What to do for winter? (more of a question whether I buy more clothes 😅)
Courier blues; courier packages being dumped; massive delivery delays and internal snafus- been waiting for a package for over a week only to be told it had been returned to the retailer because of missed paperwork.
Ordered KFC two days in advance - 😂- so we hope the delivery people don’t fuck it up.
I couldn’t believe this is the 1st time after more than a month of being inside the house, that I’ve been out other than supermarket trips.
Is it weird being fascinated by a Japanese manga series featuring naked giant people with no visible genitals running amok and eating people? I blame Matt for this- now on Season 3
When I was a teenager, I used to count the days before summer school break. I would make a list of things that were not things to do, but things to accomplish. I don’t remember now what those were, but I do remember what i didn't accomplish; learn French was on my list for two consecutive summers. I even stole a book on beginner’s French from our high-school library.
Today, I’m still counting and I’ve asked myself what’s the objective? Is there an end-game to this? Is it back to the normalcy we once knew? I said it back in February before we even had an inkling of how severe things were going to be “Just stay at home really and probably not spend too much money. Maybe we need this. Maybe this is the (soft) reset humanity needs to see exactly what its priorities are. And I believe these are mine, or at least something better to do than twiddling your thumbs..”
And I did save money
I exercised a bit
Wasn’t able to draw anything
I cooked a lot
Didn't get to learn how to drive
Didn't get to watch Godfather or a whole lot of shows either
I need to add more stuff to the list. I should also stop counting the days.
It’s one of those holidays I politely celebrate by sleeping in or watching the festivities on the news. It’s by accident and choice that you live in New Zealand, but its history will never really be a part of you. Mary & Sam had grandfathers who fought in the 1st and 2nd world wars and they have the medals & memorabilia stored somewhere. My Tatay lived through the second-world war and my dad was born in 1942 in Japanese occupied Manila and all I have are stories that I don’t actually remember anymore.
But we all forgot that the stand-in-your-driveway commemoration that was asked of all New Zealanders early this morning and not that tMary & Sam would wake up for it anyway.
I would’ve if the two white people in the house led the way but we all got up at 10am which is the usual for a Saturday.
I decided to make Anzac biscuits though which is strange because I’ve never liked their inherent hardness. They’re similar to gingersnap cookies with that tough outer surface that gives way to a crumbly inside. I got the recipe from an email by Farro Foods which called for:
1 cup rolled oats
¾ cup desiccated coconut
1 cup flour (or use 1 cup almond meal and ½ cup gluten free cornflour)
¾ cup brown sugar
125g butter
2 Tbsp golden syrup
½ tsp baking soda
2 Tbsp boiling water
¾ cup cranberries, chopped dried apricots (soaked in hot water for 5 mins and drained) or chocolate chunks
I didn't have desiccated coconut, golden syrup and cranberries/apricots so I substituted them with crushed pecans, maple syrup and sultanas respectively in the same quantities. The rolled oats I used also had raspberry bits and coconut in it. You can find the full recipe here.
I ended up with nine balls of dough which I later realised was a mistake- the recipe called for balls the size of walnuts and in my mind walnuts were nearly the size of golf-balls 😂. With the cooking time estimated at 15-18 minutes, I thought that the large cookies would burn at the edges before the centres cooked.
But they didn’t- they were a bit crumbly though even after they’ve cooled, and were not at all, like the commercial store-bought Anzac cookies. And I think that 125 grams of butter was a lot and contributed to the cookie being a tad too moist/oily.
There was a time when the one birthday that I really wanted was to be alone in New York; nice hotel, great meals, Broadway, shopping. Now, I can’t even think about travelling without worrying about sickness and death. It feels that we’ve been plunged back into the middle-ages when voyages put you at the mercy of everything from pirates, sea-monsters, scurvy to storms.
In hindsight, perhaps all I ever wanted was to be not remembered- baffling why I’d like something like that- but today, under these circumstances, I seem to mind it less. When the lockdown started, I added work-colleagues to my work-only Facebook account and greetings dutifully came through the whole day; services and products sent their automated greetings and marketing enticements.
