I’ve been in New Zealand for a long time now. So long in fact, that when they announced on my plane the other day that the police were boarding, my first thought was “oohhh. Someone’s been smuggling pine cones.”
But sometimes I say something that shows that I’m an immigrant. Something that makes real Kiwis look at me like I’ve just said I have erotic dreams about their mother.
I saw a sign for FCO. So I turned to my Kiwi friend and said “why do the Foreign and Commonwealth Office have a branch in the mall?”
My Kiwi friend looked at me with that mixture of surprise and disgust; they it reserve for English immigrants making references to NZ’s colonial past.
“Verity. That stands for Fishing Camping Outdoors. They’re a shop for people who go outside.” Then he smiled “not everything here belongs to England ya know.”
That told me.