It has been brought to my atten­tion that “a com­mon com­plaint … from native Auck­lan­ders when they ven­ture south, or even tourists, is that, after three days in Welling­ton there is noth­ing to do”. While the writer of that com­ment does­n’t agree, look­ing around the city at the moment, I can see that they may have a point.

After all, once you’ve drunk your fill of Pinot Noir and dressed up like a lunatic to watch four­teen men run around a field, you might find your­self at a loose end. If you don’t like reg­gae (oh no) or hip hop cul­ture, Asia-Pacif­ic musi­cal fusions, rock music, dance or jazz, then there’s noth­ing at all to lis­ten to. If join­ing crowds of noisy young peo­ple jump­ing off things or watch­ing power­boats roar­ing around the har­bour are too rau­cous for you, yet watch­ing sculp­tors work­ing in the open air or explor­ing urban wet­lands seem too sedate, then you’re stuck for out­door enter­tain­ment. Once you’ve cel­e­brat­ed Chi­nese New Year, watched the Drag­onboat regat­ta and joined in the street fes­ti­vals in New­town and Cuba St, I sup­pose it won’t take long to knock off the measly 98 pro­duc­tions at the Fringe. I guess you could always go out eat­ing, drink­ing and shop­ping, but that should­n’t take long even if we do have more bars, restau­rants and cafes per capi­ta than New York. Oth­er­wise … nada.