I worked, only because continuity for some comms was necessary (and frankly, I was the only one who could do it capably) and I cooked, did chores and by day’s end, I was exhausted. Not the birthday I would have wanted, but a lot of things recently seem out of our control- like last night at the supermarket, I was looking for cream-cheese to make a cheesecake and the space in the refrigerated aisle where it usually was located, was empty. I was thinking maybe I’ll do Sara Lee, got two vegan coconut cakes but returned them when saw an Edmonds cheesecake premixed box; at least it wouldn’t literally come out of the box I thought.
I also got emails that two items I had bought as birthday gifts to myself had been dispatched- wouldn’t be nice to receive fresh new Nikes and a fresh pair of Nudie jeans on my birthday even if it would be stupid to wear them to the supermarket which is the only place I go to these days anyway? But they didn't arrive so that was a bummer.
And then I thought, well, when I wake up tomorrow, it will be a new day, but no different really from yesterday, or today…and that’s that.
It’s day 25- this is what worked and what didn’t.
I wish I was that clever, but I don’t think I’m organised enough to create a vegetable garden, but for people who can- you should. Rip off those lovely useless flowers and now is the time to be self-sufficient and sustainable
I don’t think I could go back to cereals. Had one box of Nutri-Grain and there’s still heaps of it left. I really don’t eat anything until after lunch, and when I do, I go for proteins and some bit of carbs. I also discovered that I’m not lactose intolerant after all- either that, or I can now tolerate milk. But milk- UHT milk- stock up on it if you can, or always have at least a month’s supply of it.
I think that when we start eating our canned food at least for us, that’s it- the situation outside and our situation would probably be at a level that can be described as critical. We never even opened a single can. The idea of canned spaghetti on toast is amusing yes, but not palatable. I cooked everyday with fresh and frozen stuff- and we ate well.
Basically, for a cook who has a bit of an extensive repertoire but only working with three spices is pretty much like Meryl Street acting in a movie with two of the worst actors in the biz whoever these may be. This also ensures that even if you have chicken three times a week, they will always taste remarkably different. So start organising and putting together a really good spice and condiment stash.
Sure if you don’t mind getting fat. My problem with pasta is that the stuff that makes it palatable to most people is not healthy. I wouldn’t mind pasta dressed with just anchovies and chilli, or with garlic and olive oil, but people generally expect cheese, creams and butter. Over 25 days, we’ve had pasta only twice.
If you can find one- every freezer under 300 litres and under $500 is motherfucking sold out. Our main purchases in-store and online was for proteins because we had limited freezer space. Just imagine what I could put in a freezer- ice creams!- which I could only buy once because the motherfucking tub was too big!
I have money to spare but I don’t want to be scammed with over-priced fresh produce. Our food waste is primarily fresh produce so I spend more time prioritising how and when I cook them.
Which I did- whole beans, pods and instant.
..and because food is never far away from my mind, I did some baking today. Nothing really complicated or expensive- I didn't even have to buy anything special because I have all the ingredients in the pantry.
It’s a simple lemon cake with a sugary-lemony drizzle; the recipe is from the NY Times of course which you can find here.
I started writing something in the morning but work got in the way, so here we are, with photos again. I suddenly remembered that I have Google Photos; I think these were from Instagram and as you can see, food is never far away from my mind.
Don’t want to talk about it really, work I mean.
Today the government announced going down an alert level next week, but nothing much will change really. I think this is more of an easing for businesses who keep complaining about draining profits. Malls and restaurants will still be closed, but there will be more deliveries- McDonalds, KFC anyone? But food deliveries are expensive so aside from that one KFC meal, I’d stick to going to the supermarket which I enjoy, and cooking my own meals.
Well, not really when I’ve managed to get a head-start for tomorrow’s work schedule; read all the documents; tested the new builds in the back-end; fixed up my documentation notes. When I was younger I didn't have much of a strong study ethic because I didn't see any value in it for me, but now I do. Nothing is worse than coming up to a Monday unprepared mentally and physically.
