Mootpoint

One. That strategy competitions are somewhat weird, and, discovered after some semi-sloshed investigative work at the after drinks, that some people take them far more seriously than I do. On Monday, myself and three other MBA students arrived at uni at 8.30 in the morning, were given a fairly hefty case study (about a Korean business-to-business ecommerce software provider in 2001, in case you crave details), and then were left to our own devices for three hours, supplied with water, Toffee Pops and Fruit Bursts, to come up with a ten minute presentation that outlined, and justified, what we thought was the best way forward for the company given the information provided. At the same time, another four postgraduate and several more undergraduate teams from around the country were doing the same.

Our proposed strategy, I think, was very sound, and, it turns out, probably what the company should have done – it was a real case, and we were told afterwards that the company chose a different option, and went bust within a year. Just as we predicted (which I guess is kind of a cool feeling, like perhaps we’ve actually learned something over the past few weeks and months).

Unfortunately, our presentation was not so sound. To begin with there was a slight issue with the organisers which saw a couple of team mates run interference at the end of the three hours, due to a disagreement over interpretation of the rules, while I hurriedly finished off our slides, and then our actual presentation was rather more winged than perhaps we had hoped. The judges seemed to think is was ok, but we guessed from the feedback later in the day that we hadn’t done enough to win the competition. We were right, and in the end Massey Albany took out the title. Chatting to them after though, this was only fair enough, as they had done something like thirteen practice case studies before, at at least whereas our team had done one or two total!

So I guess we were legitimately pwned.

Two. That when you find yourself buying rounds of Long Island Iced Teas, the following day is probably going to suck on two counts: physically and financially. Although I guess I can’t really say I learned this in the last week, more had it reinforced after past, similar, experiences. Still, the mechanical bull was good fun, and the hangover was not.

Three. That clouds aren’t cool when you’re trying to watch a total eclipse of the moon. Damn clouds.

Four. That Wellington is a cool place to have as a getaway destination. I felt extremely, well, relaxed when I arrived today. The bus ride into town is almost becoming routine, and the view of the harbour from Adam and Heidi’s window is like coming home in some ways. I’m here for the next four days, and hope to catch up with everyone (like, in the entire world) while I’m here. And get some sleep. And read a book or two. And not think of anything to do with business, or an MBA, or anything along those lines.

One thing I’ve been noticing lately, is that if you’re going past an incredibly familiar place or road or building, if you look at said place or road or building at a slightly different angle, in a slightly different way, it suddenly ceases to be incredibly familiar, and you can almost capture that feeling you get when you visit somewhere new and see that place for the first time with fresh eyes. I most often get it when I look out of the side window while driving across an intersection, as if looking down a street while you’re moving perpendicular to it somehow makes it a totally different place to the one you might have turned down otherwise.

Sometimes the feeling strikes me so hard it takes my breath away, and all of a sudden Christchurch isn’t quite so staid and boring as sometimes I fear it is. Maybe it’s because spring appears to be fast approaching? Perhaps.

Either way, it’s a good thing, as I’ve just said goodbye to my Mum, who’s off to (I believe – I’d check the itinerary, but really, it won’t diminish the “Wow, cool!” impact) Peru, Ecuador, Bolivia and Easter Islands for a seven week, take lots of photographs trip. Her camera bag probably weighs more than her pack – the amount of backup batteries, films, cameras, and all the rest of it she decided she needed to take to make sure nothing went wrong once she’d trekked up to Machu Picchu is really quite formidable. What’s more, in a strange twist of Christchurch fate, it turns out that one of her camera-companions is the mother of one of the other guys in the MBA programme. Two degrees, indeed.

So, Mum’s in South America for seven weeks, Dad’s just completed 10 weeks in the USA, notching up 25 national parks in that time, and is off to the UK and Europe for another six. Juliet’s in Melbourne, but that’s more living than travelling I guess, Dad’s partner Liz has just headed to Indonesia for a month. Not only is all of this travel simply underlining that I’m ultra sick of my computer screen, I get the feeling that someone, somewhere, is spending my inheritance.

But, speaking of the computer screen. It’s actually holidays now, lectures have finished, and for a whole two week (barring one 1,500 essay to go) we technically don’t have to be in at school. So what do I do? Sign up for a strategy competition on Monday. Cos I can’t get enough of strategy. Jedi dumbarse.

The term was a hard one. That’s my excuse for not posting in almost two months. For those of you who have been through the hell of the end of an Honours year, imagine it happening three times in one year, but with more work due each time. That pretty much sums it up.

This clip’s a little out of date in terms of what I’m listening to at the moment, but I thought I’d better post it, as it represents my conversion to Death Cab For Cutie almost fanboy. Enjoy!

Though the four of us are now spread around the world, wherever we go, we all carry memories of Grandma with us – the fun, the love, the dancing, the music, the art, her bedtime stories. Over the past few days we’ve collected a few of these between us, in the hope we can paint a picture of who Grandma was through the eyes of her grandchildren.

These are just some of the things that we remember Grandma best for…

The best chicken drumsticks in the world; mashed potatoes, carrots and peas; chocolates and sweets, hidden in the cupboard by the fridge; pink wafer ice cream sandwiches; cameo creams and chocolate chip cookies; lemonade and Sunday morning cups of tea in those brown and white teacups…

Walks to Red Cliffs for 50 cent mixtures, down the 101 steps, past Moa Cave, on to Cave Rock; walks over the peninsular, singing as we went; playing on the beach for hours while Grandma watched on…

The bed time stories! Everyone remembers the bed time stories, where she told fantastic tales of what the other pair of cousins got up to, or of our Dads and their brothers’ adventures when they were young, or of her and Granddad’s travels round the world…

Sunday morning BBC radio stories in Grandma and Granddad’s bed, especially Flick the Little Fire Engine; Sunday evening Walt Disney TV shows lying in front of the kitsch electric fireplace; The Sound of Music; Dorris Day; Whitney Huston; The Beegees; Tiffany; the girls making Grandma watch heaps of dances choreographed by them just for her…

The yellow shag pile carpet and the immaculately clean house, including the front steps and pathway which Grandma used to sweep on sunny days; the rhythmic comforting tick tock of the grandfather clock in the living room; Waking up in the morning and sitting in front of that electric heater underneath the grandfather clock until it was sunny enough to fall asleep in the conservatory; the view from the balcony of their house, and the sound it made when you ran around it, footsteps echoing off the walls and ceiling; Christmases at the house with the whole family; catching Grandma putting Christmas presents under the tree one Christmas…

Painting watercolour scenes of banks peninsular with Grandma on wet Sunday afternoons; painting rocks in a stream bed, somewhere on Banks Peninsular on one of our walks; going through her art and playing with her old oil paints…

Visits from the Ogilvies; riding on the orange skateboard down the Ogilvies’ driveway, while a worried Grandmother watched on; visits to Gran and Harry; making everyone gin and tonics…

Watching excitedly for Grandma’s car to drive along the causeway on her way home from Farmers; leaving Grandma and Granddad’s house on a Sunday after spending the weekend, not wanting to leave, tired and sleepy, that feeling as you turned out of the driveway with the crazy downhill dip and turn thing, looking back at the Port Hills from Ryans Road – you could almost see their house from home…

But most of all, we will never forget Grandma Bobbletree’s amazing, unwavering, unconditional love for all of us, her generous spirit, her kindness and her devotion to her grandchildren.

Thank you Grandma.