Levin Annual Tourism Triples!

Version Two of the Road Trip
(see The Fishbowl for Version One)

WELCOME TO LEVIN!
See the genuine LEVIN WELCOMES YOU sign!
Notice how they mention the word 'nestles' multiple times.

It was a miserable day in Wellington. Eight degrees and dropping. Rain. I had an allergy-induced-head-cold. What could possibly cheer us up and help us escape the winter blues? Going on a road trip to LEVIN!

I did my bit for the local economy of my home town by convincing five other Wellingtonians to travel there on the last day of their long weekend holiday.

As the unofficial princess of LEVIN (my dad's almost the King), I did my gracious best to show the city folk the talking points in town. The giant, looming market gardener statue was high on my list of must-sees. While not overtly Asian, us locals can still appreciate that the statue was obviously modelled from Mr Young (take your pick). That was a real photo opportunity!

Then I treated them to the LEVIN equivalent of Fawlty Towers, where the locals put on a very subtle and seamless performance. It included a 90 year old waitress who didn't speak a word of English other than 'Eat-here-or-takeaway?', which she asked regardless of whether you'd ordered the sizzling platter or not and the noodle dish, which is really a chicken and cashew dish. Ordering that is like hitting the jackpot and getting the bonus item!!!! They even take more time cooking it as it is so very special.

I neglected to tell the rest of my party that it was all an elaborate comedy act, so they might have misunderstood and thought the local restauranteurs were incompetant. NEVER!

I kept up the consumer side of the trip, being the only one to buy anything at the Bendon Shop. Morgue was tempted, but they didn't have his cup-size. Also I was the only one to buy anything at the Windmill shop [see comments for a correction here - apologies], purchasing 30c worth of salty licorice. I was tempted by the Danish love-heart candy that had such sentimental messages as 'ADIOS' and 'HELP'.

We went to Foxton - The Fox Town of New Zealand. I am still yet to find a day where I feel like spending $5 for the privilege of walking up the steps in the windmill. My father, the King of Levin, would agree with my cynicism, having laughed heartily at the neighbouring community's attempts to get money off him for their mill [it was quoted in the paper - so I'm not shedding family secrets, though they may have understated his scoffing-ness]. I encouraged him to give the money to the giant waterslide instead. Had the market gardener statue idea been bandied about at the time, I would have said to bugger the new roads and books for the library - give it ALL to the statue! Build it, and they shall come.

At the beach we all rugged up in multiple layers of beanies, jackets, home-made scarves and gloves. The boys grunted and threw things. Some of the things smashed in satisfying ways. Some didn't, but they still grunted and hugged in manly ways. We spent a lot of time balancing on things. I was an excellent balancer and thorougly beat off-black in our 1-on-1 challenge (workboots are NO excuse, loser).

d3vo had guaranteed a spectacular display of frothing Coke - he even went to one of LEVIN's many $2 shops (most per capita in the Southern Hemisphere - it's a fact) and bought a fetching pair of organge-tinted sunglasses as a safety precaution. We all took several steps back in anticipation of our FOUNTAIN OF DIET COKE. And then stepped back in and squinted and peered.... and saw a small spout of foam coming out. Next time: More Mentos. And explosives.

I had a brief ride with off-black in the little red car. My music de choice was Pearl Jam. We tried to lose everybody else, but they found us again. Then we found my dad and Lynne. They found us some tea and biccies (I debate them being 'home-made'). I showed everybody my dad's magical voilin. Its lack of functioning batteries made it somewhat less magical.

We saved the adventure playground for another day...

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if they should ever come back

On the way back to Civilisation Morgue pointed out a picture of his old couch in
a magazine (ALAC ad) I had been gifted by Lynne. He generously autographed it on behalf of himself and The Couch.
It is still up for debate as to whether anyone has lost anything important in or
on the couch. There will be updates in The Couch's next newsletter.
Ask Morgue for fanclub information.

Note: The above paragraph is only accidentally formatted as verse. It is not meant to be the lamest poem ever.

Incidentally, d3vo skips like a girl and is a wicked free-jogger.

Thanks to Fishy for the dinner and icecream. I enjoyed my 'special' chair. And the heater. Leon ate some of my special nachos.

We won netball too. Off-black and I should drink beer before games more often.

In conclusion:
It all came down to a choice of the Wairarapa, or LEVIN (The Heart of the Horowhenua, as my Tshirt says).

Two roads diverged at Lower Hutt, and we—
We took the one less traveled or at least stopped in (as my other tshirt says*),
And that has made all the difference.

* buy your own LEVIN tshirt