Coming ‘home’

By Claire Doorey

The 'returning missionary' is an easy breed to spot. We are the ones with our trousers 3 seasons too short, immobilised by choice in the supermarket aisles. We are further frustrating the check-out queue as we frantically fumble with our EFTPOS card valiantly trying to recall which way round your card goes in to those little machines. We are wanting to blend in, so we hastily don the ubiquitous colour black and buy jeans.

But things do change and it's the small societal differences that catch us out. For example we now need to know the difference between 'seared' and 'crispy' at McDonalds and whatever you choose, that is exactly what you become after 60 seconds in the New Zealand sun!

For the first few weeks you can observe objectively with fresh eyes what's new before you grow cultural cataracts in the land flowing with milk and honey and Suzuki Swifts. Like those with shoulders not really worthy of exposure show them any way and with as many stringy straps as possible. Shea butter apparently goes in your hand lotion not on your bread. Kitchen recipes are awash with balsamic vinegar. Petrol has got cheaper, muffins have got bigger, cheese has got dearer and fish'n'chips are still not good for you but taste great.

Sunday morning church is shrinking while the Bowls club is thriving. You can't air a programme on TV 2 unless it has the word extreme in front of it. Everybody has a dog and recycling takes time. Minerals are now an essential element in your makeup not just your diet and every second person is on Omega 3 supplements. Glaringly white teeth appears to be mandatory and looking your age is a mortal sin. The 3 colour trend for hair puts most tortoiseshell tabbies in the shade and necklaces have become mini chandeliers.

But give us a month and you'll no longer notice us and all the above will become a familiar blur and we'll be saying 'it's all good' with the rest of you.