Hello, I have returned from the wilds of Dunedin, New Zealand. Cold, very bloody electric-blanket-up-to-11 type cold. Very beautiful too. Picturey postcardey, like England is in the minds of the most romantic, deluded souls. I dare say it’s a perfect spot for a windswept love story, with Kate Bush scrambling through the thicket chased by some Beast of Bodmin Moor type of thing. Whilst from a nearby craggy mountain, a square jawed, ragged but youthful, gold prospector on a restless, pawing steed watches with steely eyes… are you still with me?

Anyway, I only got to explore a tiny area of the South Island so forgive me if my New Romantic pop video fails to convey the correct images.

I was there for a wedding. Voluntarily no less. Old friends and family will be pleased to know I upheld the family tradition of being pissed up and dancing badly, even when it was someone else’s family get-together and I was intending best behavior. My finest moment however was early the next morning, in the home of boyfriends’ mother when I bolted down the corridor to vomit (with all the appropriate spitting and coughing noises these things entail). I’m such a nice girl, no really.

Later that day she enquired if I was feeling any better, and then “Do you do that often?” which sent my mind spinning.. vomit or get pissed?! in truth I’m fairly commited to both, but I thought the safest course of action was to deny all regardless. I think I’d paused too long however because she just gave me a suspicious glance over her half-glasses and turned back to her magazine.

Yup, I know how to charm ’em alright. Anyway, Interflora and a thankyou note can make amends for a multitude of sins. This is tried and tested, I swear. Um, sorry (my) Mum, if you’re reading this.

laters chaps and NZ pics soon.