AT TEN THE sun finally sets and the pub fills up and the news comes on. It’s my round. A couple of aunties up the back give me a nod but everyone else looks pakeha. The publican looks at my tarred hands. You must be one of the roading gang boys, he says. I’m Don. Got any ID?

There’s a couple of bushwalkers sitting at the end of our table when I get back. Cheers. Cheers. A news item comes on about the Ruatoki terror raids.