Oil Painting

I finally completed my first oil painting in over three years, last Sunday. I've been painting in oils since I was seventeen, and it isn't particularly hard; in fact, I'd say it's one of the easiest mediums I've ever used. You can correct any of your mistakes, and just add layer after layer of paint, and if the paint is thick enough, even mold it so that it reflects light in a particular way. But there's one thing you need dollops of when you're painting in oils: patience. And I'm afraid the seventeen-year-old me was never particularly strong in that aspect, so my paintings were understandably sub-par. I knew I could produce better paintings; I just never had the patience to let the underpainting dry enough for me to produce a clear glaze or a thick impasto layer over it. I'd start it while the paint was still wet, and mess everything up. And then, I committed the cardinal sin of using turpentine for every layer to thin the paint, just so it would dry faster. All those people who've worked with oils know it takes about a week for the underpainting to dry thoroughly. As a result of using the turpentine, the paint would dry in just a day or two; but there would be only a thin layer of paint on canvas, with the texture of the canvas clearly visible under the painting, and the painting itself looking shabby and underdone. Consequently, I didn't make a lot of oil paintings, and gave up half-heartedly on something I'd started working on. The only painting I ever produced of note was when I was twenty, with college on. I'd made the painting in the middle of classes, and as there never was enough time to spend on the painting, it took a lot of time to paint it -- resulting in well-dried under layers, and one of the best paintings I'd ever made. It was a scene of village cricket: a bunch of men playing cricket on a cool meadow (although there were no clouds in the sky). That had remained my favorite painting (maybe in some ways it still is), but Sunday's effort well overshadowed that.
It was, simply put, a painting of a man and his son on a beach, looking out at the horizon. I took the inspiration from my own book, The Boy From Dunedin, and tried to recollect the clarity of the water in New Zealand as I painted it. Of course it didn't look like anything I'd thought it would look like; but it turned out to be a good piece of art nevertheless. I loved it. And the reason it turned out so well was because, it seems in those seven years since I started oil painting, I've gotten a good measure of paitience that I was lacking earlier. I would let each layer of paint dry before starting the new one. I applied a thick impasto layer of paint for the underpainting, and added thinner glazes on top. The result was magical, with significantly more depth than any of my earlier paintings had. I was proud of it. The yellow ocher of the beach, the turquoise-blue of the sea, the red shirt of the man, the green of the grass -- it all combined to make a striking combination. The only mess I made was the clouds, which look like storm clouds on an otherwise clear day. But I decided to let it ride, and call it "artistic impression", instead of what it really was -- a mistake! Haha. Hopefully my next painting will be far better, but here is my current painting nevertheless.

Aoraki Mt Cook

The two days following the Catlins, I went to Aoraki Mount Cook.
To the uninitiated, Mt Cook is the tallest mountain in New Zealand, standing at some 12800 odd ft tall. It may not be among the highest peaks in the world (I do believe the Rockies in Colorado are taller), but it is certainly one of the most treacherous. Climbers routinely lose directions, their way, and even their lives on this mountain. The weather is one of the most unpredictable ones in the world. There might be clouds in the morning, and clear by afternoon. At the time I went there, two climbers had lost their lives there, one Australian and one Japanese, parts of different climbing groups, and their bodies had still not been found. Because the approach to the top greatly resembles the ascent to Mt Everest from base camp, mountaineers attempting to climb the Everest use Mt Cook as their training camp.
It was to this Mt Cook that I went -- or, more accurately, to the Mt Cook Alpine Village, a little village of maybe four or five houses and the Hermitage Hotel, right at the base of Mt Cook. I was to take the Dunedin-Mt Cook bus operated by Citibus Newton, Dunedin's largest bus service from the Octagon. It was here that I waited early Monday morning to be picked up.
The bus came right on time at 7:15am, and I met my fellow passengers -- a dark-haired fellow from somewhere in Europe, a tiny, bent old lady carrying bags and bags of stuff, and an American gentleman called Lee from Missouri. He was delighted to know I was from the States as well, and started telling me his adventures in New Zealand. He'd been to Australia first, then to Auckland, then Wellington and then Christchurch. He had already seen Milford Sound, Queenstown, Doubtful Sound, Fraz Josef -- in other words, all of New Zealand's best attractions. I felt rather envious, but thinking back on the fantastic time I had over the past few days changed my mind. But we chatted all the way to Mt Cook. I, too, was glad to find another American, since understanding the Kiwi accent takes a wee bit of concentration, since I'm not used to it.
