Glenn Dwight is the creative director - regional at NZME and columnist for The Country special edition. OPINION I shall never forget the annual trip to Mystery Creek and the educational experiences, writes Glenn Dwight. They say, don’t look back at your childhood; you’ll only be disappointed.
Well, I’d like to disagree, not because I am argumentative, but because my childhood was great. Sure, it was a simpler time, a time when only the winner got a trophy, we only had two channels (but still managed to argue over what to watch) and owning a Healing Industries HMX 500 made you a god in the Silverdale School playground. But the real gem in my Hamilton days was the annual pilgrimage to the Fieldays! Think of it as a rural Disneyland, minus the overpriced Mickey Mouse ears.
Here, the dress code was all about practicality: red bands, a trusty Swanndri, and a John Deere hat that needed to be faded, or you exposed yourself as a rural imposter. The first element of this great day was securing a ride with Andrew’s dad. He had a golden Holden with all the extras, which included a cigarette lighter (back then, they had nothing to do with charging your iPhone).
So, we’d pile into the back seat and front bench seat, avoiding the 1000-degree seat belt buckle, and drive to Mystery Creek. And it was a mystery, as the area was usually shrouded in June FOG. Shrouded in MIST-ery.
So, this is where my memories of the event might be as hazy as the fog, but I do remember being off-loaded.