Otago beaches. We're not short of 'em.
I have driven 40,000 km this year, and sat in far too many aircraft seats. In the end, the thought of yet another flight followed by a week or two in some rented room or other and days of eating commercially prepared food seemed more of a burden than a relaxation. So, we have been at home and Dunedin has co-operated very generously indeed: this is the warmest, calmest, driest summer that Dunedin has delivered since we arrived thirteen years ago. We have a comfortable house and a lovely garden. There are a score of beaches within a quarter of an hour's drive and a few, in fact, within a quarter of an hour's walk. We have a pile of DVDs, books and classy magazines. A few minutes away there is a vast shallow harbour and a boat shed containing a nice little sunburst. There is a jigsaw puzzle waiting for the rainy day which has, so far, failed to obey the forecaster's instructions and arrive. There is beer in the fridge and whisky in the jar. We walk or read or skype or pray or watch classy British TV or work in the garden or sit on the deck and admire the view. And I am so very glad that I am nowhere else.