By Lucy

I was prepared for 8 kilometers of gravel road. I was not prepared for 8 kilometers of sandy road, but I’d come too far to give up now. And I had no back-up plan; I couldn’t go back to Queenstown this late in the day. Every time the bike wobbled, I wrenched it upright with a surge of adrenaline. I had no idea how long this second wind would last.

Finally, I arrived. I pulled over in front of a sign that said “check-in here”, although there was no obvious office. I stomped up the stone steps to a bougie cafe that I looked very out of place next to, covered in dirt, wet, shivering with cold and dressed in my riding leathers. A waiter came over. “Are you checking in, or just for dinner?”

“I’m, uh, working here?”

“Ah, ok! Let me go get John.”

John is a large man with an easy smile and laugh that immediately makes you feel at ease. “You must be Lucy! Where are you from?”

“Canada.”

“Ah, excellent! We love Canada, no bad Canadians yet! You’re the third one!”

No pressure.

He glanced at the helmet hanging limply from my hand. “You came here on a motorbike?”

“Yup.” Shiver shiver.

“What a trip that must have been! The boss isn’t here right now, but you’re on the schedule for 10 tomorrow morning. We’ll pair you with someone to show you the ropes. In the meantime, Noah, can you show her where she’s staying? She’s with Nichola.”

Noah was a glum young man with a giant flop of curly black hair, like Sam Bankman-Fried. He took me down the back way and thru a fence to a house with an untidy yard. Chickens picked around a pen at the back. Around the other side of the house was a small hut with holes and cracks in the glass panels of the door. He barely explained that this was where I was staying before he took off, like Ethan.

Excellent.

There was a small blue couch inside, a tiny chest of drawers, a tiny chest, a heater and an AC unit, and a bunk bed. There was just enough space between each for someone of medium build to walk between them, and that was it. Clearly the bottom bunk was meant to be mine, as the sheets were neatly folded at the foot of the bed.

I changed into dry clothes. Now what? I walked back towards the house and peeked in the window. Two young women were watching Grave of the Fireflies. I opened the door tentatively. 2 dogs were instantly at the door; one golden retriever, one black and white spaniel-type dog.

“Can you help me?” I asked.

“Ah, are you new here? What do you need?”

The two women were Nichola, my Irish roommate, and Kam, who is from Quebec. Within half an hour, I was sorted with the location of the bathroom, the wifi password, changed into pajamas and eating my very beaten up sub on the couch as Kam cried (Grave of the Fireflies may be a Studio Ghibli movie but it’s been called the saddest animated movie for a reason). The golden retriever is called Wilburt, and the spaniel dog is called Holly. Both love to mug people for food, will get into any open package of food, and Holly has a particular fondness for chocolate, which is ironic for a dog. Like a human being addicted to windshield wiper fluid.

From what I’ve gathered, the main house is basically a sort of frat house for everyone to gather in. At any given moment, there might be someone flaked on one of the many couches watching tv, seated at the large dinner table, or cooking in the kitchen. But it’s also John and Toni’s home, which makes me feel like I am intruding. Kam offered me some very burnt chocolate chip cookies she made.

By 9:30 I could barely keep my eyes open and went to bed, crawling as far as I could within the depths of the bottom bunk and the thick blankets.

Around midnight, I had to get up for the bathroom. It was a crisp walk across the deck to the back door, then a tiptoe across the silent, dark house. I felt like I was trespassing.

As I went back across the deck, I stopped. The full moon was rising over the mountains across from me, bathing the valley in silver light. The stars here had to be as pristine as the ones in the Dark Sky Reserve; there was nothing here. No cities within a 200 km radius, except Queenstown. This far out, the sky doesn’t look black; in fact, it’s covered in stars, like a paint splatter. You can clearly see the smear across the middle that is the Milky Way.

