Remember that song? I am going to sit right down and write myself a letter. Well Kadizzle is perplexed how to spend his last day on the South Island. Kadizzle got back to the top too fast. He should have spent one more day at West Port, but the weather tricked him into leaving too soon. So now for the final day the choice is to either get in the car and drive up to Abel Tasman once more or just flump around Nelson. Flumping consist of aimlessly wandering around and just letting life take it's course. For some reason flumping seems appealing. Amazing how quiet it was here at the flop house. Kadizzle slept well. Tomorrow morning Kadizzle has to get up very early to return the car and fly back to Auckland. If everyone in the U.S. drove these tiny buzzer cars the oil industry would fail in a week. There doesn't seem to be a gas guzzler on this whole island. At six dollars a gallon only Trump could afford gas here. However, here like everywhere cars induce a special kind of masculine insanity. You have to drive fast and act like you control the world. The New Zealanders will have to lose points for the way they drive. They are like bees buzzing all over the place. The roundabouts are like amazing blenders and it is a wonder how they sort idiots at the speed of light.
The beach at Split Apple Rock seemed so inviting that one possibility for today is to go back there with a wet suit and swim. A wet suit on Kadizzle will fit like a condom. Maybe Kadizzle could borrow a wet suit from Mrs. Karbunkle. Now coffee time is near. Every place in New Zealand has the identical water boiling tea kettle. The thing a ma jig sits on a hot plate and shuts itself off when the coffee is ready. It is kind of a neat idea. The British heritage means tea is popular here. Well maybe some coffee will stimulate the brain into action.
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