Civil Defence Warning

This adventure began on Thursday the 5th of January, 6.37am.

Civil defence put out a storm and rain warning, perfect conditions for picking up Brickell Brac from Whangarei and driving it straight to Driving Creek. 

“Fucking pussies. We’ll be alright as long as we stop for pies at E’ronnies.” 

There was never a scenario where we wouldn’t make it, the narrative would not allow it. Special phenomenon rainbow and a light drizzle, we show up with zero packaging (except for two pillows). Walk in, the walls are being scrubbed with something opposite of pleasure, quick bagging of BB and hit the road by 2.45pm.

A call from Frederick, “There’s a tree down on the Coromandel coast road.” But the faith is strong and the Brickell gods of chaos are watching over us. A swim and a couple of beers and the disposal of a big pot on a rock, easy peasy. All is well.

Next day: Friday. Epic glazathon and loading of a small electric test kiln.

Saturday we stack the wood kiln and open the electric test kiln.

Karl: “This is Brickell Brac. We are in the home of Brickell Brac. If it doesn’t belong here, where the fuck does is belong? Maybe the National Gallery.”

This is fucking good. It’s amazing. Some of the Brickells are out of control. We all look. You can look at these pots for a long time. They give you something to find. You take the worst bits and make them the main feature. 

Confusion is better than conclusion.

Can we go and get a kebab now?