If you are walking purposefully towards an appointment along
Dunedin's main street, and you have lived here all your life,
it is an absolute given you will meet someone you know who
will make you late. Dunedin is that small.
Aesthetes and lovers of fine hockey flocked to the city from
all corners of the earth to celebrate Brian Turner's honorary
Doctor of Literature from the University of Otago. Two of
them, from Cambrian, stayed with us for one night. We were,
as always, peerless hosts.
Oscar Wilde once said, and I'm paraphrasing, if a man can
hold on to a grudge for more than 213 days, then he must be
genuinely angry. It is 214 days since this newspaper ran a
feature about Dunedin locals and their brushes with extremely
famous people.
Most rational thinkers would agree that the only time a man
should ever try to make a coffee pavlova is when his wife is
in Christchurch stuck in heavy snow.
Children should always be photographed from behind. I am
thrown into a coma of shame when I realise how long it has
taken me to realise this. Most humans, I am sure, worked this
out very early on.
The principal of my wife's school was stranded by volcanic
ash in Wellington last Thursday, and the request went out to
represent the school in the Dress Circle of the Dunedin Town
Hall for the high school choral showcase, The Big Sing.
A close personal friend, Lou, who lives in Brighton, England,
one of my 346 Facebook friends, posted an intriguing question
last Friday: why do very wealthy women always look shiny?
