Firstly, as I've written previously, Mrs P has joined the thousands of women round the country who are in to secondhand shopping rather than buying new.
Thus, on our travels, it seemed to me we were heading for a particular location based on the number of op shops it had rather than a nice main street, views of the beach or handy public toilets – a must for those of our vintage.
It would be fair to say as I drove along in our little bus, prepared to go wherever the wind took us, more than once I was surprised at the choice of location.
I discovered on our second day Mrs P had gone all secret agent on me and was hooked up to the Boomerang Child at headquarters who was feeding her location information based on a quick search of the internet.
Naturally, after the third op shop, the novelty wore off on me – plus I already had enough $2 T-shirts for the next 10 years – and I decided to do my own thing.
Now, when it comes to the girls going shopping – particularly when you are on holiday and supposed to be doing things together - us blokes have a difficult role to play.
You have to stay close, bored witless though you may be, to mutter the obligatory, "no your bum does not look big in that".
The trick is to stay close enough to readily supply the comment but be far enough away to make your own fun.
Have a look near the entry to an op shop sometime for one of us wandering back and forth, usually with hands behind the back looking down at the pavement. We are usually counting the chewing gum stuck to the footpath.
Anyway. As I say, I got bored pretty quickly and once I'd counted the 100 pieces of gum on the footpath as required by Man Law 216 subsection 27, I decided to do something else. What I came up with was a no brainer. For me at least.
Those who are of my lengthy acquaintance will know I love to chat. If there were a talking Olympics I'd be in the New Zealand team. I'd probably be the captain. You get my drift?
So I decided while Mrs P was doing her thing inside I'd position myself nearby and try and talk to at least five different people a day.
I have to say, for someone like me who enjoys meeting new people and just yakking about anything and nothing in particular, the results were hugely satisfying. I'd thoroughly recommend it.
And if any TV executives reading this are looking for the next big reality show I know just the mostly unemployed former journalist to host the programme.
But I digress.
So there I am outside the op shop in Waikikamukau one day and I get chatting with a pig hunter who is passionate about firewood. Then there's the lady on the park bench next day who tells me she's lost 60kg, put 10 back on over Christmas/New Year, but is now back in the zone.
I met a golfer who was in town on day three buying concrete blocks for the golf course. They are building a special bin to keep the sand for their bunkers in pristine condition.
Apparently it's very expensive and needs top quality care. Who knew?
The big, jolly South African bloke on day four was interesting.
He pulled up in a huge caravan behind my bus. We got talking and the upshot was I had a look at his set-up and, a little alarmingly, found myself locked inside his caravan for 20 minutes while he battled away outside trying to sort the lock which had been giving him trouble.
"Margaret" on day five was delightful.
I sat on the wall outside the op shop while she sat in her mobility scooter and away we went.
She'd lived in this little town all her life, as had her mother before her. I reckon I got the better part of 130-plus years of history lesson in that 30 minutes.
And so it went on.
Mrs P would invariably come out of the shop - laden with the odd bag or two which I'm sure will end up back at the op shop near where we live before the year is out – to find me happily chatting with someone. Anyone.
In fact, it got to the point where she made the comment that I had probably spent more of the holiday with other people and we'd have to go home to get reacquainted.
As it happened I didn't have to wait that long.
On Valentine's Day, coincidentally our last day before heading home, I sat alone for once in a park across the road from another op shop.
Not far away a woman came into view.
I noticed her amazing eyes first and then she flashed a huge smile at me and started walking my way.
Forgive my total 'un-PCness' but she was hot with a capital 'H'.
It would be fair to say I pretty much melted as this goddess came over, sat down next to me, and introduced herself.
"Hello handsome," she purred. "I'm Mrs P."
• Kevin Page is a teller of tall tales with a firm belief too much serious news gives you frown lines. Feel free to share stories to editor@whanganuichronicle.co.nz (Kevin Page in subject field).
