Wot, Again?

The phone rings insistently.

"Hullo. Is the trip on?"

"What do you think of it?"

"The weather report sounds glum!"

"I'll have a look." I go outside. The sky is overcast but the clouds look as if they will stay up. The concrete is cold on my bare feet so I go inside and read the paper. Eventually I get back to the phone, "Well, it looks not so bad. Think we'll risk it?"

"All right! I'll see you at ten," and down goes the receiver regretfully. How pleasant bed looks.

However, a small compact party duly assembled, ascended Johnson's Hill above Karori and lit out north alone the main divide. From the heights we Peered down at Wellington suburbs to the east and Oharlu Valley to the west, whilst Harold told us a little tale of how when levering himself to the summit rocks of a peak in the Dolomites, the guide had remarked that the but at the bottom was only half a minute away. Not wishing to be in either Wellington or Oharlu Valley in half a minute, we hurried on, Harold leading. A lunch site was pegged out sharp at midday. it being our unfailing aim to eat at every opportunity, and Mac was unanimously appointed O.C. Conflagrations. His untiring efforts were crowned with such success that in no time the billy was boiling, toast cooked, hairs scorched off our legs, we were smoked out, and had it not been for a fire break which he cunningly devised, no doubt the fair city would now be just dust and fishes. Refreshments completed, the party pressed on regardless to [unclear: Raukau.] 1364 ft, the summit of the range, and after a brief spell descended to the ancestral-home of the Maharaja in Khandallah.