for example, everything was easy, as I always felt safe and secure in my state government role. This assumption was loosely based on the knowledge that working in the public sector often means there is no boss loitering with the sword of Damocles waiting to swoop in order to appease the balance sheet. (The taxpayer, after all, was funding my way in life. Luckily, the lack of accountability in such tumultuous times worked in my favour). A recently related article about the stresses and affects of the ‘economic slowdown’ caught my attention, but the source and the exact numbers escape me: apparently, (and all the findings are based on a Western society) suicides and stress related incidents are vastly up, but road related accidents are down because fewer people can afford to drive. Although times are tough, I am not at any of the stages pointed out in the article (or will I ever be – the football season is just around the corner and that’s bound to cheer me up. If, however, my team flops again, hopefully the promise of that role arises).

Before the beginning of my temporary assignment, my days had been long, often boring affairs. (With no Lysey to play with I can retrace the entire daytime TV schedule) As it’s both cold and wet at the moment, free daytime activities are in short supply. However, now that the Ashes have begun, my nocturnal manoeuvres have compromised of either visiting the nearest watering hole or listening to the coverage online. Of all the times I have ventured to the pub, a favourite night of mine was when I, plus a group of five of us, began speaking to a pair of Australians and a random English chap.

This random English chap informed me that he had in fact only popped out for a quiet pint while his wife put his kids to bed. Well, five hours later, plus a satisfyingly amount of beer and 3.30 am was upon us and this bloke was a complete mess. As he left the pub that night he stumbled into the bar, such was his state; he would have felt awful in the morning, as I wasn’t feeling too sharp myself. I would have loved to see him justify his movements to his other half the next day. As I am usually the only one in the pub at 10pm wanting to watch the cricket, I was enjoying the company. Moreover, because a few Aussies were in attendance, we proceeded to celebrate the fact that they were getting a heavy tonking.

I have, however, begun a bit of a health kick, not only to balance my binge behaviour, but because I enjoy partaking in some rigorous exercise. Near to our house is a park that has a 1km circumference, and to my amazement I have been looping that at ease. (8km first day – take that). All of my efforts, however, started in earnest, and in completely inadvertently, largely thanks to my fantastic mother. A while ago she sent me a parcel, and included in that parcel was a few things I have been patiently waiting for. Well, sadly the parcel was too big for our letter box, so I decided to make the 14 km round trip walk to the sorting office to pick it up. (I had no idea it was such a distance)

Before setting off I made myself a rough map but I soon realised that my directions were completely whack. At this very time the rain was becoming more persistent, but I persevered with the trip so I could get my hands on the parcel. Taking refuge at almost every bus stop I came across, however, I managed to re-evaluate my trip by referring to their route map, and luckily I finally found the depot. Of course, I did not envisage the trip would take so long (1.5 hours each way), so imagine my fury when I rocked up at the post office to find out the parcel was still in transit and that it wouldn’t return for another three hours’ (it was about 2pm at the time). Image further my anger when I found out that the parcel I was hoping to retrieve wasn’t the one at the depot – it was in fact a credit card for Lysey.

So, I hastily made my way home where I found a notice on our communal board from a neighbour who notified the whole world that he had a parcel for me as it was mistakenly addressed to his apartment. He had received a letter from the postal service informing him that the letter was too big for the box so he needed to contact them and arrange for it to be sent elsewhere or to be picked up in person. This chap, as it happens, was expecting a parcel too, so anticipating that mine was his, he rang them and ordered that the parcel be sent to his mothers place – located in southern Auckland. However, the parcel wasn’t for him and, to compound my frustration further, he wasn’t going to head to his mum’s place for another week, so therefore, it took over three weeks for the parcel to arrive.

I was pretty angry and the air was blue, what with all the slanderising that was being aimed at Courier Post from yours truly. However, it has since come to my attention that mother dearest did in fact put the incorrect apartment number on the parcel. I have since calmed down though, especially as mother included lots of quality goodies. (Cheers, mum, you are the best).

Like the ying and yang of life, I take happiness in knowing I have a job. Like the ying and yang of life, however, I become unhappy if this job turns out to be not what I expected. (Deep!)

Having arrived some two weeks ago, I have been frantically searching Auckland for work. My usual avenues of potential employment have been exploited: the internet, job agencies, newspapers, hostels (I have stayed in more than enough of these to realise they’re a great source of casual work), and to my pleasure, I thought I had landed on my feet (26/6). One recruitment agency gave me a role working for an internationally recognised telephone network, where I was basically going to be dealing with a new project by updating records of customers’ requests and suchlike.

However, after two days’ training it became clear that I was in fact going to be carrying out what I classify as one of the most demoralising roles in the work market –call centre work. Firstly, nothing is beneath me when it comes to work as I will do almost anything for money (flexible, I know, but I need something to keep me occupied as New Zealand daytime TV is even worse than the British equivalent). However, call centre work, in my eyes, is just pretentious and patronising. Putting on a ‘customer service pitched voice’, declaring your intentions and then only to have either the phone slammed down on you or to receive a barrage of abuse isn’t for me.

Aware of the reality that jobs are scarce in this part of the world, I felt lower than the proverbial snake when I told them I couldn’t work there anymore. I refused to communicate with Lysey as I went over the ramifications of my decision, and it was probably the lowest I have felt since I left England some two-and-a-half years ago. If I had continued in the role I know I would have become a grumpy, bordering on angry, person and Lysey doesn’t deserve that. Moreover, I am on a working holiday visa so my personal happiness is paramount, too.

I have since managed to get that chin of mine up, even though I am still unemployed. However, measures, not to dissimilar to those already outlined, have been taken and I am hoping on a result of sorts soon. I have signed up with four agencies so far, some good and some bad, plus I have applied for umpteen jobs online.

