I’ve always thought Happy Valley is a slightly unfortunate name (nay, ironic) for Happy Valley.
A weird sort of oppression enters my soul when we drive through it. It is usually overcast, and – even if it’s not – the place is dark and casts long shadows.
This house here – the grass has grown up a lot in the last wee while. You used to be able to see the stilts (for want of the correct term) it stood on. Now it presides over a swamp of foliage.
I never mind going to the dump so much. It’s always quite fun chucking stuff off the edge, especially if it’s smashable.
And then there is Carlucci Land. I’ve always puzzled over Carlucci Land, not even knowing that it was Carlucci Land. Turns out you can even play mini golf there.
Last weekend we actually ventured in. Or should I say I dragged one reluctant husband from the car by performing a giant sulk (always works). He was secretly pleased he bent to my will (as always).
I still don’t really get Carlucci Land. It’s sort of beautiful in its way. It works perfectly in its Happy Valley setting. Sort of like the Disneyland of trash.
I will probably return again soon, if only to attempt to get my head around it.
To the place halfway between Owhiro Bay (which always reminds me of washed up severed drug dealer hand/s) and the Penthouse, where you can buy cellophane-wrapped biscuits and wine to aid in your movie-going experience.
Filed under: clutter, makeshift art, New Zealand landscapes, photos | 3 Comments
Tags: diary, makeshift art, New Zealand landscapes, trash art