At 6:30, I bolt awake to the sound of a helicopter. A moment later, a motorboat scoots along the river. Queenstown is an “adventure” destination; helicopters and boat tours are a common sound and soon it becomes background noise.

Glenorchy is noteworthy because it was the filming location for Isengard, although Toni and John are curiously tight-lipped about it.

Nichola is a night owl with an afternoon shift, so she sleeps in. I didn’t want to unpack my bags while she was sleeping, and I had no breakfast. I made myself a chamomile and ate some of the burned cookies; Cam would probably just be glad someone was eating them. Did I dare grab a black tea bag from someone’s stash? No.

A few people filtered in, puttered around, and left, no one hanging around long enough that I felt like I could ask them for food. Until Kam came in.

“What the grocery store in Glenorchy like?” I asked.

“Oh, no one shops there, it’s super overpriced. Most people just do click and collect and then if someone is in Queenstown, they grab it.”

“Ah, ok.” I opened Pak’N’Save’s website; no slots today. “They have some for tomorrow?”

She shrugged. “People are always coming and going.”

Well, I can always grab it on the bike, as intended. I booked it for 4.

“I was hoping there’d be a selection of, like, food guests and employees left behind…”

“Yeah, there’s a shelf in the wilderness kitchen.”

Excellent.

At 9:50, I wandered down to the cafe and was directed to take a seat by John. People slowly filtered in and sat with me. A smiling woman who reminded me strongly of Lin Shaye came in and introduced herself as Toni, John’s wife.

“Bianca, can you show Lucy how to do housekeeping?”

Bianca is a classic example of the person who becomes a superior by virtue of having been around longer than anyone else, but who isn’t really comfortable or competent in the role. She made an awkward effort to explain to me how to turn over the rooms, where supplies might be located, and what the expectations for work were. To my understanding, there were two parts to the resort; a hostel-like accommodation, with single and dorm rooms, and a shared kitchen and bathroom. The second part is the “eco-scapes”, those Insta-perfect lodges with giant plate glass windows allowing panoramic views of the surrounding mountains.

“How long have you been here for?” I asked.

“2 years, off and on. I’m going to school for geology.”

My eyes lit up. “You are? I love geology!”

We were done turning over rooms by noon. We put the laundry in to wash and hang it out to dry if we have time, but there is an afternoon “laundry” shift that takes it in, irons it and puts it away. The sheets are sorted into bins with a label for which room it is and what sheets it contains. It’s pretty simplified and idiot-proof, which makes sense when they seem to have a rotating staff of 10 vagabonds flitting in and out at any given time.

This is the kind of plasticy, cheerful place I dislike; there are laminated cards with generic aphorisms like “do or do not, there is not try” or “be mindful” stuck all over the place. We sign in and out with an HR app that also geofences us, as if we’re at risk of sneaking out of here unnoticed. I noticed a sign on the composter saying they don’t just compost, but “bokashi”, and I imagine a monocle and an upper class sneer.

Of course, I’m also just cranky cuz I’m hungry.

One thing I do approve of is the backpack-mounted vacuum cleaner. It’s much nicer than hauling around a floor model. They also use a leaf blower to sweep the outside walkways, which I disapprove of. A little grass and leaf litter never hurt anyone.

Since we were done by noon, Toni gave Bianca something else to do and asked if I was comfortable with gardening. Sure am. She just asked me to pick the long grass out of a flower bed, a familiar task at this point. I picked grass in the hot noon sun for an hour, and then a group of boys wandered by and told me it was 1 and I could clock out.

I went back down to the kitchen. “Let’s get you sorted with food!” Toni said happily, sitting down and showing me how to order with Woolsworth. Except Woolsworth is the most expensive grocer in New Zealand and I already placed an order with Pak’N’Save, their version of Walmart.

“It’s fine, I’ll just grab it on my bike.”

“Are you sure? Well, don’t forget you get a 40% discount on anything from the cafe.”

Yeah, but if I bought food here I might as well just get the order from Woolsworth.

