"Be you angels?" - Putting Marion Davis' money where my mouth is

In my last post, I mentioned the Auckland City Mission Be An Angel campaign. To recap, the Marion Davis Memorial Trust has put up $10,000 to be released to the Auckland City Mission Christmas Appeal in $5 increments for each person to have their photo taken with the charitable angel wings dotted around Auckland, and posted on the campaign's Facebook page. I figured there's not much point simply subjecting slacktivism to the scrutiny of logic, if I'm not gonna walk the talk. So I walked around and had my photo taken in order to release a little bit more of the donation, and helped out by pointing out something distressing to the campaign coordinators. I understand not everyone has the time to track down angel wings and get their photo taken, and apparently there's folks living in NZ outside of the greater Auckland area, but I have no excuse not to have a delightful day out and about, so I gave it a go. This was yesterday, and the events are detailed as follows.

The plan was simple! I would travel by rail-car through the inhospitable South Auckland Wasteland, a lucrative trade route through a region of great poverty and desperation. The intention was to go on an adventure with my partner-in-crime, Curvaceous Dee! Although this was to be an adventure, sadly we were not destined to reach Candy Mountain, but we settled on a destination almost as rich: Newmarket. We were to rendezvous at the quaint rest-stop of Lumsden Green, a tranquil oasis in the harsh commercial landscape of Newmarket CBD. From this point, we would travel upland to be received at the court of the King of Bûrghar where we would dine on exotic refreshments and rare salts, and plot our course for the impending expedition. Tragically we were unable to locate any Sherpas, so we were forced to travel light and make do with whatever provisions we could forage. With great anticipation, we were prepared to set out on our Great Expedition! We would locate no fewer than eight Angels, and photograph ourselves with the trophy wings placed upon the wall, and all would know the prestige of the intrepid hunters! But alas, it was not to be, for Angels are wily prey, and much sought-after. It appears they have been hunted near to extinction in Newmarket.

Here we are bedecked in our safari gear. Lady Dee was equipped with a Pretty Purple Parasol, to ward off the interminable December sun, and to lure out any angels or, failing that, fairies in the immediate vicinity. For my own protection and personal safety, I wore a Santa Hat, a talismanic symbol of the commercialization of Christmas, which as we all know is anathema to angels. We both wore black formal trousers and cleavage-revealing tops, in order to blend in with the local fauna. If we happened upon an avenging angel, our clever disguises would allow us to easily elude its pursuit. Behind us you may notice a tastefully appointed containment unit where we could deposit the Holy Spirit if we encountered it (a tough call as we were lacking our proton packs).

We set out for the first leg of our journey. Our guide, Google Maps, had shared with us local knowledge of angel habitats, where we might stalk and locate our prey. We journeyed down the Broad Way, bypassing the renowned Khyber Pass, and came upon a region known obscurely as 'Teed St'. Entering the desolate lands of Teed St, our progress was cloaked in an ominous silence. Ears pricked like vigilant hounds, we advanced, soft footfall after soft footfall. Further and further we progressed, until we feared we may have circumnavigated our goal entirely without a sighting. We would not let despair overtake us, for we knew, in our heart of hearts, that we were mighty hunters. And then we heard it. A rustling behind us! Standing stark at attention, we whipped around with snake-like reflexes to see the feathered beast resting upon the wall, plain as day, taunting us! The beast sought to rend my pride with the obviousness of its placement, but I was unmoved in my arrogance certainty! We locked eyes in a battle of half-wits, neither daring to look away or drop guard for one second. This exercise in banality was curtailed in short order as Dee struck the wing a savage blow with her parasol, and all animation left this illustration. Having bested our foe, we posed for celebratory photographs. Dee may be posting pics of angel wings on her blog at some point, but as her blog is DEFINITELY NSFW I'll see if she'll consent to a re-post here... sorry to anyone that accidentally stumbled upon nudity.

From here, our journey continued South of Eden, hoping we would find an angel upon the Morrow. We searched high and low for our goal, covering much ground in a state of increasing agitation. The summer heat, swimming in humidity, buffeted us with waves of vitae-sapping discontent. This was indeed a harsh, unforgiving land. We had to break off our pursuit of the Angel of Morrow, resolving that we would return to find and slay this wicked beast when we had dealt with its six remaining kin.

Or so we thought.

