HIGH ON CUTE
Driving along Highgate, Roslyn, my magpie eye is caught by the glitter of pink and gold shiny shine – the gift store equivalent of a window full of puppies. Can’t. Resist. Must. Pull. Over (good thing I wasn’t transporting live organs). Welcome to Blackbird, a shop so sweet, its candyfloss without the toothache, so adorable it’s a bichon frise without the piddling.
Cheeses! These Holy Cows are Udderly Fantastic
Little dogs laugh, cows are over the moon and the dish definitely ran away with the spoon (because it was full of heavenly heavy cream); things are pretty storybook at the Holy Cow dairy farm overlooking Otago Harbour. However, 16 months ago things didn’t seem quite so rosy posy when one of Merrall MacNeille’s non-milking cows tested positive for TB and it looked like he’d have to send his beloved herd to the slaughterhouse.
FORTY YEARS OF FALAFEL FREAK FLAG FLYING
40 years ago, vegetarianism would have been thought strange in Dunedin. As strange as a woman having an opinion, or smoking being bad for you. Not so anymore.
When Harry Met Hungry
I was hungry. Sooooo hungry. If I didn’t get something to eat soon, I was going to get hangry, and you wouldn’t like me when I’m hangry. Nobody does. I don’t rip my shirt and turn green – that would be preferable – instead I’m a mean cow, prone to unreasonable outbursts and lairy decision-making. Unfortunately, there was nothing in my wallet but two fives and some gold coins, receipts for regrettable purchases (who really needs a Nicolas Cage phone cover?) and it costs more to eat than put petrol in your car in New Zealand at the moment. My online balance was a joke (not a funny one, more like that joke your uncle Ray makes every Christmas about the actress and the bishop). My tummy grumbled. “Feed me Lisa,” it said. “Feed me or else.”
Things People will do for Chocolate
It shames me to admit it but Matthew Moloney had me at “chocolate.” And, because listening’s not my strong point, despite never running for anything in my life – I’ve run from plenty – at 8 am (yes, that’s a time) on the 10th of September I’ll be taking part in a 39-year-old Dunedin tradition involving a cold wind up your jaxie and albatrosses.