I checked the free bin in the hostel kitchen; just random things like rice vinegar, nothing I could hack a meal out of. Although a guest left behind a mostly full tube of bug repellent, which is good. No mosquitoes or ticks here, but they have these dreadful tiny bugs called sandflies that take a chunk out of you.

I went back up to the house. Kam was flaked out on the couch.

“Could I have something to eat? I have cash, I can pay you.”

She got up and sauntered over to the kitchen. Her basket on the shelf was the one I noticed had weight-loss supplements in it. She dug out a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter. As I was halfway through making a peanut butter sandwich, she also pulled out a pack of the instant noodles.

“My favourite.” I whispered, looking guiltily down at the sandwich I now didn’t want but couldn’t exactly put back.

“Have both.” She said, although she didn’t sound thrilled about it. “I have to go make some phone calls.”

After she left the kitchen, I ate the sandwich quickly, and stashed the packet of noodles in my room. I’d need more food later.

There wasn’t much else to do with my day. All I’d had to eat was 2 cookies and a peanut butter sandwich. I was surprised I didn’t feel worse, usually not eating like this absolutely KO’s me and I have terrible colicky gas pain. I wonder if the Keto diet did something about that, reteaching my body how to be hungry. With the packet of noodles later on in the day, I doubt I even cracked 1000 calories. How apropos that Grave of the Fireflies had been on when I got here.

“Could you move your bike?” John asked.

“Sure! I wasn’t sure where to park it.”

“Just with the rest of the cars. You can park it next to my trailer if you want.” He smiled toothily.

I was downtrodden as I trotted down to where I had abandoned the bike. The rest of the cars were parked on grass. Bikes dislike gravel and they hate grass even more; there’s always a risk the kickstand will sink into the grass and throw the bike to the ground.

I had a lightbulb. I grabbed some scrap wood and brought it with me. I tucked the bike against the trailer and put the wood under the kickstand. There, now it would float on the grass.

I retired to my cabin early. You always sleep well when you’re starving.

I didn’t like this fake, happy, “vibin’ place. It wasn’t really my speed; too rural, too casual. Everyone here was the sort to hop on a jet-ski or go sky-diving. I wasn’t clicking with them. I missed Simonetta.

At the thought of her, I burst into tears. I missed her more than anything. I was now painfully aware that the countdown until I left New Zealand was the countdown until I never saw her again, and every day spent travelling was a day not spent at the estate.

I was excited Wednesday morning. Food today! I went into the kitchen and had my single cookies and a mug of chamomile. Kam was on the couch like always.

I still wasn’t feeling the idea of trying to guide the bike down that road having eaten basically nothing for 2 days. “Is there anything you want to get in town? I don’t mind paying for gas.” I tried.

“I’m busy at 3.” She said absently. Then she perked up. “Wait, you must have a regular car license, don’t you?”

Well, it’s not a rule, but generally speaking yes, motorcycle drivers have a regular car license. Especially in Canada, where driving a motorcycle 12 months a year is not feasible, which she would know. “Indeed.”

I could see the gears in her brain turn. I must be a good driver, because driving a bike is more technically challenging than a car. “My van hasn’t moved in 3 weeks, it needs to go for a drive. You could take it?”

“Sounds good.” Some tunes on the radio, a full belly, this would be a nice Sunday drive instead of a horror show.

I noticed my schedule had populated with shifts for next week. I checked twice; I had hours beyond my required 3. I was gonna be getting paid work next week, sweet.

Work went fine. I was definitely feeling the lack of food, but I didn’t want to complain in case someone pointed out it was my own stupid choices. We were cleaning the eco-pods, rolling our eyes at the decadence of it all. 600 dollars a night for a glorified cabin, a month of rent for me thrown away for Instagram photos. It had a little tea and coffee bar, an AC and heater, sheepskin rugs on the floor.

“This pad is for the robot vacuum cleaner.” Bianca showed me.

