Hang around long enough and something interesting will happen at Kitchenette Highland Park. Like the time Voni tried to scan Ben's barcode on the digital till and a message came up "not suitable for resale."

Then Zaid turns up with flowers and orders two of Ben's Special burgers. Hmmmm

And Voni's baking is so divine it should be illegal.

Haven't even got on to the burgers.

Next time.

Facing the future

I've come up with an idea that could kiss facial wrinkles goodbye. It's revolutionary and it involves food.

We already know there are certain food types that encourage weight gain in particular parts of the body: delicious, creamy buns and cakes send calories to the bum; easy-drinking, affable, effervescent beer goes to the gut; and for women, all the good things left in life such as chocolate, well - traces of their ingestion attach themselves to the thighs.

As food types partial to particular bits of bodies have already been invented, I'm wondering why someone doesn't develop a food that likes to dwell above the throat? It would be great if it was a delicious as well as a clever food, that once ingested, defies gravity and targets the hosts' visage, giving a healthy, full and happy countenance.

I challenge a clever company such as Apple to take on the task - a company that seems to excel in a little bit of magic with everything they do. They could call it the iFace. Everything with an i and an apple seems to do really well these days. And you know what they say - an apple a day keeps the surgeon away.

My love lies bleeding

Fishermen - let this be a lesson.

When out in a boat, intending to bleed a kawhai to make for better eating, do watch your aim, and use a short knife, not a long one.

NEVER go for the hand instead of the kawhai, or the results could be very painful and - for the next six weeks at least - very frustrating.

This fishing mishap severed the main tendon to the victim's thumb. Victim thought he could continue fishing, once he'd slapped a few plasters over the cut, but with the thumb hanging down, useless and lifeless, the thought of catching more fish was abandoned. So, it was back to shore, off to A&E, then a quick shunt to the hospital.

We might moan about our health system (and we d0), often, but there are times when one is left of awe of it too - as we were yesterday. The service was friendly, slick and professional. The victim was quickly processed, x-rayed and vital signs checked, and then I accompanied him into the surgeon's consulting room, which quickly became the operating room.

It was 6pm on a Sunday night and (forgive the bad-taste pun), the team was operating with a skeleton crew, so the victim's wife lent a hand. I fetched surgical supplies from the cupboard, answered the phone (you'd be amazed how many people hurt their hands in Auckland on the weekend - no wonder our health system is stuffed), and I hitched up hastily donned surgical gowns so the brilliant doctors would have unimpeded access to my husband's hand. (There's self interest here too - I want him back in the kitchen as quickly as possible.)

In between assisting my new bezzy mates and stroking the victim's worried brow, he was texting his daughter (as a diversion) in Wanaka and giving her instructons on how to fix the shower rose in her bathroom.

As well as playing a vital role in the operation, I was chief photographer as well. I was encouraged to get good close ups and when I mucked up the iphone camera setting, the surgeon put it right for me.

I know I probably shouldn't have had fun, but I did and I even said to the gowned ones: "Wait till I tell the Girls! This is just like Grey's Anatomy!" And all this to the soothing sounds of Michael Buble.

Please don't let this record of quite an entertaining evening in an operating theatre encourage another fisherman to be cavalier with a long bladed knife. Six weeks - and probably longer - without any fishing at all should be enough to discourage further reckless behaviour.

Politically in-correct travel guide

Antipodean baby-boomers hit Europe and discover their experience was different in several and subtle ways from the last time they visited five years earlier.
First city Rome: and if Paris is the city of love, Rome must be the city of lust - there was a plastic mattress protector on our bed. We're not sure if the hotel proprietors thought we looked like a hot pair (eat your hat Austin Mitchell), or aged in our 50s, assumed me might bein-continent.

Like pilgrims from afar, we walked and walked and walked. One Wednesday morning we headed towards the Vatican, and found the Pantheon on the way. This is the most amazing sight in Rome AND it's free to visit. We were pilgrims of architecture, not religion; and after our time at the Vatican, we we realised we'd made the right philosophical choice.

Each Wednesday is the Pilgrim's Mass at the Vatican and thousands of people had made phenomenal efforts to arrive at this holy shrine from all over the world. We knew nothing of the Pilgrim's Mass and simply bowled up to the place to have a look - curious and not to be converted.

The Pope's performance at the mass was under-whelming. If he's meant to be in the marketing - prospecting for sales - he has a lot to learn. Quizzing the Italians in the crowd, they confirmed what I already knew - he's not a popular pope but the catholic church is an integral part of the Italian landscape, like having pasta with dinner, he's just as sticky to shake off.

Tomorrow: Smoking AND inhaling.