Some days are busy and there isn't sufficient time to gather thoughts before the next appointment ... you can get to dinner time before you remember to have lunch.
But some days are gold ...
I started Anzac Day early because I'd not prepared well enough and needed to write an address for the service at Eltham, but needed to be in Whanganui -- 90km away -- by 5am.
With a few words burgled from King George VI, the odd biblical reference and some of my grandfather's reflections from the trenches, I jumped in the car and headed to Whanganui.
As we marched to the forecourt of the War Memorial Hall, the fog was down low and the crunch of the footsteps stopped as we were called to a halt.
People were there in their thousands, and looking up to the silhouettes of the crowd on the hill with light behind them they looked like the ghosts of fallen soldiers watching over us. It was eerie.
A quick rum and coffee and off to Eltham for that service and, as the sun came up and burned off the remnants of the fog, anyone could tell it was going to be a stunning day. Taranaki's mountain climbed into view and not a cloud in the sky.
The Eltham Anzac service was attended by nearly 200 people, a 20 per cent turnout. Maree, chairwoman of the community board, led the service, and Alan of Beck Helicopters led the singing, while messages from the Prime Minister and Governor-General were read out and brass and pipe bands played their roles, leading the hymns and playing The Last Post.
Then back to Whanganui and Pakaitore for the service led by the 28th Maori Battalion Association where people came to commemorate in their many hundreds if not a thousand.
EERIE: Whanganui's fog-shrouded Dawn Service on Anzac Day.
Again, the waiata, karakia and korero put a unique stamp on the occasion so my third service for the day, while following the same theme, was memorable for its own reasons.
After a quick chew of the fat, it was coffee and off up the Parapara. I picked up a couple of German hitchhikers at the bottom of Georgetti Road -- they wanted to canoe the Whanganui and needed to get to Raetihi.
They were absolutely taken aback when they realised they had been picked up by the Kiwi equivalent of a member of their Bundestag -- "... [ziss] would never happen in Germany!"
It's amazing how knowledgeable I can be with a carload of hitchhikers and no Kiwis to contradict me.
I spoke with authority on landforms, exotic forestry, sheep and beef farming, the evils of sow crates and battery cages, the purity of New Zealand environments, colonial history and quoted gross domestic product per head of population, foreign exchange figures and the importance of Chinese exports and FTA with Europe.
The visitors were very impressed, I could tell. Maybe they were as pleased to get out of the car at Raukawa Falls lookout in search of their next ride north, while I completed my U-turn and headed back to Ngamatea School where locals -- and some from as far away as Palmerston North -- had gathered to remember days gone by as the school was closed after 102 years.
School days are so fundamental to a happy childhood and a successful adulthood.
The stories were great and there weren't many dry eyes when principal Kath Forster rang the old school bell for the very last time.
I stood around the barbecue long enough to pinch a sausage and get into the car to take the long way home alongside the Whangaehu River, then down the Mangamahu Valley and eventually Whanganui via Fordell.
The trees were yellowed by autumn and the sun, dropping lower in the sky, set the hills ablaze. Prime cattle were giving me those "Who-the-hell-are-you?" looks as I cruised past. Pure magic.
Then it was fish and chips and home to South Taranaki after a day that had started 17 hours earlier.
This was my last Anzac Day as a Member of Parliament and so I was pretty melancholy. But it was poignant to pause and be grateful for the sacrifices made by our youngest, fittest and brightest in leaving us this beautiful country in which to live in peace. We shouldn't squander it.