Journeying West upon the Mortimer Pass, we crossed the idyllic Coventry, and pursued our next target with dogged determination. Long we tracked it, and to no avail. The angel had taken wing, and left us bereft of photo ops. Disheartened and aggravated, we began to know despair. How could we great hunters miss two of our targets? How could they elude us so easily? Their absence was not only mocking, it was malicious. For the angels, they had heard of their hunters, they had learned much. And they had set a trap. We did not find an angel in the Mortimer Pass, instead we found the Devourer of Time; a BOOK STORE! Lady Dee stumbled into this shifting pit of time-consuming literature, and began to sink, dragged under by curiosity and the knowledge that Christmas Is Coming And A Good Book Would Be Just The Thing For... Luckily I was able to find a vine to throw around my companion, and I dragged her to safety before she was able to purchase anything. Had she done so, all would have been lost in a world of imagination.

Battered, yet unbowed, we set off with new-found resolve. We would find our angels, we would capture them in digital form, and all would know our prestige! Our collective fury would be unleashed upon the angels of Nuffield Street. And so we marched. And we marched. And we marched. Then I skipped... but resumed marching not long after, as to skip on a safari would be most unseemly. Quite.

With the eyes of a bat, the ears of an eagle, and the focus of an autistic child, we surveyed the concrete canyon of Nuffield Street for any sign of our feathered foe. Crestfallen, we pressed on with neither hide nor hair presenting itself to our beady little eyes. And I made a most gruesome discovery. Our angels were not simply hiding, they were slaughtered! I had to remove my glasses dramatically and exclaim "MURDER!" in an expression of being very much aghast! We documented evidence of this tragic fate that had befallen the fair angels, to present to the wealthy benefactors of our expedition, the Auckland City Mission.

Further along the road, a disheartening sight. A broken wing upon to footpath, trod under the heavy footfalls of an apathetic public. A sad sight, and a sad turn of events for our great hunt. Our elusive prey was an endangered species. Thankfully the Auckland City Mission has been carrying out a captive breeding program, and a new batch of angels have been released into the wilds, so these locations should hold a prize for enterprising explorers!

Returning to the Broad Way, my fellow hunter and I were able to track down the two remaining angels. This time we took more pity upon these troubled creatures, too few remained, too few. The look of cheerful benevolence expressed herein should convey this Stockholm Syndrome new understanding we achieved with our noble wall-bound friends. A far happier ending, photographed wonderfully, props once more to Dee!

Having completed our goal of obtaining trophy photos, we discovered we had an hour or two to kill before I was required to serve penance in the form of Service Industry Labour. Dee suggested we visit an equestrian supplies store, and in the absence of Sherpas I could see the wisdom of obtaining draft animals. En route, however, a discovery was made! We may have lost a few angels through the course of the day, but we had found A BUZZY BEE! After photographing the lovely miss Dee nestled upon the bee (who, it must gladly be, stated that he, was an entire bee), I mounted the valiant steed and displayed my war face... well okay, my disgruntled face. I still like to think it would scatter many enemies, all the same.

BAH HUMBUG! Anti-Claus will consume your festive spirits!

Having completed my delusions of multi-coloured pastel grandeur, we continued on our trek to the... hey look, a distraction!

A Muzzle-Loading Rifled Cannon! SWEET! It's just what I always wanted! Not only could I see off winged divinities through the gentlemanly art of fisticuffs, but with this newly discovered ordnance, I could repel invasion by the accursed Spaniards!

Unfortunately for my good self, or fortunately depending on how you choose to look at it, all this unbridled power went right to my head and I appeared to enjoy the thought of unleashing hell just a little too much...

But I calmed myself down in short order, and composed myself in a more dignified manner:

Having completed artillery training, we sojourned to the equestrian supplies store, which was every inch as cloistered and divorced from reality as I suspected it would be, and Dee did not disappoint by surreptitiously making a beeline for the riding crops. I'm a Philosophy student so my tolerance for pretension is pretty high, but an equestrian store is a little hard to swallow even for me. Interesting enough, and the owners were lovely, but just not exactly my scene.

After meandering a while longer, it was time for our adventure to head South (every bit as unpleasant as that sounds, all the way to South Auckland, Hole-Sweet-Hole), so we mounted Dee's automobile and made our way to South Auckland listening to the gentleman rhymer Professor Elemental, and the ultimate hardcore rock stars, The Presidents of the United States of America!

Arriving in Papakura, our outing was nearly at an end (accompanied by frantic phone calls from my manager... in a completely unrelated matter entirely, is murder still illegal?). Light refreshments were obtained, and I directed Dee to Papakura's premier hobby store, Steve's Model Shop, and we parted ways so that she could peruse plastic kit toys and so that I could go to work... I can't help but think she ended up with the better end of that deal.

Thus concludes my day of self-serving charitable action. For anyone who survived that onslaught of verbosity, I salute your constitution!