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We went to a couple of movies this week. First up was Tintin , about which there is not much to say. It is a wonderful rollicking escapist flick. It is great fun and thankfully doesn't try to be anything other than it is. The animation is superb, and all the little Herge details are there -f'rinstance: as a thwarted petrol head I have always enjoyed the fact that the cars, motorbikes and planes  in the books are real ones, drawn with such draughtsmanlike accuracy that you can tell their make, model and year. And here, parked in the streets of Peter Jackson/Herge 's Paris were wonderful examples of classic Peugeots and Citroens and Rolls Royces, a small example of how perfectly the film captures the look and, more impotantly, "feel" of the books  Then, last night, seeing as we had the 3-D glasses, we went to Hugo , Martin Scorcese's adaptation of the book The Inventions of Hugo . Like Tintin , it is largely computer generated, and it is set i...

First day of the new year. First walk. First photos. We walk up and across the almost familiar track to where the clay was dug for kokowai , the blood-ochre for decorating and protecting important places. The air is sticky warm under the gray sky. We climb the sharp ridge and stand where blood was spilt, not gathered. Here, many have met their deaths: this was once a pa and the battlements ran past where our feet are planted high above the surf. In ancient times justice was meted by throwing people from here; and now a bunch of flowers marks  another, more recent grief. We look for gannets falling from the sky but see none. Instead,  I feel the old sad ones, the fallen, around me. I have no fear of them, nor they of me. We walk back. There are wildflowers. The signs sing.