The bus driver's name was Mike, and he was a wonderful guide. He provided commentary all the way to Mt Cook. We stopped first at Moeraki Beach, where the famous spherical Moeraki boulders are found (though I couldn't see any of them -- they were further along the coast). The little old lady, who couldn't have been a day under 90, got off and lit up a cigarette. Lee and I stared at her in amazement. She was a great source of amusement to Lee, for she looked so frail but still got off at every stop we made in the 5-hour journey to have a smoke!
Our next stop was the town of Oamaru, which is halfway between Christchurch and Invercargill. It has lovely historical buildings made of sandstone, and beautiful architecture. I explored a little bit of the main street, and had a wonderful cup of cappucino from a local cafe. When we started off again, we were joined by a young man named Scott Preston, who worked in some capacity for the New Zealand Basketball team (though I didn't quite get how). He knew more about American sports than Lee and me combined, and proceeded, for the rest of the journey to discuss sports with Lee. A good portion of this was about cricket, a game that I follow passionately, but the prospect of describing the rules makes me cringe. It is probably one of the most convoluted mainstream sports ever played, not made easy by the fact that there are three main versions of it, but Scott managed it wonderfully. In the meantime, I stared out of the window, enjoying the lovely scenery passing by. One thing that amazes me about New Zealand is how little you have to travel for the landscape to change dramatically. We passed green fields and lakes, and three of the dams in the Waitaki valley, Aevimore, Benmore and Waitaki. After this, we came to a stop in a little town whose name I cannot recall at this point -- Kurow, I believe it was called? Here, Scott got off, and we set off again. Now the landscape changed again. There were still fields, but now, instead of hills, we could see snow-capped mountains in the distance -- the Southern Alps. We passed some of the strange but interesting irrigation devices on the fields, the ones that look like bridges. One of them was over a mile long. The mountains kept getting closer and closer, and we finally stopped at Twizel.
Twizel is a little Alpine town at the base of the Southern Alps. Here, we let off the little old lady, where she waited at the bus stop for her daughter to pick her up. By now, the scenery outside was fabulous. The mountains we were passing were huge, and breathtaking. The driver drove up and stopped at a lookout point above Lake Pukaki.
When we got off, my breath almost stopped. Lake Pukaki is a glacial lake that is a stunning turquoise color, and right behind it is Mt Cook. "This is where most of the commercial photos you see of Mt Cook are shot," explained Mike, the driver. We all took photographs, but honestly, photographs just couldn't capture the sheer beauty of that place. One of my favorite pictures that actually turned out well shows the green water of Lake Pukaki, the pine forest behind it, and the towering Mt Cook behind that.
We got on the bus again and set off again, this time for the alpine village. We passed through the valley, a narrow road winding between enormous mountains. It is so humbling to be at the base of a mountain -- you feel truly insignificant next to such a magnificient spectacle. We finally pulled up at the carpark of the hotel, and here, I bade goodbye to Lee and the other guy -- with not little sorrow, for they had been great traveling companions.
I checked in at the hotel. It was a nice hotel, quite a modern place at the base of the largest mountain in the country! I felt pleasantly surprised. I was given a room on the eighth floor, and accordingly went there. The most heart-stopping moment came when I entered my room. The view from the window was breathtaking. It looked out onto the three peaks of Mt Sefton, Mt Cook and Mt Wakefield, of which Mt Wakefield was the smallest one, and Mt Cook, the furthest. The sun shone hotly onto the snowy slopes of Mt Sefton, whose ice glistened in the sun, as though it were melting. Perhaps it was.
I skipped out again to go for the Glacier Explorers tour, a tour where they'd put you on a MAC boat and go around the glacial lake, scouting around icebergs. We were picked up at the hotel by a young man who looked remarkably like the Australian fast bowler Brett Lee, and went to the Mt Cook National Park. We walked through the park all the way to the lake, which was a good mile away. We got onto the boat, and were off with the other tour guide, a cute Australian called Alan :) We whizzed past the icebergs, the frigid spray from the water hitting me in the face. The wind was chilly, but the sun was blazing overhead, so it overall felt very pleasant.
We found an iceberg which had rolled over recently, because the top of it was white, but the base was turquoise, same color as the mineral found in Lake Pukaki that gives it its characteristic color. This is because, explained Alan, an iceberg imbues the minerals from the lake it is immersed in. When an iceberg is exposed to the sun, the ice crystals in it expand, and lose their crystal-like transparency and become an opaque white, the color of the tops of the icebergs. Some of the icebergs had been out of the water long enough for dirt to collect on them. These formed an interesting combination of black and white.
