So anyway, we descended Grey St , past the surprising number of eateries that lurk in the pit of George St (without succumbing to their mysterious starch-laden traction) and then headed uphill, voluntarily. I know.
< The first item of interest encountered on this particular leg is ye olde Chicks Hotel, that ancient bastion of moderate-to-ill repute, perennially half-ruined and yet still a live venue to reckon with. If you can't afford the door charge, just stand around outside- it's all the same. BELOW The beauteous Monkey Puzzle tree, Araucaria araucana.
ABOVE RIGHT No shit.
At this point in the topographical game, it's 30º and more all the hairpinny way and even with the promise implicit at left, you do sort of long for the one featured at right to end your suffering, because I don't know about you but my lungs are trying to exit my chest through my mouth. There's another 250m of altitude to gain before we attain the peak overlooking the upper harbour.
LEFT See what I mean? 45º (the wide angle flattens it out). This bitch is my personal bête noire and at any point in its conquest I look like the wind changed during my audition for Aliens XVII: Fucking Kill Everything. BELOW Oh hey, another hill. Rhododendron Dell entrance at left thank christ, because our lips are blue and our left arms are tingling.
A lot of people think of Port Chalmers as a quaint dump, and to some extent it still is, having neither the means nor will to outrun history, but the more we walk and compare, the happier we are in our choice of domicile.
If I've learnt anything in my 40 years, it's this: never deny yourself a simple pleasure. Never apologise for doing so. There is no time like the present to piss away an hour or two looking at and breathing in flowers.
Stop what you are doing and just enjoy this. There is no why. There is no later. Now is perfect.