“Robot vacuum cleaner.” I said slowly, with disbelief.

“Toni loves her robots.”

Robots. That’s what we are too, deployed every day at 10 to return the rooms to their neat and tidy state. We’re even paid with electricity, wifi and a docking station, like the robots. I noticed we all had the same sort of personality; slender, active, most if not all of us had tattoos and a pounamu necklace.

After the pods were done, we helped the guys with the regular hostel section. It didn’t take much. I declined a ten minute break, and at 12:50 we were basically done everything. Bianca told me I was free to go, so I hid in the rubbish shed until 1:01 to clock out.

I jogged up to the house, down a glass of water, and grabbed a cookie before flopping on the couch next to Kam.

“Heading out soon?”

“Sooner the better, just resting for a minute.”

I sat down for 15 minutes. Kam decided she wanted some crafty stuff from Kmart, so I told her to send me pictures and I’d do my best. I was more than thrilled to repay borrowing the car and the peanut butter sandwich.

We walked down to the row of parked cars. “This is Petunia.” She gestured to a white van. “The back doors don’t close easily.” She opened the front door and popped the hood before checking the oil. “Ah, all good.”

“What’s wrong with the oil?”

“Don’t worry about it, you’ll be fine.”

Excellent.

She handed me the keys and walked off. I jumped in, adjusted the seat and the mirrors, and noticed her watching me, just slightly down the road. In case I got confused? The radio had Bluetooth, so I connected my phone. The speakers were dreadful, but even terrible speakers are better than no speakers at all, like my bike.

The breaks were soft, but Petunia drives better than Ethan’s car. Funny that my parents didn’t want to let me use their car, but random strangers barely give me a backwards glance as they toss me the keys.

I flew down the road; soon, food! Not a cloud in the azure sky, AC that works, tunes on the radio and the open road before me, with no deadline but my grocery pick-up time. My happy place. I really missed a calling as a truck driver or something.

I made good time to Queenstown, and even the stop-and-go madhouse of the centre of town couldn’t dampen my spirits. I arrived at Pak’N’Save confusingly early.

Well, no matter. I ran over to Kmart and found things that fit the description of what Kam had texted me. Then I went back to the van and circled the lot twice, looking for the click and collect spots. I finally had to ask someone. I was ten minutes early, but I texted them for pickup and they came out with it within 5 minutes anyway.

Belatedly, it occurred to me that I had limited my order on the presumption that I would be on the bike. Oh darn.

No sooner had I gotten back in the car to leave than I grabbed a kiwi from the bag and shoved it in my face, juice dripping down my chin. I had a wicked headache from starvation and it lifted instantly from the shots of sugar right into my veins. Aaahhhh.

The drive back was just as lovely, if a little less gung-go. I debated stopping for liquor or something else and decided against it. The rush from the kiwi would not last long. I needed real food.

When I got back, I made myself 2 packets of noodles and ate random olives from the jar while I waited for them to cook. I was in a Tom Hardy mood and wanted to watch Inception, but it’s not on New Zealand Netflix, so I just watched Dark Knight Rises instead. It’s already on my mind from talking about it at the hostel.

I figured it out too late. You gotta learn to hide the anger, practice smiling in the mirror. It’s like putting on a mask.

Everyone was sitting on the deck chatting, so I joined in after the movie finished. Just for a bit, I still went to bed before everyone else. Once an outcast, always an outcast.

Ah, to sleep with a full belly!

This is a nice place, now that I’m not starving to death. There’s lots of amenities the staff can use for free; e-bikes, the yoga studio, a spa with a hot tub and cold plunge pool. There’s the lake to swim in, lots of hiking trails, late night guided walks of the stars….

I made myself wait til 7 before skipping into the kitchen in the morning. Back to my usual eggs and zucchini, and tea with cream.