We zoomed around the lake some more on the boat, and it was a very pleasant sensation to have the cold wind and the freezing spray from the water hit us, only to be warmed immediately by the blazing sun overhead. We went right up to the glacier itself, but not too close, explained Alan, because bits from the glacier keep falling off, and they cause mini-tsunamis on the lake that could capsize the boat. And it would certainly not be pleasant going for a swim in the 2 deg C water of the lake! Not at all, I agreed silently, especially since I'm terrified of water anyway -- swimming in this lake is certainly not going to endear the activity of swimming to me.
When we were on our way back, there was a terrific 'crack!' and we whipped our heads around to see an iceberg break apart. It broke into small bits, some of them miniature icebergs themselves, some of them the kind of crushed ice you'd see in a margarita. The wave that was caused by the iceberg breaking apart almost threw us in the lake. We went closer to the collapsed iceberg, and were hit by bits of ice floating about in the water. It was thrilling!
After some more viewing, it was time to go back. We reluctantly went back ashore, and back through the national park to the bus, which drove us back to the hotel.
When I got back, I felt a little too tired to go walking down the walk to Kea Point, which I'd spotted when we were driving into the hotel, so I decided to go to the Hillary Alpine Center. It has a movie theater and a planetarium -- the southernmost planetarium in the world, they said -- and since I've always had a fondness for astronomy, I decided to enter. The first movie (which I ended up watching twice) was the 3-D feature about Mt Cook -- very breathtaking indeed, and gave me enough vertigo to convince me that mountaineering is just not my thing. The next feature was about space, a planetarium feature, which I enjoyed thoroughly. The one after that, though, was the one I enjoyed the most, a feature about black holes. Since I've always been fascinated by black holes, right from the time I was studying physics in high school, I was thoroughly enchanted by the show. And the planetarium was excellent, so it really enhanced my enjoyment. I loved it. I even met some interesting people, a lady from Oamaru and her friend from Switzerland, and the gentleman operating the theater and planetarium, Lee.
After a thoroughly enjoyable experience, I decided to hit the sack -- I was exhausted! When I went to my room, the sun had all but set, throwing its last light on the imposing peak of Mt Cook.
When I woke the next morning, clouds had covered most of Mt Cook and Mt Sefton. But there was a tiny gap in the clouds, through which the snow brilliantly reflected the sun on Mt Sefton. I was thoroughly charmed. And slowly, as the clouds dissipated, Mt Cook proved once again why it's called Aoraki -- its peak being the only one piercing the clouds and standing out.
I checked out after breakfast, and decided to go for a walk down Kea Point. After wisely checking my baggage in at the baggage counter (for it weighed over 10 lb), I walked down to where I'd seen the entry to Kea Point. It's supposed to be the easiest walk in the region, and it was easy too, for most of it was flat. But It was a long walk! A very long walk indeed, and I was panting by the time I reached anywhere near the end. And my legs were starting to ache, for I'd easily walked 5 miles over rather rough terrain (it certainly was no paved road, and I was wearing Converse sneakers -- not exactly renowned for mountain climbing), and that's where the climb started. The road branched, one path leading to the much more arduous Sealy Tarns walk, the other going to Kea Point. I briefly debated, but the debate was very brief indeed. I would die for sure before I reached the end of Sealy Tarns, so I decided to go to Kea Point. I was a little daunted for this part of it was uphill -- and there were no guardrails. Since I'm terrified of heights (along with water, fire and closed spaces :P), I went up very, very cautiously indeed. So cautiously that a turtle might have overtaken me, not that a turtle would've ever wanted to climb up Mt Cook. But when I reached the end, I was so overcome with a lot of emotions, the primary one being relief, that I almost sank to the ground. But I decided to go to the lookout point -- and my jaw dropped. It looked out onto the glacier (I'm not sure whether that was Mueller Glacier or Tasman Glacier, though), and Mt Cook beyond. On the other side, it looked straight out onto Mt Sefton. And looking at the enormity of the mountains made me feel very humble -- very humble indeed. I almost got a crick in my neck just trying to look to the top of Mt Sefton (since it was closer, it looked a lot larger). After a few dazed photos, I sat on the bench at the lookout point, looking at the stunning (but harsh) beauty of the mountains. A plump baby boy, who belonged to the couple sitting next to me, came over and pawed at my sweater which was lying on the bench next to me. I smiled at him, and he returned a toothless (and adorable) grin.
