Last week­end’s Sunday Star Times Sunday magazine had a fun essay by Leah McFall lament­ing how hard it is to meet-cute in Wel­ling­ton – that is, have one of those lovely romantic-com­edy style acci­dent­al meet­ings with the fel­low of your dreams, usu­ally involving some­thing quirky like bagels or poodles. It’s impossible here because, as we all know, in Wel­ling­ton every­one knows every­one.

The essay isn’t online (boo, Sunday magazine!) but I thought it was worth shar­ing this bit, where Leah comes up with a mag­ni­fi­cent meta­phor for Wel­ling­ton’s dat­ing scene:

It’s like when you step onto a 16-seat pro­pel­lor plane. There’s the guy at the top of the steps who rips your tick­et, stows your laptop and passes round the Min­ties. Then he puts down the lol­lies, tugs on an earpiece, strides to the cock­pit and starts the igni­tion. That’s what you’re deal­ing with, in Wel­ling­ton: the man who is every­where. How can you meet-cute with that? You’ve met him before.

Being a recent arrival to these parts, there are still many social dots I’m yet to con­nect, but I’m already find­ing strange con­nec­tions in places I’d least expect it.

But per­haps there’s an advant­age to this small-vil­lage scene? After all, if every­one knows every­one, you’re soon going to hear what your pilot’s crash rate is like.