Rugby World Cup Road Trip: Kea Kaha-Mobile exorcised by local priest

Father Don restored the spiritual index of the Kaha. Photo / Matt Johnson

How better to gauge the nation's Rugby World Cup mood than put a man in a campervan and tell him to get lost?

Matt Johnson checks in from Masterton.

Our RWC road trip was in the Wairarapa and we had seen the light.

And no, it wasn't the All Black manager coming the other way with a torch. Looking for more players breaking curfew. On the misty Rimutaka Range, the marvel of engineering that was the Fell Engine lay dormant. Wheels still. But elsewhere, spirits grew restless by the hour.

If ever there was a place to seek protection from the Lord, it was Masterton.

The ghosts of yuppies who'd arrived for Toast Martinborough then lost their way home could been seen dragging their phantom boatshoes along Hillcrest Street. Outside Hoke Smoke Takeaways in Featherston, one of the contestants for Miss Upper Hutt 2012 was looking for sponsorship; smoking in her Ugboots. It was hard to tell whether she was real or not. Inside, the Pacific oysters seemed to be moving by themselves.

Just before midnight, we sort refuge in a church. Sanctuary. Like those immortal dudes in Highlander. Only with our own independent, freedom-camping, toilet unit.

Father Don Morrison took us in. Pulled no punches:

Had any French Rugby supporters been inside the Kea Kaha-Mobile? Said things like espionage and croissant? In French?

Oui.

Had any South Africans discussed their demolition of Fiji - and their false qualms about Namibia - within a ten metre radius of the Kaha's racy rear wheels?

Yes.

He didn't need to know any more. Sprinkled us immediately with some of Richie McCaw's bottled water. Recommended, as it was getting dark, that it would be safer to confront our World Cup demons in sunlight the next morning. Harry his dog agreed.

In truth, I'd struggled with my faith ever since Warren Jarvis kept hold of his communion host and swapped it for a K-Bar at lunchtime in Year 6. But whatever Father Don did, the results for the Kea Kaha-Mobile were immediate. Slime stopped oozing down the walls. That damp, hairy Asian girl who was always climbing out of the shower plughole packed up her deadly videotape and left.

The Kaha's spiritual index had been restored.

To celebrate Father D made us a cup of tea and sent us on our way. Wellington beckoned.

* Follow Matt across New Zealand at his RWC Road Trip blog or on twitter @KeaKaharoadtrip.