Letters From New Zealand

Tuesday 4/1/00 (Christchurch Windsor Hotel)

The odds on Christchurch as a prospective place to live in are lengthening.

Constant drizzle, coupled with fierce winds, have turned us off this 'Garden City'. That, and the town's main square, which is heavily laden with concrete - not the Eden promised at all. Everyone walks round with their heads down against the weather, there are too many people about, and the only solace to be found is at the local Arts Centre where free 'flat whites' are offered as enticement to use the Internet. Not that we need any in this weather. We've braved the elements to try our luck at Christchurch's sales and watched the brilliant Ed Norton masculine love-in 'The Fight Club'. That's it. Nearly bought some 'real art' in keeping with the Millennium's 'keep it real' motif, but recovered in time.

Sales tally as follows:

One pair of fuzzy leather gloves (red) for Charlotte. Four remaindered copies of Ripley's 'Believe It Or Not' (hardback) for me. One copy of the new Adrian Mole opus (new). (Can you tell from the way my writing style's changed?) Several assorted bad fashion and men's magazines. A s/h copy of Wendy James' abortive solo album (written by Elvis Costello), which I'm fairly sure I own already but still want to hear. A Razorcuts compilation (for Charlotte). A Roches album from 1995. A fearsomely economical pack of sushi.

For those of you keeping score, reduce the odds on London (south) by a few points, increase Christchurch's to 30-1 and maybe throw in Perth (Western Australia) at 40-1. I'll open a book upon our return to Melbourne.

God. It's still raining out there.

So much for our projected punt on the river.