And there’s no excuse because as an adult with adult resources at your disposal, you can be prepared- your clothes (I always wear nicer things on Monday); your face (I wind down early on Sunday so I could rest earlier than usual); your lunch (I make my best lunches on Mondays); your tasks- I check all my emails and my scheduled meetings and make a mental map of how I’m going to tackle the day ahead.
And today was no different- but other than that, I didn’t do anything else. Finally finished the Netflix show The Final Table where the eventual winner was someone who didn’t have much of a personality and because everyone worked in teams before the finals, was also someone who didn’t seem to put in the work as much as the other guy who also made it to the finals (that’s what we see anyway on screen).
And there’s a lesson there actually that I should remember - don’t be too prepared; don’t be that bitch who always makes it a point to be too extra. Life is too short- and uncalculated- for you to be always calculating when you can actually relax once in a while. Loaf around. Do nothing for a change. Just this once.
The unassuming Tim Hollingsworth won Netflix’ The Final Table, with a dish he’s cooked before, that trumped the inventiveness and audacity of his competitors. At the end of the day, even chefs who call themselves progressive stick to old habits and inevitably pick a dish that is neither inventive nor bold, but settled and perfect.
This is not the Easter I know.
My mom spent an Easter with us once in New Zealand and we were looking for fish or seafood and we found squid at Pan N Save that still had ink- they forgot to clean it- and we had to beg and explain to the person at the counter that we wanted it that way.
I remember the long, quiet days when we were little which I didn’t mind; and when we were older, the purely social excursions to church for the Stations of the Cross, where you dressed up and checked out (and judged) everyone you saw. I think I was 13 or 14 and I got obsessed with penny-loafer shoes which I wore with no socks and pegged jeans. I did get them though how, I cannot remember (nor why I was obsessed with them in the first place) and wore them (with a white shirt ) to church to do the Stations of the Cross.
I was looking at my feet the entire time and to this day I can remember their satisfying click on the stone floors and how the new, stiff leather chaffed at my feet but which I didn't mind.
I bought the lamb online- butterflied and boneless South Island grass-fed lamb. For dessert, I thought of making the hot-cross buns we’ve been keeping in the freezer into a bread and butter pudding.
The stuff I would swap for lamb- charcoal-grilled bangus with squid cooked in its ink and vinegar; pan-fried tilapia with a squash flower salad dressed in calamansi and fish-sauce; steamed river shrimps with an egg omelet. And the best Easter Sunday lunch? Lechon.
But this is the Easter I now celebrate so…
A challenge to barbecue because the entire length of it has varying thicknesses. What’s good about this though is that it can cater to different preferences; varying thicknesses means there’s a part that’s rare, medium rare and well-done.
Found a few more clothes in the garage that I’ve barely worn; and they’re clothes that aren’t exactly cheap. Ugh I know- it’s some form of addiction- buying clothes. My mom has always said that I’ve gotten my vanity from Tatay…well. So I laundered them, did an electronic mail-out for work, tried but failed to find resistance bands that I thought were in the garage, and did exercises with weights.
Exercises- still something I haven’t been able to fully do, along with writing and drawing..life is hard!
I also read somewhere that the corona virus can travel up to 13 feet, and that samples taken from the shoe soles of medical staff working with Covid-19 patients tested positive; that if you weren't cautious, your damn shoes can be carriers of the virus!
Did roast pork-belly but I still have to find that fool-proof recipe for really tender- but not falling off the bone tender- meat. Used individual springform pans for scalloped potatoes and kumara and next time, I should just omit kumara. It’s just too sweet! Might try and do a spiced kumara pie or something next time.
Did trendy charred broccoli and realised that I should have blanched it before-hand; it was a bit too al dente and there’s a fine line between burnt and charred.
This was a day-off, one of my days in lieu that i needed to get rid off. It was supposed to be rainy, even stormy but Auckland’s dysfunctional weather system was true to form. Tricked me to doing laundry and 2 hours later, in the middle of bawling over Youtube videos of child-singers and their sappy stories, I had to run outside to bring the washing in before everything was totally drenched.