Out of the employment agencies that I have signed up with (plans are afoot to sign up with more), two of them remain to be my best possible hope. Out of the others, one I think I may have already alienated (they shouldn’t have given me a call centre role), and the other didn’t fulfil me with any great hope. The latter deals solely with labour employment, and admittedly so, to look at I am not the stockiest of people. Therefore, whenever I go for roles that require me to apply some elbow grease, I am always greeted with stares of amusement. Firstly, the starer will look me up and down, and secondly, he would attempt to give me the cold shoulder by declaring something like: “It’s hard work here – can you hack it?” Right on cue, this happened to me when I went to sign up with the latter agency.

Pre-empting their response, I answered all their questions. However, I am currently awaiting my IRD number (my tax number), but synonymously with New Zealand, things here take about two weeks to complete. (We’ve just got online, for example, despite applying almost two weeks ago. Moreover, our ‘internet connection’ is terribly weak, so we’re awaiting a ‘booster ariel ‘ to make things faster. I predict it will arrive in August!) Without the tax number, if I was to work for the aforementioned agency I would be deducted about half my hourly wage (it’s the same if I was to work elsewhere, but the point I am trying to illustrate is that the wages with this agency were scandalously low - $12.50 an hour to be precise. If I translate this amount to British sterling I would be on a whopping £4.80 an hour. Don’t forget, though, I am still without my IRD number, so I would need to half that generous wage once more. Note to self, stop translating wages and get an IRD number)

In my defence, I have applied for my tax number. In order to obtain one of these beauties, though, one is needed to produce two forms of ID. Exhibit A was easy – a passport would suffice, but exhibit B was tricky: they take anything with a New Zealand seal of approval (like a student card for example) or an international driving license. Considering I hold neither of those, I had to wait until I had a ‘letter of employment’ - my final hope as I am not in a position to gain anything else they would have accepted. Well, those two days at the unnamed phone company were useful as I managed to obtain a letter of employment. However, I am still awaiting my tax number despite applying for it last week (26/6) where I paid $10 to speed up the delivery process. According to the not-so-helpful-chap at the AA office (he was very blunt and even ruder) ‘I was going to receive it in 48 hours’, but 120 hours later I am still waiting. (Like I said, New Zealand likes to take its time)

Harping back to my work flexibility, the opportunity arose last Wednesday (1/7) for me to demonstrate it. Scouring the local hostels for any sniff of work, I had a stroke of luck when I walked into one based in Auckland CBD (what did I say about them?); as soon as I clambered up the stairs I was greeted by a demanding receptionist who enquired if I was after any work. After removing my headphones, my ears soon pricked up as he went on to explain the role. For that very afternoon a chap named Shawn was after a few men to lug Persian carpets.

There was no Shawn (I don’t know who he was and I never found out), but instead I, plus an Argentinean and an Israeli guy, worked with a family of Afghans who had a company selling the aforementioned front room luxury. Our job was to load up a lorry with the rugs and then unload it at the other end. It took us about five hours in total and I must have shifted over 200 carpets during that time. I must say, though, it was rewarding to get paid for a job well done. (My last such experience of this was back in April).

I was grateful to have something that was going to fill my time that afternoon. (This was just one day after leaving the call centre role, and I was still feeling down about things.) Like I said, I am desperate for something to keep me occupied. Furthermore, I have the routine outgoings to contend with so I obviously need the income. Recently, I caught a television show about the recession in New Zealand; the program was rather upbeat about the situation and it concluded with the advice to remain positive as markets fluctuate and things will get better. I am taking solace in that statement.

Lysey, by stark comparison, has found work already. She’s started a role for the same hotel brand that she worked for in Australia (24/6). I am happy for her as she hasn’t got the uncertainty of the temping world to deal with (plus we have one income coming in, but I am not going to be a kept man), but prior to landing this role she did apply to a few agencies about a variety of different roles. Amusingly, she informed me of one interview she had with an agency about a hotel role; before the interview began she offered her hand to the interviewee, but this person rejected her handshake, simply because of the fear of catching swine ‘flu. The hype in this corner of the world seems to be dying down (nobody has rejected my hand at any interview, but three people have died this weekend because of the virus) but I found this measure to be rude. If someone took this step with me I would be tempted to cough for the duration of the interview. Then again, I am unemployed, so maybe I would think twice. Still, I thought it was ridiculous.

Despite our financial situation (and this was before Lysey landed her role – 20/6) we decided that we owed ourselves a night on the tiles, just so we could have some fun, see the nocturnal activities that Auckland has to offer, and forget about our worries for the evening.

Whenever Lysey and I go out as a couple we often question who could get the most drinks bought for them if we had a competition. Of course, I never put a wager on this as I am a male and being one means that I am aware of the potential intentions of the buyer. (Call it a stereotype, but I am also of the knowledge that a man is more likely to part with his cash to buy a lady a drink rather than the other way around.) This night, however, we did set a challenge of sorts – who could get the first friend. At the time, we only knew each other, so we were very interested in stretching our social circle to more than the two of us. (It has since doubled in size, all because of Lysey’s workmates. Wednesday night is our regular quiz night at our local watering hole, The Albion, where our team seems to grow a new member each week.)

Anyway, to our amazement, we found some joint joy at our first port of call – an Irish bar in the city. Pulling the pints that night was an Irish chap called Conner, who we subsequently got speaking to. He too had travelled and as a result he knew no one within the vicinity. Therefore, he asked for our number, all with the intention of arranging a beer or five. (I gave him mine as Lysey didn’t know hers at the time) However, he’s turned out to be just like all the rest of them: he hasn’t called, he hasn’t text, he hasn’t written (why would he have written? He didn’t get our address, but you see my point). Timewaster! Maybe he was after Lysey’s number instead.