The amazing saga of The Lord of 61 Acres of Cloud: Part One

“Sir, would you follow me, please?”

This is the story of a great man on a great quest. The man’s name: The Brave Frodoboat. His quest: to fly to NZ with his hottie wife (The Faithful Ham), inspect a 61-acre property in New Zealand, decide whether or not to buy it, and then fly back … all in just one weekend. His first challenge: to get out of Australia. Unfortunately, Immigration officials at Perth Airport seem to think he’s someone else. Someone on their List. Someone not fun.

Every quest, every epic, involves a series of challenges. When we watch the movies or read the books, we know these challenges are designed to test the hero’s resolve. They show his mettle. They are a device to prove to us — viewer, reader, gods, whoever — that the hero has earned the prize. He deserves it. (Because boy, don’t people hate it when someone they deem unworthy gets their mitts on something valuable.)

Tests are all very nice in morality plays but when things go wrong in real life … well, they just piss you off, really. Having finally convinced the Immigration guys that he is indeed who he claims to be, Frodoboat and his Faithful Ham board a plane for Middle Earth. After a sleepless night, they touch down in Auckland and head to the baggage claim area. Upon arriving …

Frodoboat: I can see your suitcase …
Faithful Ham: Yeah, but where’s yours?
Half an hour and a number of conversations with various airport staff later
Frodoboat: How the fuck could Air New Zealand not know where it is? It’s either in Perth or it’s here. How fucking hard is that?
Faithful Ham: Er … what time is the flight to Nelson? I think we’d better go. We’ll have to buy you some clothes when we get there.
Frodoboat: Fucking harrumph.

A couple of hours later, our sleep-deprived heroes are in a Nelson department store …

Frodoboat: (holding up a grey knitted pullover) What do you think?
Faithful Ham: Wow. A silvery chain-mail tunic crafted in the elven fashion. Immensely strong yet strangely weightless and a bargain at only NZ$34.99. I say, buy it!

With suitable raiment procured, the travellers hasten to meet their guide to the Enchanted Land, one who is wise and wizardly in the lore of real estate … the venerable Gand-Agent.

“Follow me,” he beckons from his shiny 4WD chariot. The pair do their best, although their steed is somewhat more modest, being of the hired persuasion and with its indicators on the wrong side of the steering wheel.

After journeying for an hour, they reach their destination. Waiting for them is a grizzled warrior who knows the Enchanted Land intimately and has offered to guide them through it. His name is Vend-or.

Vend-or: Would you like a cup of tea?
Faithful Ham: What miraculous fortifying beverage is this? Warming, yet also thirst-quenching. Surely, it is the product of the ancient healing lore of Rivendell, brewed by Lord Elrond himself, no less!
Frodoboat: Don’t mind her. She’s a bit tired.

It takes all of five minutes for the Enchanted Land to work its magic … the native beech forest, filled with the melodies of tui and bellbird; the strange fungi (Faithful Ham: What marvellous dwelling for pixies is this? Such a brilliant violet hue! Would that I could witness the little woodland folk dance their fairy dances around it of a full moon eve! Frodoboat: Will you shut the fuck up? You’re really starting to freak me out. I mean it.); the swiftly-flowing stream; to the south, the line of snow-capped mountains stretching east to west with the Wairau River at their base; to the north, the forested hills draped in mist; the duck-pond, the vegie garden, the wood-lot, the orchard; the humble little cottage with its verandah that has a larger floor area than the house itself; the ever-changing sky … and the peace.

Frodoboat: Yeah, well, we’ll think about it and let you know.
(they bid Gand-Agent and Vend-or adieu)
Faithful Ham: Oh my God. It’s even more fucking gorgeous than it looked in the picture.
Frodoboat: I want it. I have to have it. I’m going to buy it. We’ll ring Gand-Agent tomorrow and make an offer. But now, I’m going to check up on the missing luggage.

The pair merrily skip arm-in-arm to their chariot and hasten to a warm and welcoming inn, where they spend the night carousing like it’s 1999.

But trouble and more tests are a-brewing … as they discover the next day. And it’s not all about the still-missing luggage.

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