I could have left it outside, but I have this belief that rain is essentially dirty; and that clothes that get drenched in the rain and later dry out, are dirty- contaminated. But that’s just me. I later dumped the clothes in the dryer and couldn’t be bothered hanging them back up.
But it was an otherwise lazy day. I did check my email several times, answered a few urgent ones. Our project manager rang my office phone line- it was off- like a million times- this woman who the other day, could barely talk with a throat infection that wasn’t Covid-19, but was severe enough that she declared she was taking a break. And now she was calling again. Totally ignored her.
-wiped down the kitchen with a Dettol disinfectant and the smell reminded me of my Tatay’s (my mum’s dad) fondness for Lysol- that hospital-y, piney smell.
- Watched ‘The First Wives Club’ on Netflix. I have this thing with watching movies I’ve already seen; I skip through the non-exciting parts and finish the movine in 15 or 20 minutes.
- Went through my ‘shopping list’ again but I really shouldn't . I don’t need new pants, hoodies, these nice transitional henley shirts, a new winter jacket, a new pair of glasses. Actually I do, but I’m not convinced that they’re NOT essential.
For dinner, finally made a version of ‘laing’ that I’ve always wanted to do with neither traditional gabi/taro leaves or fish-paste (bagoong). And it worked. Swiss chard or silverbeet is similar to gabi and holds itself well when you cook down the coconut milk to that point where the sauce is thick. You still want that saltiness that you get from bagoong but I thought that more than saltiness, it’s that umami flavour you want and thought that anchovies would be the perfect substitute. And it was.
The one thing I would change would be the choice of pork cut- I used pork scotch which I didn’t render well. I would use pork belly the next time which I would pan-fry until crisp.
Silverbeet, ginger-garlic-onions, pork, coconut cream and anchovies
Who knew it would work?
..whatever that maybe….
If you do, that’s how long you have to watch a mystery, a comedy or catch up with the news. There are docus, true stories and Chrissy Teigen doing a Judge Judy turn. There’s LeBron, Justin Bieber, Pulso news from Telemundo. All of it clocking at just 10 minutes, and only viewable on your phone.
Welcome to Quibi.
When you sign-up, you get a free trial run for 3 months after which you’e charged a monthly subscription of $13.99. If I like it, then I won’t cancel after 3-months. This means, it joins a really crowded party where Netflix, Disney+, Apple TV, Amazon, Hulu, NeonTV and TVNZ compete for my ever worsening eyesight.
Funny thing is, I struggle to finish a movie (average length: 2 hours) even if I have ensconced myself in bed with snacks. I keep getting distracted (must really be my ADHD). Today, I finished the last 10 minutes of my morning tea-break watching Sophie Turner in the Quibi survival thriller Survive. And you know what? The length was just perfect and more importantly, the show was substantial.
Apparently, the funding for this short-form mobile platform is in the billions (that’s Jeffrey Katzenberg and Meg Whitman- Google them if you don’t know who they are) which translates to $100,000 per minute for its top-tier offerings. And the quality shows- question is, will I be $13.99 poorer?
I had this brilliant idea that from now on- or until the lockdown ends anyway- the line between work and the personal will be blurred; that both would flow into each other seamlessly; that I would be diving into conceptualising a future project one moment and getting out of it to prep tonight’s dinner the nek minute.
Well I did that Sunday and man was I exhausted.
Woke up to a Monday groggily facing back to back early morning audio/conference meetings, struggled through lunch and only getting energy and idea levels up by 3pm which by then, the day was over.
So at least they got one remote work non-negotiable right- stick to a routine. Keep the weekends purely for personal stuff and wind down by late afternoon on the Sunday because one thing never changes- and that’s Monday.
(Photo: Nikon Z 6 / JPEG/ ISO 2200/ 1/1250 sec/ F/4.0/ Nikkor Z 24-70mm lens)
This is an interesting article in the NY Times, (Stop Trying to Be Productive) because in a lot of ways, it’s true. Like I see a lot of fitness stuff (fitness influencers are having the time of their lives right now) and I think- good luck with that! Lucky for you with winter coming, you can hide those pounds acquired from all that panic-buying under your winter layers 😂.
