If you haven't already been to the Lakes District Museum in Arrowtown, now's an excellent time to do so.
There's a brilliant exhibition on about the history of wine in New Zealand.
The funny thing is (and you might think this is a teensy bit parochial) everyone I know who has been to see it thinks it would have been a little more interesting and a whole lot funnier if they had just done a history of the Pinot Noir industry in Central Otago.
It's not called the heartbreak grape for nothing (in fact there is a terrific book by that title, but you have to try finding it on the internet), and the characters who have managed to squeeze that yummy red stuff out of the rugged rocks of this area have got some unbelievable stories to tell.
And some that are true.
But back to the exhibition - even though a lot of it is about those other irrelevant parts of New Zealand that aren't the Wakatipu Basin, the Wakatipu does feature, and I defy anyone who has lived here for any length of time not to look at the painting of the winemakers' lunch without getting a lump in their throat.
Speaking of which, I had one at the violin competitions listening to all those gorgeous young people coming all this way to play for us.
I was watching a girl who has performed at the Carnegie Hall and the Louvre and half a page full of other world-famous venues, and I wondered if she had ever had to get dressed for a performance in the local rugby clubrooms before.
Thank you, Michael Hill, for giving us all the opportunity to see these stars at the start of their careers.
A lot of you men who read this column have been grizzling at me for not reviewing more books for men.
As I have told you before, women are quite happy to read books written by men or women, but men prefer their books to be written by men.
Smart women authors write under assumed names, and sell a lot more copies.
Catherine Sanderson isn't one of those who write under an assumed name, but she still sells a lot of novels.
And not many men would pick up her book Petite Anglaise with its girly cover.
But they should.
As you might guess from the title, it's the memoir of an English girl who goes to France.
She falls in love with and marries a Frenchman, "Mr Frog" and has a child, "Tadpole".
Trouble starts when her Petite Anglaise blog gets going.
Her happy real life starts to fall to bits as her online one gets spicier than she means it to.
When I listen to my friends and children and hear how much time they spend communicating with people they don't even know, I can't help wondering why an online life can be so absorbing.
But it obviously is, and this book is a perfect example of the damage it can do.
And if you are a francophile, you will adore it even more.
Apropos of francophiles, it sounds as if everyone is going to Dunedin for the rugby this weekend.
Allez La France!
Luckily I am not going to the game, or my husband and children might get a bit crabby with my unpatriotic cries.
Instead, I am going to Sydney to see the Festival of Light - nothing cheerier than the burning of boats.
And I am hoping to meet one of the owners of Christian the Lion while I'm there.
I want to review the book next week, and it would be fun to be able to tell you some stories about life with a lion in a London flat.
It will make the usual stories of annoying cats and dogs at home sound very tame and dull.
Have a great weekend. Allez La France!
> Don't forget to email me on miranda@queenstown.co.nz if you have read something stunning or you just want to argue with me over anything.
