Nestled gently between the two luminous breasts of Dunedin and Christchurch, Timaru serves up a saucy and sexy slice of provincial New Zealand. Requiring a sabbatical from the twelve tasks of job hunting in Auckland town. I headed South in search of ambrosia, lodgings and fresh spells for my book.
Timaru turns out to be a pretty good place to stay. The locals are laid back to the point of falling over. At least I imagine they are falling over because that is the only logical explanation for the curious lack of human beings. The local doozers have done an incredibly industrious job of creating the town and surrounding landscapes.
Earlier feeling suitably otherworldly. I scarfed up and dulled my glowing visage sufficiently to blend in with the pristine panorama and seek sustenance with our genial hosts. The air was both bracing and gently ex foliating. It appears to have cryogenic properties keeping the blood at safer temperatures and viscosities.
Dinner was a delight and at the end the master of our house informed the waiter that I would be taking away my coffee along with restaurant cup and saucer. This is par for the course in Timaru it appears. A truly magnanimous decision and one beguilingly befitting for an out of town wizard like me.