Elisabeth Easther talks to the pioneer of the OGO.
I grew up on a small farm in Kawerau, between Rotorua and Whakatane, and because my dad was an engineer, when we made the odd trip to the South Island, we'd visit all the hydroelectric power stations. I think there were at least a dozen and my brother and I would sit in the back of the car with our sister in between us and fight. Years later, my brother and I were driving around England when we saw a nuclear power station. Even though there was no visitor centre we found it fascinating, while my kids sat in the back, terribly bored, wondering when they could go home. I think my parents were determined we wouldn't take up anything as expensive as skiing, so when we went to Ruapehu they gave us socks for gloves and instead of goggles we had pieces of red cellophane duct-taped to our faces. After two days being cold and miserable, none of us wanted to go again.
When I did my OE, I found myself living in a flat in London with a bunch of Kiwis, working in a pub where Kiwis drank and I thought, I have to get out of here, so I travelled to Edinburgh. I did all sorts of things up there from working in a bookshop to washing dishes at a restaurant. The chef there was a chronic alcoholic and because he was banned from having alcohol at work, I'd have to sneak out and get him whisky. One time he tied tea towels together like a windsurf harness and attached himself to the stove so he could drink and cook without falling over.
I got into cycling in Scotland, riding off into the hills and Scottish landscapes, but trying to eat well wasn't easy. Stopping at a fish and chip shop in Dundee, my friend, who was was quite health-conscious, said he could feel the fat seeping into his pores from the atmosphere alone. In an attempt to order the healthiest thing, he chose pizza and the man at the counter asked if he wanted it battered or just deep fried.