I sat there for a while, and soon the couple left (with the baby of course). A young girl came up and sat next to me, and I asked her to take a photo of me. "Sure," she acquisced with a smile. Her name was Catherine, it turned out, and she was from Auckland, and she'd come there with her boyfriend Rory. "Quite a thick jersey you have there," Rory said, pointing at the thick sweater I was carrying. No kidding, I thought, wondering WHY on earth had I brought the damn thing, as it only increased the number of things I had to carry. It was so hot up there, a tank top would've sufficed. We chatted a bit more, and then they left. And then there was a loud rumble, and a mini-avalance on Mt Sefton -- I could see small bits of snow roll down. It was really small, and the snow didn't even cross the snowline, but still -- my first avalanche! I was quite impressed, and felt rather important.
After that I walked back, and for some reason, the walk felt much shorter. I almost started singing the song I'd been listening to the most on my iPod, Arigatou from the soundtrack of the anime show Kyou Kara Maou, or alternatively, God! Save Our King. It's a catchy song, and though I don't understand the lyrics except for the word "arigatou" (it means 'thank you' in Japanese), I sang it anyway -- mentally of course, because I didn't want to be ridiculed by the numerous Japanese tourists passing by. I hummed it, though. I hummed it all the way, feeling the cooling breeze brush my hair, which I've decided to leave open, because it's more cooling that way, trust me. I love the feel of breeze through my hair. Keas called out, and there were so many birds! Fat bees hummed, and I exhorted them to sing along with me. I was practically dancing by the time I reached the end of the track, and miraculously I hadn't twisted an ankle or sprained a knee, or had any kind of mishaps happen to me! Whatever people may say, Converse sneakers are pretty okay on the mountainside too.
It was almost time for the bus back, and I made my way to the car park with haste (after collecting my bag, of course). The driver was the gentleman who had driven the bus on the Dunedin First City Tour, and he smiled at me with recognition. His name was Roger, and we picked up another passenger, who turned out to be Roger's son in law from Perth, Australia, named Neville. Neville had been to India many times and Mumbai once, too, so we started discussing the ideosyncracies of the country. And of course, when an Indian and an Australian get together, can the talk of cricket be far behind? He was pleased to know I like Test cricket (that's almost a 'test' of how true a fan you are -- only people who really love the game can like Test cricket). We discussed cricket for some time, and then he gave me tips on what all I could see in Dunedin, that I still hadn't seen. He and Roger were the most delightful fellow passengers I've ever had in New Zealand, and the long 5-hour drive to Dunedin seemed to be very short indeed.
And, in fact, Roger decided to show me the dams in the Waitaki valley. There are three dams, Aevimore, Benmore and Waitaki. He showed us all three in turn, and even stopped so Neville and I could take pictures. He then stopped at Elephant Rocks, which is where Lord of the Rings and Narnia have been filmed, and sure enough, I could recognize what I thought for sure was Cair Paravel from Narnia. It was all so charming!
We arrived in Dunedin at about 7:30pm, which was our arrival time anyway. Roger let me off in front of my hotel, LivingSpace, and I retired to bed with a sigh. It had been a most fantastic, memorable trip to Aoraki Mt Cook!

Finally in Dunedin!

I'm here. Finally. I'm in Dunedin!! I've plotted and planned of coming here since I was a teenager, and here I am finally! And right from the time the airplane broke the cloud cover and swooped down to land, I knew I had made the right decision in coming over. We flew over lush green mountains and then equally green fields, and I saw innumberable fat white sheep dotted over the landscape. The whole landscape looked idyllic and timeless. When we finally landed, I was charmed. The airport is on a thin strip of land between two towering mountains, both of which were wreathed in clouds. It looked heavenly.
The ride to the city was equally beautiful, winding through meadows and over streams. Immensely fat sheep looked with mild curiosity at the passing vehicle. Plump cows full of milk grazed peacefully. It was so beautiful, it looked like a painting. We passed through the suburb of Mosgiel before arriving in Dunedin. It's a beautiful city. It's kind of U-shaped, built on the slopes of hills, around a beuatiful harbor. The crystal clear, sparkling blue waters of the Otago Harbor drew my eyes, as did the red-roofed buildings all around. We passed Carisbrook, the rugby and formerly cricket stadium of Dunedin on the way to the hotel.