On Thursday I finally got to meet the legendary Ti. No one else was scheduled but us. She is militant in her efficiency, going through the motions to turn over the rooms like a sergeant running through drills. I appreciate it, though, it felt proper, and I had a few tricks to take back to the estate now. Still, I was scared of making a mistake in her presence. She comments that she prefers to work in teams because it makes people work faster, and I think to myself that people probably just work faster around her because she makes them anxious.

Turns out, the camping section across the way is run by the Department of Conservation, and we have a real problem with campers trying to use the facilities for free, which explains a lot.

As we worked, we chatted, and somehow it came out that I was a carpenter. Little stars danced in her eyes, which was odd considering how many hunky men were lurking around to do the “manly” work, unlike at the estate.

At one, she turned to me. “Well, it’s one, so you can be done or you can do some extra work.”

“There’s extra work?”

“Yeah, for a carpenter.”

Excellent, paid work already! I flinched, still feeling the lack of eating. “Can I have some time for lunch first?”

“Yeah, no worries! Take half an hour, clock out of the app, clock back in when you come back.” She said with a dismissive wave.

I jogged up to the house and made myself another packet of noodles. I drank a litre of the barley syrup with my creatine powder.

When I went back to find Ti, the first task she had for me was to repair my own door. There were 8 pre-cut polycarbonate panels and some glass-fitting silicone.

“It’ll take you, like, 20 minutes to do, right?” Ti asked.

I am not going to last long here if they are going to be micromanaging me like this. Yeah, it would probably take me twenty minutes if I had all the tools in perfect working order, but I did not. It took me five minutes to find a beat-up caulk gun in the shed, and then even longer to find a dull knife to cut the silicone open because the gun didn’t have a cutter on it like they usually do. The gun itself kept fighting me as well.

40 minutes later, I went to find Ti again. “I have something for you, and you can say no if you want.”

What kind of horrendous task does she have for me?

“Could you clean the leaves out of the gutters?”

I laughed. Was she worried I’d say no cuz it’s dirty work and I present as female? “Sure.”

“Hey, Ti,” A young man with a thick English accent says, coming to a stop next to us. He notices me and pauses. “Oh, we haven’t met yet. I’m Dan.”

“Lucy.”

We shake hands and his breath catches; oh no, he noticed my eyes! We stand there, staring and saying nothing for long enough that Ti awkwardly clears her throat. “Dan? You were saying?”

“Oh, right…”

They talk about something for a minute, then she takes me out back and shows me where the gutters are. There’s no waterproof gloves that fit me, so I grab the battered ladder and haul it out back and clean the wet, blackened leaves out the gutters with my bare hands, soaking all down my front with scummy water. Oh well.

Once I’m done, I go find Ti again, “Still want more work?”

“Nah, I think I’m done for today. I should get some cooking done.”

“Ok.”

First thing is to make the peanut butter satay Simonetta made for us a dog’s age ago. Yum!

In the evening, some of the girls settle down on the couch and open a brand new Settlers of Catan. They’ve clearly never played before as they thumb through the instructions, and I debate asking to play cuz I know how, but I decide against it. I wasn’t invited.

A notification pops up on my phone. “Staff yoga class tomorrow morning at 8”.

“What’s that?” I ask aloud.

“It’s a yoga class for the staff.”

I retire to bed early that night. Nichola decided to go on a hike overnight, so I have the cabin to myself. New Zealand had a culture of serious hiking, or tramping as they call it, and there are cabins all over the islands for people to stay overnight for free, if they want. Honestly, if I had a few grand to do anything with, I’d pay for Hanuman to get a nice hiking kit and unleash him on the south island for a year; he’d be in his glory.

Thursday morning, I went for the yoga class. I got there a minute before 8 – I got lost – and everyone was already there and settled. Oops! The class is in a yurt high enough on the mountain that you have an uninterrupted view of the alpine lake, like an ad on Instagram.

