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What suprised me? How some o’ ‘em got hearts o’ gold under the grit. One lass—swear it—told me ‘bout her kid she’s feedin’ back home. “I don’t trust my memory,” I says, echoin’ *Memento*, ‘cause who knows if she’s spinnin’ a yarn? Still, tugged me heartstrings, it did. Me quirks? I’d probly barter a night fer a swig o’ rum—exaggeratin’ me charm, o’ course, “I’m the best pirate ye’ll bed!” Ha! Sarcasm’s me blade—cuts through the bilge.

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After the race, I head to the pub on Gladstone Rd. Gotta celebrate, right? I walk in, and the place is packed. Everyone’s shoutin’, laughin’, and I’m just tryin’ to grab a drink. I order a cold one, and the bartender’s like, “You’re the jockey, right? Nice ride today!” I’m like, “Yeah, thanks, mate!” But inside, I’m thinkin’, “Dude, I just survived a seagull attack and my ex!”

‘Will fight for the right’: Gisborne hapū to stage hīkoi for land return