Culture episodes in Wellington

One of the things you notice when traipsing about Wellington, the capitol city of New Zealand is that the civic leaders have had the great good sense to plop sculpture around the place. If you've been following this diary you'll know I have a thing about sculpture. Not a studious, learned sort of thing-more a snickering, bloody hell look at that, call that art sort of thing. So, Wellington was a rich vein to tap into.

In front of the train station there is a statue of a little bald bloke who, on closer examination turns out to be Ben Kingsley. Ok, Ok, Gandhi, but an easy mistake to make. I mean, you wouldn't expect to find a statue of Ghandhi stepping out from the train station in Wellington, would you? My goodness gracious me no. Actually the thing that struck me about the statue was its stature. Not quite as overblown as the Lincoln memorial in Washington D.C. but this effigy is certainly somewhat more statuesque than the Mahatma himself. I have a feeling the Wellington worthies had statue envy of the colossus in Auckland's Aotea Square. Just a theory…

Then there was this…

Now, I am not sure whether this is intended to be a sculpture of whether it is simply a piece of rubble that blew off a building in the famous Wellington wind, but I am assuming it is. I wonder if I was the only person who found it darkly funny; what with Wellington being carefully situated over a major fault line. I suppose it is a sort of Memento Mori. A few metres further along the street a companion column managed to remain standing but the signage which originally said 'Welcome to Wellington' had been somewhat jumbled in the high winds.

I shouldn't take such cheap shots at the weather in Wellington. It was actually brilliant for most of the time. I even managed to be burned to a cinder while lounging by the pool on new year's day. I was still anethstetised by dangerous amount of alcohol I had imbibed in celebration of closing off 2007. I didn't feel a thing. Well, not then anyway. Now I am still suffering the consequences. I'm pretty certain it's travelling directly to my lymph nodes as I type. Actually I have heard one is more likely to get skin cancer if one has been burned as a child. Blimey. That me done in then. I remember long days on the beach at Takapuna, swimming, mucking about in rock pools and creating canal systems from the water's edge up to the line of dry sand that would rival Venice - pretty certain our canals would qualify for world heritage status. Anyway, to the point, I would be so sunburned that my body would look like bubble wrap. Peeling great sheets of skin was an art. I'm pretty sure I could have made a full sized replica of the epidermal me. So, damage done. Might as well enjoy the time I have left.

On that note I resolved not to make any resolutions this year. Why kid myself? Maybe I could make a cop-out resolution - I will not smoke - but then, I never have. Or, perhaps; will only make blog entries when I have something to say that has more gravity than a dust mote.

Well there's one resolution that's bitten the dust then.


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