Dan was teaching it, which made sense in hindsight. He’s the only person who’s been sensitive to my energy since I got to NZ, so naturally he’s a yoga teacher.

It was less a yoga class and more a mindfulness class… although I suppose Hanuman would argue that they go hand in hand. I feel myself struggling compared to the people I’m next to, which is T and one of the other girls, and it’s not even that I’m that inflexible. It’s holding the pose that I struggle with, my neuropathy flaring up and making me lose feeling in my extremities almost immediately. How do I address that?

For housekeeping, it’s just me and Bianca again. We agree to start at opposite ends of the hotel and meet in the middle.

My pet peeve is becoming guests who aren’t quite checked out at 10. If, for whatever reason cuz I’ve done it too, you aren’t ready to ship out at 10, please just strip your sheets and throw them out the door for housekeeping to grab. The first thing we always do is get the wash on, so if you give us the sheets we can get started on that.

John and Toni have two kids that are here; James, who was here the entire time and is fun to talk to, and Wren, who visiting from Australia. She’s only 20, covered in tattoos and with a shaved head. She was playing Mother Mother on the stereo, so I asked if she watched Hazbin Hotel and we got in a long discussion about it (no, I don’t think she realizes Mother Mother is a Canadian band).

“Ah, sorry, I won’t distract you from your work.” She says.

“My work?” Oh, I guess I type away so furiously on the laptop it could only be work. “Just a newsletter to my friends.” Which is really all the blog is, I don’t think I pull in a lot of random viewers.

“I’m a lighting tech on film production. We’re working on the new Warhammer show. I’ll get to see Henry Cavill any day now.”

“Old news.” I said.

“You’ve met Henry Cavill?”

Er… no. Me and Rich joked about going to the Games Workshop headquarters and running into him, but we never did. Train tickets to London were too expensive for a lark. “My friend is big in the Warhammer community. Gets invited to headquarters in London all the time.” I say vaguely. It’s not untrue. But it also sticks in my throat… can I still call him a friend?

“Cool!”

They leave the room. Confusingly, Holly mounts Wilburt. “Hey Wren, are we sure Holly is a girl?” I call, as I shoo Holly away. Wilburt seems nonplussed.

“Why?”

“She mounted Wilburt.”

“Go Holly!”

Around 8, they bounce back into the living room. “We’re going swimming, want to come?”

“At 8 at night?”

Everyone looks at me like I’m the odd one. Well, whatever. I won’t go swimming, but it’s better than moping on my laptop.

I did go swimming in the lake a few days ago. I forget which day. There’s a path down into the woods where they’ve made a little wharf, with a stony beach. I wish I had brought my water shoes, it’s a little murky. The beautiful crystal blue alpine water is ice-cold, fed by snow melting further up into the mountains. The lake used to come right up to Glenorchy and steamships would dock there, but the waterways have changed and now it’s just the shallow grey Dart river.

Shingle beaches always have flat rocks. I grab some and skip them, just one or two skips. Practice, practice. I imagine the Vagabond smiling at me. “You’re getting better, girl.”

I walk out on the wharf, take off my shoes and socks and stick my feet in the cold water. I don’t join in the conversation much; at one point James comments, “Lucy’s just along for the ride” and I realize I’m giving off the impression of a rebellious loner. What a curious development.

They sing this song on the walk back to the lodge;

When we get there, bad news; Wilburt is sick. With what, who knows? He’s clearly unsteady on his feet and clinging to the floor like he’s on a boat. He got out earlier, he must have eaten something.

Everyone makes jokes about it ’til someone brings up the specter of rat poison. Suddenly everyone is panicking and trying to haul him outside to make him throw up.

But… Wilbert got out 3 or 4 hours ago. If he did ingest rat poison, we are way past the point of him throwing up making a difference! I don’t say anything and just go back to my cabin.

