A weekly ode to the joys of moaning about your holidays.
As the Interislander-loving Waratahs once sang, "What a way to start a holiday!" I've had cause to mutter this line (with somewhat less jubilance than the Waratahs) over the years, normally while battling sea sickness of biblical proportions while crossing the Cook Strait.
Though the last time this not-quite-iconic Kiwi catchphrase popped into my head and out of my mouth in ironic fashion had nothing to do with ferries or choppy seas. It was a few months ago and I was heading to Australia for a travel writing trip, only I very nearly didn't make it on the plane. The reason? Tim Roxborogh versus Timothy Roxborogh.
The dear person who'd booked my flights had used the name I've been called for the past 30-odd years: Tim Roxborogh. Only problem is — and I'm sure you've guessed it — that's not the name on my passport.
As it was explained to me while nervously looking at my watch and making frantic phone calls, there's a three-letter rule that may or may not be strictly official but is generally applied. What this means is that the "othy" of Timothy exceeded the three-letter rule by one solitary letter. Despite protestations that clearly Tim is short for Timothy and there's considerable evidence that I am both Tim Roxborogh and Timothy Roxborogh, the name on the booking was too many letters different from the name on my passport. It's a security issue and I wasn't getting on board.