It's raining in Auckland. Dear God. I seem to recall it always rains when we come to Auckland. No wonder the people have a beaten look about them, a look of disappointment. It's as though they expected better.
Well, such is life. We all have our crosses tobear but we all have to make the best of things.
"I believe it's called an Anzac Biscuit. You dunk it."
It was quite nice.
THURSDAY
Andrew called.
"Well," he said.
"Well," I said.
I left a silence, and wondered whether he might fill it with tears, or an apology, or to beg me to go easy on him.
He said, "What's the weather like?"
"It's raining."
"Yes, I heard you were in Auckland."
I left another silence.
"Sorry," he said.
I remembered Barry Humphries once wrote that the English have 25 different words for sorry and they don't mean any one of them.
"Well," I said.
"I don't know what I was thinking."
"No, I'm sure you don't."
"What do you think should happen now?"
I outlined the course of action. He listened in silence, and when I finished, he said, "That's a bit harsh."
"Sorry," I said.
Prince Charles and Camilla in a walkabout at Viaduct Harbour in Auckland.
FRIDAY
To Christchurch. It's not raining. In fact the weather is wonderful, and there's a very warm feeling on our walkabout. People always want to connect and the tragedy of March 15 forms part of that need.
We relaxed afterwards with tea and biscuits.
"That was nice today," Camilla said.
"You were very good."
"So were you. You always are."
"Well," I said. "The thing is that I really like the whole thing. The walkabouts, the little chats, the look on people's faces when you stop and give them a bit of time. It gives them something, I think. It's what we do, isn't it? It's good."
"It is good," she said.
I thought of Andrew skulking in darkness for the rest of his days.
Camilla held up a biscuit. It was round and large, like a dark snowball. She said, "Do you know what this one's called?"
