Reasons to live in Wellington. Or: Let the annual pervefest begin.

I love Wellington. I love its ease to get around (I don't really go anywhere, but if I did, I have faith it would be easy), the way there's always something happening, the buzz of living in the Capital, the way it embraces both its most conservative inhabitants at one end of Lambton Quay, and its most eccentric at the other end of Cuba St. Or Courtenay Place, to where Blanket Man seems to have moved. (update: Caroline tells me he's in jail)

I love the moment when, on a good day, driving back from the Hutt or the 'Rua, where the motorway bends round, and you can see the whole harbour. every time I go out there, and come back, I look at that, and it makes me smile. Almost worth going to the Hutt for.

There are things I don't like. The narrow streets, the bloody hills, the lack of parking, the goddamn weather.

And the thing about the weather, is that you will have 3 weeks of awful, awful, awful weather, and then like it knows that you are at breaking point and considering investing in a timeshare in Hawkes Bay, the Weather God throws out a cracker. and you find yourself muttering, 'yeah, you can't beat Wellington on a good day'.

I love that last Sunday, I got up at 10.05. Watched the omnibus, had a shower, and went for a walk. In my about 20 minute walk, I took in half a dozen shoe stores, Parliament, and then settled down with the Sunday Paper and a coffee. All within a lift ride and about 2 minutes walk from my house.

But this week, might just be the best week to be a girl in Wellington...fancy whiling away an hour? Head to the James Cook hotel, and well, just enjoy the view. If you can catch a training like I did today...have at it. And if you are lucky enough, like I was last year, to be in the gym when the South African team are in the pool, more power to you.

Happy sevens week, all.