The hotel, LivingSpace, is a neat little place on Castle Street. I parked my bags there (no check-ins till 2pm, and it was only 9:30am) and went on a stroll. I walked down Castle Street, with mountains looming at the other end, toward Frederick St. No matter where I looked, I found green mountains, huge trees, colorful flowers and leaves, and little paths that climbed up into the hills and disappeared mysteriously into the bushes and woods. I was so charmed, I almost crossed the streets without looking.
Ah, the streets. They almost got me killed, because I looked left, then right, whereas New Zealand works the British way -- right then left. I was almost run over by a car. Thereafter, I looked BOTH ways before even starting to cross. Still, whenever I come to a road, my head swings left almost automatically.
I found the University Book Shop almost immediately. My senses are finely attuned to finding bookstores :) and I found this one very quickly. I made my way to it, and loved it. It was built like a book shop, small and cozy, but it had an impressive array of titles. I found plenty of books I'd like to buy, but settled on a children's thriller by a New Zealand author, because that is something I'm sure I'd never find in Barnes and Noble. After that I walked down George Street to see what else I could find.
It is one of the prettiest streets I have ever seen. It slopes, of course, and walking up and down it is quite a task! I got one of the best workouts I've had since this year began. There were wreaths hanging above the street for Christmas. Shops played carols, and it was just all-out lovely. There were loads of interesting stores. Many were just regular apparel or shoe stores, but some were antique stores, some were curio stores, some were souvenir stores -- and some stores, I couldn't even classify. There were loads of Indian restaurants, and general Asian cuisine. I found a Starbucks and stopped to eat a thai green curry chicken roll and a latte. It had to be the most charming Starbucks I've ever eaten at.
I walked all the way to the city center, the Octagon. It's called that way because it is shaped like an octagon. It's lovely, with a church and historic buildings around it, surrounding a park in the center, with a statue of the poet Robert Burns in the middle. Some seagulls flew around, and some were content to roost on the head of Robbie Burns.
I went to the visitor center and booked a whole bunch of trips I could go on with the help of Izumi, the Japanese employee. In her charming accent, she helped me book a trip to the beautiful Catlins (Cato-rins, she pronounced it as), moved my Dec 21st Taieri Gorge trip to the 26th, and booked me a ride on the First City Tour, a tour of Dunedin on a blue double-decker bus. After that was done, I walked around to kill time till 1pm, when the tour would start.
I started walking up a street -- I forget the name -- right next to the Visitor Center building. It sloped crazily, and I could feel my calves pumping as I walked up. My backpack weighed a ton, too, for it was still full of clothes and books and whatnot, from the trip from Austin. After I crossed maybe three blocks, I decided to turn back and go back to the city center. As I turned for the first time, my breath caught in my throat and I stared. I was so high up, I could see over the tops of buildings, and straight into the sparkling turquoise waters of Otago Harbor. Past that, there rose another set of hills, covered with little houses with red rooftops. I stared and stared. I don't think I've ever seen anything so breathtaking, in the middle of a city. The long, tiring walk up to this point was SO worth it! All of a sudden, I wished with sudden longing that I lived in this city!
I walked back to the Visitor Center for the city tour. The large blue double-decker bus pulled up, and we all boarded it (there were quite a few of us). It then wound down the narrow, charming streets of Dunedin, past buildings, cafes and shops. I've noticed, in general, no matter how beautiful a city, some part of it is invariable seedy. But even the seediest part of Dunedin is beautiful. We went to a lookout point, from where we got a stunning view of the city and the harbor. We saw the greenbelt, which was made specifically to distinguish the residential part of the city from the commercial -- and very beautiful it was, too. We passed Otago Boys High School, a lovely, old-worldly school, the first school ever in the southern hemisphere, I belive. It's a place I've always planned on sending my son to, if I ever have one, so I looked at it with great interest. It looks slightly forbidding, but it's beautiful. Past that, we stopped at Olveston House. Three of us got off for a tour of the house, while the driver went off with the other tourists.