(They ended up deciding he ate pot gummies. In any case, he was fine by morning)

Saturday morning is much the same. Eggs and zucchini for breakfast, changing beds in the hotel. Ti has mathed out how long it should take to do each room, if done perfectly, and posted it on the inside of the maintenance cupboard.

At 10:45 I meet up with Dan, who is my TL for the day, and she squawks “It’s 10:45 Dan, your team should be done at the hostel and headed up to the eco-scapes!”

A customer stepped in dog poo and tracked it into the last room. Him and Alex are debating how best to clean it up. “I’ll head up and start stripping beds?” I offer.

“Sounds good.” He joins me ten minutes later. There’s milk in the fridge again; customers here have a curious tendency to buy 300ml bottles of milk, and then leave half the milk behind. It’s not expired, just a mouthful, so I drink them with lunch.

Dan is nice to work with. He notices all the ways I’m detail-oriented and on the ball about things and compliments it. “I noticed you were wearing a bike shop hoody, did you used to work at a bike shop?”

“No, it was bought for me.” I realize, too late, the wistful tone in my voice, but I don’t elaborate and he doesn’t ask.

Ti squawks over the radio again. “I’ve been here for a month, but I’m not fast enough for Ti.” He says, with a sigh.

Well, it’s good to know they won’t turf people out for being ‘slow’, although it’s still a degree of anxiety I could do without.

“How did you end up here?”

“Me and Luna were in Nepal for a little while, and we realized we needed some money. Just sort of ended up here.”

I shot him a wide grin. “Really? You’re a yoga teacher and you don’t understand how you ended up here?”

His breath caught again and he chuckled. “You’re right.”

Who’s Luna? His girlfriend? I suppose I should dial it back a bit then. “Where are you from?”

“Nottingham.”

Interesting coincidences as of late.

At 1, when we were to part ways, we froze again on the walkway. That sort of weird energy when you feel a connection to someone. I was still wary of the possible girlfriend and all the ways having a connection with someone you work and live with could become incredibly awkward, so I finally just said, “See you later,” and wandered off.

Around 4, Toni showed up with Wren and her partner in tow. They immediately took off to go jump in the lake.

“You know,” Toni says, turning to me, “Wren thinks you’re really cool. She wouldn’t stop talking in the car about how you have a motorcycle. Don’t be surprised if her and Theo drag you out tomorrow to ask you a million questions about it! Is it true you’re a carpenter?”

Hah hah! A gen Z thinks I’m cool, with my tattoos and my motorcycle and my carpentry! Shut ‘er down, everyone go home, shows’ over! Actually, I was pretty unironically thrilled. “Ah, yes I am. That’s neat.” I smiled.

“I’m going to go work on a cheese board for Christmas and have some bubbly, who wants to join me?” Toni announces.

Cheese board? Yes please.

I followed them down to the kitchen for the cafe. We scrub in and select some cheeses. Bianca cuts them up; someone hands me a couple of pates and something John calls an antipasto because he’s not Italian and doesn’t know what an antipasto is. I do my best, but I don’t like the plates I’m handed.

“Do you mind if we take pictures of you all for social media?”

We all shrug.

We take the boards out to the table and take some photos with tall flutes of rose. One glass turns into 2 and then 3. Everyone else melts away, but like always, I find it hard to leave when there’s free booze. Eventually it’s just me, Wren, Theo and Toni, with the three kids having an intense discussion of politics and Toni looking sort of baffled.

“Confused that the kids are into politics?” I asked her.

“No, just wondering how you know all this stuff.” She shakes her head. “Where did you come from, again?”

“Worldpackers.” I blink, “It’s not you I was messaging on there, was it?”

“No, someone set up the account in my name.”

Must be the mysterious Lisa who’s behind the HR email account. Why doesn’t she just say that? That explains some of the chaos.

Eventually the bubbly wears out and I should head to bed. As I stand up and thank Toni for the glass, she smiles, “It was nice to see you join us and hang out.”

Maybe I am my own worst enemy some days.