My advantage is that I’m used to it. Before living in New Zealand, and back home in Pangasinan, I spent three lucrative years doing ‘freelance writing’ after quitting work at the Provincial Government. It was 24/7 and full on in front of your computer the whole day. I’d take a breather and finish at 6pm after which I’d either go out on my motorcycle or bicycle, or go drinking with friends. On weekends, I’d let the help rest and I would buy and cook anything I wanted for the family (my mom and my brother and his family). I really didn't go anywhere else and my circle of friends was small and I never did see them that often. I never deviated from that schedule though I went to the gym on and off.
When I got to New Zealand, it was more of the same and even more so because I don’t drive. Weekends are the library, or the mall, and making meals of course.
Probably the only thing that I miss is going to the supermarket because yes, I go to the shops nearly everyday. While I can plan meals seven days in advance in my head, there is a day when I suddenly don’t like to make what I had planned. A food ingredient, or a craving or a dish’s complexity would trigger it and I would reshuffle in my head, all the ingredients I have on hand and see if I need to get something I don’t have in my pantry.
Otherwise, easing into this is like slipping into your pajamas. Sure, I’d like to do more and be more ambitious like everyone else, but it’s really one chore at a time which I’m ticking off. People don’t realise that accomplishing even what seems to be the smallest of things is in itself, a big deal; eg. we would grab a paper napkin, or posted mail to use as a coaster when we’re in the lounge with drinks so we wouldn’t ruin the surface of this $800 coffee-table we bought a couple of months ago. Today, I went to the garage and hunted down these left-over ceramic tile pieces that we threw out, sanded the bottom and now they’re on the coffee-table as coasters- took all of 20 minutes. I finally also repurposed a plant-pot into a pencil and pen and finally got to organise all the drawing stuff I have still in their boxes; and as a result, out of their boxes, I was able to clear my desk and have space for other things.
I also cleaned the bathroom; sorted my shoes; looked up a site where we could buy lamb for Easter and vacuumed (you can never vacuum enough).
And yes, as I’ve planned, I was able to make an apple and feijoa crumble as well.
Being truly productive is using the time you have for things that really matter to you- and not from what you see or read from the goddamned Internet.
We went to the supermarket 30 minutes before opening just to make sure I would be at least one of the first five people to wait in line- turns out, 20 or 30 more people had the same idea and were there earlier than we were. A big burly Pacific Islander was literally supervising the queue as a bouncer would in a hot night-club and 10 minutes before New World opened, was picking out people in the line he judged as ‘elderly’ to get in first. Yes- in this new normal, senior citizens trump the young.
But it didn’t take that long really, or maybe I’m just accepting of the fact that I had to wait my turn, and that I am fortunate to be living in a country where there are no food shortages- but where there are plenty of stupid people whose sense of self-preservation is skewed towards ignorant dismissiveness and the endangerment of others.
In spite of being inside my Zen bubble, it was still exhausting. And I still couldn’t find proper lamb, but did get ice cream, and would have to make do with frozen hot-cross buns turned into a pudding. Ahhh food. It’s all I ever think about and the only saving grace of the day would have to be the fact that what I made for dinner today is my absolute favourite.
Now this is essential food- singularly nourishing, simple and clean (always get the best organic, free-range chicken you can buy).
So easy isn’t it, to criticise from your Remuera mansion?
Hope all of you get the damned virus
Ya know nothing Simon Bridges
Try to investigate your own ineptness
Not their fault, but can we just do as they say and leave them alone so we don’t hear fuck all from them ever again?
And now that you are, why don’t you start helping everyone else? You started this in the first place, let’s NOT FORGET ABOUT THAT. This is not xenophobia- this is accountability.
How can you really feel sorry for a country that let this happen to themselves?????? He is there because the people allow him to.
It pains me to say this but Madonna, it’s time to retire; you’ve lost your connection to the world and all your music since Ray of Light have been SHIT
Ryan checks his watch- 9:30am and smiles realising he still had a full hour before the car comes to pick him up. Six – make it a full eight as Sarah has said, and that will be plenty of time. The helicopter- a CH-47F Chinook, the fastest in the world with maximum speeds of 310km/h- will be waiting in that hidden clearing in Awhitu.