The couple that got off with me was a lovely old couple from Auckland, Ken and Beverly. They were delighted to talk to me and we formed an informal group as we went to the Olveston tourism center. Olveston is an old, old house built for a merchant named David Theomin. He and his wife and daughter lived there several years and entertained guests in parties. There was an internal phone system built in, and anyone could ring for the maid from anywhere. There was also a service lift for all four floors of the house (of which we saw only two). It's been beautifully restored after the daughter, Dorothy, passed it on to the city of Dunedin when she died. Her bedroom, sitting room, the living room, the dining room, the game room, the dressing rooms -- everything was beautifully preserved, and oh-so-charming. On the tour, other than us three, was a family from Sydney. The mother, coincidentally enough, had studied in the business school at UT! We bonded, of course. Her older son played the piano beautifully on the grand Steinway piano in the women's entertaining room, and her younger son reminded me very strongly of my little sister, for some reason. There was also a wealth of Japanese art, ceramics and weapons in the house, of which, a few katanas from the Tokugawa era interested me greatly, especially since I've been watching the anime show, Samurai Deeper Kyo, based right after the fight of Sekigahara and during the Tokugawa shogunate's rise to power. The tour guide was a lovely young lady named Harriet, with a charming New Zealand accent. She thought I was a history major when I nodded my head knowledgeably when she mentioned the Tokugawas. I was forced to admit, with a blush coloring my face that I only knew of it because of reading too many mangas.
The tour was beautiful, and ended when Ken, Beverly and I went to the garage to see the old car driven by David Theomin. I don't know much about cars, but this one dated from the 1920's, and was beuatifully preserved, still shining. After the tour was done, we were picked up again by the double-decker bus and driven away.
We saw the steepest street in the world, Baldwin Street, Otago University, the historic Dunedin Railway Station, and were just thorougly charmed by the time the tour ended at 3:30pm. After that, I walked about a bit more, and returned to the hotel to check in. I thought I'd check in, rest a bit and maybe go out for dinner, but when I sank down on the bed of the tiny but cute hotel room, I felt the exhaustion of the last 30+ hours steep into me. I talked to my Mum, but was feeling too exhausted to go out. Then, as if to make my decision for me, it started raining outside. I somehow changed into sleeping clothes, and fell asleep at 6:30pm -- and woke at 5:30am today! I still haven't eaten, though, so maybe I'll head out now to the closest Subway. Till then, sayonara!

Tim Southee

I'm all excited about the newly-introduced New Zealand cricketer.
I've always been a fan of New Zealand Cricket. It probably started off with my fascination with the country, and escalated because my favorite cricketer, Shane Bond, was a Black Cap. So it's always been with keen interest that I've followed the fortunes of the New Zealand cricket team, or the Black Caps, as they're called. And it interested me when, in the third Test match between New Zealand and England, the name of Tim Southee was being thrown about.
Timothy Grant Southee is a player who's been in the pipeline for quite some time. I've been reading about him, first as an excellent schoolboy cricketer, and then as a very, very good player in the U-19 team of New Zealand. He played a massive part in NZ U-19's win against Ireland in the ICC U-19 Cricket World Cup in 2006 -- when he was just seventeen. He played again in the 2008 U-19 World Cup, and this time, was the Player of the Tournament, with an amazing 11 wickets, in spite of playing one match lesser than his closest contender for the title. I was all eager to see the young boy play.
When he was selected for the third Test, I doubt anyone thought initially he would be actually used -- with Kyle Mills present, there was very little chance of a 19-year-old rookie being offered the new ball. But Mills pulled out of the match, Southee was given the new ball, and the rest, as they say, is history.
Southee was excellent. I couldn't see every ball he bowled, but I managed to see a few overs in between -- and he bowls impeccably. He's not Shane Bond -- I doubt there will ever be another -- but Richard Hadlee? Yes, perhaps. He bowled with control, and swung the ball beautifully. His first wicket was a beauty -- four balls dished out to English captain Michael Vaughan, all outswingers. When Vaughan was expecting a fifth, Southee bowled a straight one, and trapped Vaughan leg before. Beautiful. His second over in Test cricket, and Southee had a wicket -- that of Michael Vaughan!
He went on to capture four more, two of them being Andrew Strauss and Kevin Pieterson, two of the most dangerous men in the English batting line-up. Wonderful, wonderful bowling. Kid, I thought to myself, consider me impressed. His final figures? 23.1-8.55-5.
He was out for 5 batting, and didn't get a wicket in the second innings, though he bowled quite well, in my opinion (not that I got to see a large part of the innings). But he was scintillating in the final innings of the match! He smashed 77 runs off 40 balls, which was studded with 9 sixes -- the most by any number 10 batsman. He hit his fifty off just 29 balls, the fastest ever by a New Zealander, and the sixth fastest ever. He was a revelation, in every sense of the word.
Tim Southee seems to be here to stay.