...exciting times...very exciting times...

So yeah.

Nic has recently disembarked from the English teaching gravy train and and is clutching her sweaty ticket in her sweaty palm looking around the platform at the station marked "Designer-town."

That's right kids. Full-time, 100%, all-the-way, no-looking-back designing here in the sunny Hiroshima-towne. And I am unbelievably bonkers excited for her.

She is featured this week on Runway Reporter - an NZ fashion website.

So check it out: her NZ interweb debut right here...

Wooooohoooooo!

Not only does my wife rool, it turns out she is, in fact, the cats pyjamas, as well as being the bees knees (hows that for multi-tasking?)

In other news, we have just come into possession of a frankly enormous new computer. And it`s lightning quick and just plain nifty (mmmmm dual core...) Oh and the screen!! Good lord, the screen!!!

I had to drag myself away from it just moments after the poor courier chap had dragged it up the stairs to the front door. It was almost bigger than he was.

We were off to cherry blossom viewing.

There is a signal in Japan when you know that spring is here and that everything is going to be alright. It is heralded on the warming winds following the long, bitter winter and is accompanied by a million million trees in their pale, shy, full bloom.

It is the smell of BBQ.

More to the point it is the smell of charcoal BBQ.

Now I am a fan of the gas BBQ a-la the NZ style. Don't get me wrong. But there is something about the time and energy outlayed on a charcoal BBQ that appeals to me immensely.

The tink-tink-tink of the charcoal as it sets itself into a slow burn. The myriad reds and oranges that mark time as you wait, and drink beer, for that moment when the greyness sets in and the coals call incessantly, but almost silently, for succor, for reason, for enlightenment... for meat.

(mmeeeeeeaaaaat....mmmeeeeaaaattt)

We used to have the classic NZ tripod charcoal BBQ. You all know the one. The legs don't quite fit properly anymore and the half circle steel wind shield is almost rusted through. The grill is black with age, soot and fat from last summer, it isn't quite flat anymore and doesn't quite fit into the slots like it used to.

But you duly fill the BBQ with charcoal from the Mobil station where Morgan used to work, douse that puppy with meths (!), wait as the charcoal cracks and tinks while it soaks up the precious liquid, stand back, stand well back, and hurl a match in.

WOOF! Welcome to summer.

It was always a constant battle fitting enough meat-y goodness on the grill while also maintaining an eye on the dangerous tilt and wobble that threatened the collapse of the BBQ, third degree burns, a burnt down deck and worse - no meat for tea.

I distinctly remember the first day I was allowed to be solely in charge of that potential death-trap BBQ. Not helping out till you got bored, or turning your own chop but actually Go-to-Whoa in charge.

It was like a right of passage. I want a BBQ shaped mirror with paua inlays dammit.

Down by the trampoline, far enough away from the wooden stairs so as not to cause any trouble.

It was me, the BBQ, a bag of charcoal, some beehive matches, a pile of meat and a 1.5 litre bottle of meths.

Good times.

During the process my already taut nerves were stretched even further by two of Mum and Dads friends, whose opinions re: BBQ-ing I held in equally high regard. The first chap approached me, clutching his beer to his chest. He rocked back on his heels, looked to the sky and said:

"Y'know, the secret to a good BBQ is only turning the meat once, lets the juices settle...juuuuuuuuuusst once..."

...with that he ambled off towards the kitchen for more beer.

Some time later the second chap strolled on up. He looked into the flames and got that glazed over look in his eyes that signals a one-ness with the fire. Without blinking, or supping from his red, he intoned these words...

"Y'know, if you want to BBQ right, you've got to keep the meat turning all the time. Cooks the meat evenly, lets the juices move through the meat...turning...thats the key..."

...he then shook himself, as if waking from a dream, the focus came back to his eyes and he sauntered off to admire the vegetable garden.

Looking back on it, I am sure they were in cahoots and ended up high-fiving each other as I delicately attempted, on my first real BBQ as top-dog, to not only turn the meat just once, but to keep it turning all the time. Not easy. Try it. Go on.

Anyway. I could go on and on about the charcoal BBQ. About how in Chile it is an ARTFORM that I was privileged enough to witness on many an occasion and one which I aspire to recreate. About how I have enjoyed many on our tiny balcony on our tiny BBQ in Gifu, and here in the Snake park on our tiny BBQ with folk that we miss.

But for today I will just revel in the sweet charcoal smoke that says summer is just around the corner.

Yours,

Insanely proud of his good wife,

berin.