Even without traffic, this will still be at over an hour’s drive. And the flight to Spirits Bay at top speed would be according to Ned, exactly an hour at full throttle. Coughing yet? Feverish even when you’ve had your favourite glass of 80-year old Scottish whiskey? This is the running joke with Ned, a hulking 6 foot 5 Irish-Samoan with the gentle disposition of his island forbears, but with a love of the drink inherited from his Irish father. Ned has been on the red circuit for a full 72 hours- red is when you’ve logged nearly 64,000kms with only two hour rests (if any) squeezed in there somewhere, stealthily shuffling members of the Faction between continents and within the European union. So far, none of the Faction leaders have been infected with the virus and if the communique was to be believed, the consequences if this happened would be swift and severe.
But for the lowly rank and file like themselves- and even if Ned was probably one of the best pilots in the world as well as a genius with an IQ of 170- who knew what the Faction would do. The virus was rewriting every rule in the book and he wonders how he would fare- a middle-aged Asian guy of modest if not average talents, put in charge of an isolated country in the Pacific with a population of less than 6 million.
He accepted the ruthlessness of this reality and of his fate because he knew that the end game was survival, at all costs, and the Faction was there to ensure that when everything that the public knows is there to protect them fails, they won’t. He could see his daughter’s face, his family’s in the Philippines, his friends…Camille? Failure is not an option.
He must have been musing far too long because his watch reminds him with an urgent alert that there is 15 more minutes before the driver arrives. He goes to the kitchen and in swift, precise movements unwraps the corned beef, puts it in the slow-cooker, drops golden syrup, cloves, onions (thank God there were leftover diced ones in the fridge) and vinegar as per Sarah’s instructions.
By the time he walks down the driveway dressed in cargo shorts and a black hoodie, the driver – in a bullet-proofed black Merc with diplomatic license plates- pulls up. They drive out in silence with only an occasional beep from the GPS tracker indicating that the local authorities have been informed why this imposing vehicle is going at least 20kph higher than the limit. The highway isn’t completely deserted-typical Kiwis, he thinks, though really, the situation isn’t as dire as the US or Italy. But he can’t really think this way, not yet. Hopefully, this rendezvous in Spirits Bay would be just as he is expecting it to be, an assessment and reassurance from the Faction that all was well in this isolated part of the Pacific. That life will go back to normal.
Arriving in Awhitu, he spies Ned waiting outside the chopper clad head to toe in leather that seems to have been poured over his body, his muscles rippling underneath the taut material. On his vape with no visible smoke coming out (who knew if the virus can be carried by vape smoke?), Ned gives him a big grin which he returns in kind; for once Ryan is relieved that their normal hugs is not possible. Ned’s hugs always feel like you were being swallowed alive by a really firm mattress.
‘Still alive big boy?’ Ryan calls out to him, wondering with a note of envy that Ned didn’t look at all like he had been flying all over the world for the past 72 hours. Ahh, youth! Ned is only 24 to his 44. Only four hours ago, Ned was in Australia touching base with Faction contacts in Sydney. Not really a talker, ‘all good mate’ is all Ned drawls out before effortlessly swinging his massive frame onto the pilot’s seat.
The chopper ascends almost noiselessly and quickly above the peninsula and even if he has seen this hundreds of times, the stunning beauty of New Zealand’s landscapes, one of the very few in the world left virtually unspoilt by man, never fails to make him wish that it would always stay this way. Let this country be safe, he prays.
True to Ned’s word, they reach Spirits Bay in exactly an hour. An isolated bay at the end of the Aupouri Peninsula near the northern tip of the North Island, Piwhane as the Maoris call it, is a sacred place and according to local legend, is the location where spirits of the dead gather to depart from this world to travel to their ancestral home or afterlife from a large old pōhutukawa tree above the bay.
