Wellington 3

A few clouds around today, but yesterday was fine, all fine. After a morning’s internetting (hotel + Starbucks), we hunted down a hair salon that could fit us in (we were turned away from two places, though—Wellington hairies do a brisk trade on a Wednesday morning, for some reason), and we both had haircuts. Then we took our newly neatened selves up (and up, and up—they do good up-ness here in Wellington) to the Adam Art Gallery on the campus of Victoria University to see the Anthony McCall exhibition, all smoke and light. Then we ate among the students and ambled through town, back to the hotel for a rest after all that clambering about the hills.

I went to my first Writers and Readers Week session (as a spectator); a poetry reading by Kate Camp, Geoff Cochrane, Kevin Connolly, Glyn Maxwell and Ian Wedde. I’m now convinced that all poetry readings should take place in beautiful darkened theatres like the Embassy. And that I should get more poetry readings into my life.

Today, Eirlys Hunter is going to grill me for an hour at the Downstage Theatre, which venue I haven’t seen yet. If you’re in Wellington, come by at 12.30 and watch her turn me inside out.