Weekly Photo Challenge:


which if you’re British makes one think nostalgically of a way of life now almost extinct: the friendly and intimate neighbourhood pub. Failing that and half a world away, here’s yer friendly local “southernmost in the world” Starbucks. Franchised or not, this one is actually comfortable and (despite some SB experiences elsewhere) purveys good coffee—

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—Invercargill’s answer to the despised (hoick, spit!) Auckland sophistication. Moving on, lest my cynicism show—


an oasis of green, and for the nonce some olde worlde charm. It won’t last, the park management seems determined to remove any and all trees; but for you tree huggers right now—

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—a guardian of the approaches. You can approach these guys but warily, despite the Olaf-like “I love warm hugs!” soft and fluffy street appeal. Soft and fluffy … not. Each of those spears is a blade as hard as copper and as sharp as steel and as pointed as a needle.

Moving briskly by, we approach the local museum—

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—in whose car park local cars have been locally parked by local locals. And now, in front thereof and using an antique effect, here’s an antique mailbox.

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I used to think it was just a bit of decorational whimsy but watching a whistling mailman emptying it the other day I guess there’s sufficient whimsical tourists to keep it in commission. The mail went into his bag and the apple cores into that wee garden with the anchors—


—that were salvaged from shipwrecks a century or more back. Lovely old things if you like rusty iron, I found one of them just nicely placed to shoot a Roman variant of an ancient Greek goddess who used to perch atop a local insurance building downtown.


I don’t know if I’ve posted this before—it’s the mascot of The Cheeky LLama, a coffee lodge in Queens Park. Nice people, good coffee and oodles popular; but they know me now and usually my brew is waiting for me on the counter by the time I reach the front—

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And they call me ‘Darling’ …



4 thoughts on “Weekly Photo Challenge:

    1. Sadly the wee bugger’s not alone. And when the wind is howling (‘roaring forties’ — we’re right in the middle) they fair wave their arms about. Brrr.

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