There are hardly any blooming pōhutukawa trees there that he could see, but a large red object was easy to spot and for a moment, Ryan thinks he is hallucinating. Normally unperturbed by anything, Ned looks over to him, his eyes wide with fear; ahh youth, he was too young to know about Peregrine except in stories. But Ryan knows. He has seen this once- back in 2003 during the SARS outbreak. He had met Peregrine in the small Thai island of Koh Tarutao and it seemed mind-boggling how an aircraft could have landed on what was essentially a large sand-bar. But Peregrine was neither a person nor a craft; it was the Faction’s dreaded messenger system designed to deliver very urgent, and often catastrophic news. The craft that he saw in Thailand was a stealth and could hover and land vertically. The technology since 2003 has evolved and this one in the shape of something resembling a bat in flight definitely has all the bells and whistles, but one thing has remained the same- the red colour. No one knows for sure why the Faction picked red, but everyone knew it was deliberate. Red was the colour of death.
Ryan wills himself to step off the helicopter and in leaden steps, walks towards the Peregrine where the Messenger is already waiting- a young slender man with long blonde hair dressed in an expensive suit and dark glasses. Approaching him, Ryan sees that the Messenger couldn’t have been more than 17. Dramatic much, he thinks trying to make light of a moment that already feels as though it is a waking nightmare. In Koh Tarutao, the Messenger was an old Asian lady probably in her 70s and dressed in a silver cheongsam.
No words are exchanged as the Messenger hands him a black tablet with long thin fingers and walks back into the Peregrine. In no more than a minute, the Peregrine’s engines hum to life and Ryan has to step back as the thrusters push it up, expelling hot, invisible gas. It glistens for a moment above them, an angry slash of red against the blue sky before it pivots nose up and careens out of sight.
He turns the tablet face up and puts his thumb on the biometric reader. It opens and a sliver of laser light scans his eyes; he starts to read the document.
He doesn’t know how long he stands there on the grassy clearing until a huge hand gently on his shoulder nudges him out of his reverie. In the distance, he could hear the surf break and just around him, the song of birds. He looks at Ned’s face and doesn’t see the face of a physically imposing man who flies every manner of aircraft and could speak 4 languages fluently; he sees the face of one who has yet to see horror the likes of which he could only imagine. They thought they had ended this in 2003, that SARS was safely vanquished in a test tube in a secure facility in Asia. But they were wrong.
Ned didn’t have to ask him about what the message was. He begins to tell him everything and his voice is calm- as if he is already dead.
“It seems that the virus with the current death toll at 47,240 is not the real threat. Classified reports have reached the Faction that a cluster of infection, a family of 7 who recovered a month ago, have suddenly, inexplicably experienced a relapse. Three of those seven were at a medical facility for plasma donation studies when they started having convulsions. Death and paralysis happened almost instantaneously after that. Two minutes later, they were re-animated and according to the surveillance footage obtained remotely, had superhuman physical strength and aggression. They attacked and killed all but one of the 14 staff at the facility. It would seem that the virus which lies dormant and evading current testing hid its true nature- anabiosis; reanimation after death. The 13 staff were reanimated and the entire facility has been in a questionable status until more information is gathered on how to contain this. The complication however is this- four of the other family members who reside in other countries have all gone back home just before borders were closed two weeks ago. One has gone back to London, one to Germany and one to Japan..’Ryan pauses looking at Ned in the eye before continuing.
‘The fourth infected person arrived in New Zealand March 14..’
Because we’re tethered to our (remote) phone system, you need to observe the usual breaks like morning tea (30 minutes) and lunch (also 30 minutes). So what can you do in 20 minutes?
I had chicken hearts in the freezer which I brought out and with some leftover chicken breast, prepared it like one does with adobo- apple cider vinegar, diced onions and garlic, Kikkoman soy sauce and a bay leaf. Leave it to simmer until the liquid evaporates to this moorish, salty thick sauce with the hearts all tender. Problem was, got caught up with goddamned work that it burned.
Burned goddamn itttttttttttttt. Was looking forward to having it for dinner with rice and fried eggs doused with sesame oil and chilli oil. Day literally ruined.
