Lake Ferry campground sits on council reserve and rough yet permanent cabins have been built there from the 1950s. Casual campers come and go but I don’t think tourists would often venture. The lake fills and empties with the immensity of the tide and the currents are curious and potentially treacherous. There are the rocky shores and velvet hills of the Wairarapa and a sand bar which opens and closes. Down the end of the village is the oldest hotel in the region, but one which now charges city prices.

The campsite is built around a culture of weekend fishermen. The blokes were tradies with utes and all the gear; everyone had a quad bike and most a boat of some sort. The men were free from city rules as were the kids in this vast landscape which refuses to be tamed. The kids circled with bikes or caught a lift with Dad on the quad bike. An irascible five year old girl roamed on her electric bike and a boy called Harry often seemed to be the centre of attention. There were quite a few Maori and the place has a traditional feel yet without the tribal protocols. There has been a digital intervention, for everything works through an app called Penny: bookings, gate opening and closing, showers…so there is no need for an office. Yet there was a manager who circulated on the Sunday, watchful and competent, keen to ward off complaints – for there had been a raucous party the night before. He spent time with us because we were obviously educated and therefore a possible threat. We reassured him and then shared historical tales of the area.

When dining at the pub we had been able to make portraits by standing on the veranda with the setting sun, hills and lakes in the background. While there, a couple on a dating app encounter provided a Chekovian sadness. Both were middle aged, both seemingly unattractive, yet if animated would be handsome; but the conversation was stilted and eye contact problematic. He was yearning to get away, yet she remained hopeful and was probably trying too hard. It was awful and I realised how testing these dating apps are, setting up a one to one examination of a stranger in isolation, rather than a group situation where you can eye each other gently, have small interactions, always within the safety of the group and then, having decided it might work, go on a date with some shared history. This was like an interrogation. The digital world is hard on people.

And then to Castlepoint and the amazing colony of seals with their pups at this time of year. The flopping and flipping and diving  – those big eyes –the myriad cries…this beat any zoo experience in terms of encountering the wonder of another species.

It was a rewarding way to celebrate turning eighty one, but next day, upon returning to the city, the digital space went crazy with algorithms as I tried to enquire about a couple of problematic bank payments. Two worlds. Which one will win out?