One was Polkinghorne by Steve Braunias. One of his descriptions read: “Say his name three times into a mirror and you might see him suddenly appear behind you, a blue-eyed voodoo doll, a demon of wealth and white privilege hulking up and down on his madly socked feet, Polkinghorne, Polkinghorne, Polkinghorne.”
The other book was somewhat older – I, Fatty by Jerry Stahls. One of the lines from the fictional autobiographical-styled book that stood out to me was a self-deprecating quip: “I was as close to happy as you can get, if you’re a pre-pubescent the size of a polar bear.”
During the break, we had another furry addition to the family who replaced Lola the Sydney Silky after she passed away last year. Nina (after Nina Simone) is a Bengal kitten we acquired over the holidays.
She ricochets around the house with jungle-like fluidity, with an energy level like she has been smoking pure catnip out of a glass pipe. She’s feisty to the point of rough-play-induced pain. I’m still really wary and quietly anxious about how big she’ll grow.
Over the holidays, Trump has gone ballistic with Venezuela and Aussie caught fire. Over the holidays, Manage My Health was hacked to smithereens; thousands of patients’ documents were leaked – mine included. I’m not too worried; my health conditions are fairly black and white, the discharge documents that were purloined are benign.
I do know, though, many people have specialist letters, referrals and reports stored in that system. Being told that information may have been accessed by hackers is unsettling. It creates a breach not just of data, but of trust. Trust that systems designed to support us will actually do so safely.
Over the summer, our respite house went gangbusters.
To increase the occupancy rate of the house we advertised it on Booking.com as accessible accommodation late last year. Well, bookings have gone through the roof. It has been booked solid throughout the summer period.
While it exists to provide respite, it has also been used by disabled people and families visiting Northland from out of town. They are staying because there are so few genuinely accessible accommodation options available. They are not looking for luxury. They are looking for somewhere they can safely shower, sleep and move around without risk, stress, or improvisation.
Too often, accommodation is advertised as accessible but turns out not to be usable in practice. A ramp leads to narrow doorways. Bathrooms lack grab rails. Shower doors swing inward and block wheelchair access. Beds are fixed against walls with no space for transfers or carers. The label says “accessible” but the reality says otherwise.
Each of these experiences chips away at trust.
Trust matters. Whether it’s trusting a health system to protect your information, or trusting accommodation providers to accurately describe what they offer, disabled people are constantly weighing risk.
When that trust is broken, the consequences are immediate and personal. It’s like an eggshell in a potato salad, like a fishbone in a smoked fish pie.
If Northland wants to grow its tourism offering in a sustainable way, accessibility cannot be an afterthought.
It must be built in from the start – not just as a ramp at the front door, but as thoughtful, usable design that reflects how people actually move through and live in a space.
Because real access is not about labels or systems. It’s about whether people can arrive, stay and participate with dignity and enjoyment.
Trust me, I know.
