Peggieeeeeeeeeee!

And we were off! But then we weren’t, because Peggie died again. At this point we hear you all sigh for us in pity and not at all out of frustration for our ridiculous decision in buying a beat-up, botched-up van, with very little space in the back (just enough for our bed), made in 1983 (the year Chad was born – he's thirty by the way). 

Thankfully, we were close to civilisation. This is nothing short of a miracle here in New Zealand, which has so much open space in the form of endless, perfect, rolling, green hills and so many sheep filling them it could almost make you cry and definitely turns you to vegetarianism (we know, we were converted, but that’s a story for later).

We were in Puhoi, a tiny, quaint, historical town with a definite hint of Wales about it, buying some food before finding a place to park up and sleep. Alas, when we returned to Peggie to get on our way she’d given up the ghost for the second time that day and sat pathetically spluttering and shaking instead of starting and going, like a normal van would.

Luckily, of the two or three buildings nearby, one of them was a pub (hurray, good time for a drink! Just kidding!) which was full of happy drunks willing to help. We were told that of those two or three (now apparently four) buildings nearby, an illusive garage was located at the bottom of a hill upon which we were parked. So in what was either a brave or incredibly stupid manoeuvre, we let off the hand brake and rolled backwards down the hill (to applause) straight into the garage forecourt, five minutes before closing time. 

We were begrudgingly assisted by (I can’t remember his name but I’m going to call him) Steve and his assistant Chase (who’s name badge actually said Jamie?!). Chase was one of the sweetest, clearly kind-hearted people I have ever met, but he kept dropping things into Peggie’s engine, which can’t have been helping the situation and which led to us inadvertently stealing his torch. Sorry Chase/Jamie. 

Oh yeah, then it started to rain...

With Chad’s help (the best mechanic around at the time) the problem was diagnosed and I’m told “the negative battery terminal had corroded”. We were relieved to discover this was only a minor problem and so fifteen minutes, a few dropped items and forty bucks later, Peggie was fixed and grumpy Steve could go on home to celebrate the 23^rd birthday of his twin daughters (that's why he hates us so much… well that and the stolen torch of course).