An opportunity arose to solve all the world's problems. Three of us were in the car, on the Kilmog, headed back into Dunedin after a day planting trees at Moeraki.
We were sucked into a fog, and realised it was not just any fog, but a magic fog-portal, on the far side of which we would find a world exactly as we wanted.
"OK, so what will it be like?" I asked the others.
"Rainbows and grass and lollipops," said one.
A pause followed . . . Then all agreed that sounded suspiciously like one of those be-careful-what-you wishes.
Fortunately, the silvery fog-portal was long and snaking, and our ad hoc committee had time to revise the plans for a perfect world.
"No violence or exploitation, thanks," committeeman L.L. said.
"Maximum working day of nine hours," I said, seeking to define exploitation.
"What?!" my fellow committee members cried in appalled unison, and committeewoman K.T. added, "Six! No, five!"
"Well, I was going to say eight, but nine won't kill you, especially if you're not working five days," I said.
Then I remembered many people do work full-time, and anyway it was a perfect world so leisure time did not have to be justified. I agreed to a maximum six-hour day.
I moved we have a world without plastic. "Only biodegradable materials, please."
This was initially approved, but then K.T. raised the issue of modern technology and its reliance on plastics and industrial metals. "How will we live without cellphones and internet?"
It was a good question. In the end we agreed to make do without plastic but left open the possibility of using metal and stone.
We agreed New Zealand would not have rabbits, stoats, ferrets, weasels or possums.
"Will the moas be extinct yet?" I asked. "Will we have moas?"
"Yes," the others said.
"What about dinosaurs?" L.L. said.
"No, I don't want dinosaurs," I said. I was just being selfish on behalf of the human race.
"What about that giant flying bird that could eat humans?" K.T. said.
"Oh yeah, the one they have a sculpture of out near Palmerston," I said.
"The Haast eagle," L.L. said.
"Yes, we'll have that. Could it really eat humans?" I said.
"It could eat a moa," L.L. said.
"Imagine that," K.T. said. "Being plucked up off the ground and eaten."
"That would be quite funny," I said.
"Yes," she said. "In a cartoonish sort of way."
We came to the end of the portal, signified by a dazzling golden light that turned out to be the evening sun over Dunedin in the new and perfect world.
"Damnit," I said. "We haven't ironed everything out yet. I should have been ready with the solutions, since I complain about the problems all the time."
We had no choice but to proceed. We left the Northern Motorway and headed on down to the city.
"This road looks like it's just been sealed," I said as we turned off Pine Hill Rd into Bank St. "Why did we decide to seal it, again? I thought we negotiated - no sealed roads in a perfect world!"
"This is not asphalt, but a biodegradable organic moss," L.L. said.
"Oh," I said. "Glad to hear it."