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.