A few weeks ago while exchanging some banter in the commentary box at Rugby Park I got wind of a possible yarn from my old mate, Otago Stalwart John Latta. 

The crafty old bugger told me his neighbour was having a crack at Miss Universes New Zealand and had made the final 20. Initially I was a skeptical reminding him that Balclutha while being a bustling southern metropolis isn't known for its topless beaches or lingerie models. He assured me it was genuine and being a red blooded southern male partial to taking a cheeky peak at the odd fraulein I thought this was a story I needed to go dig out.

I finally caught up with Kristie over a few jugs of Speight’s last Friday where she filled me in on why a good southern lass more comfortable on the tractor than the catwalk would want to put herself through all the shenanigans of a Miss Universe.    

As tradition states each Christmas I receive a biography tailored for a Kiwi male. Its subject is generally a national or international sporting icon, tradition also dictates that I read this in one day, typically Boxing Day, as I laze around the holiday house in Manapouri. This is a nice addition to the usual fare of sock, undies, petrol vouchers, a few more inches around the waist and strands of grey hair.

Emerging from the scratcher a little dazed and confused after a rather decent session on the soda pop the day before was the easy part of my event preparation. Rescuing my mate’s Foxy-cross Jose from a year of fine dining and couch living was the hard part. 

Jose thought his Winter Festival duties were complete after his obligatory appearance in the Air New Zealand Kia ora magazine and a cheeky wee photo shoot for the Otago Daily Times the previous week.

Out of a selfless concern for the future of Queenstown’s tourism industry and inspired by David Attenborough’s Frozen Planet series I’ve spent the last two weeks tracking one of the great tourist migrations. 

Scandinavian tourist season from January to April each year involves the migration of juveniles making their first trip out of the nest halfway around the world to escape the harsh northern winter. 

Wellington 7's - From what I can derive from photos, patches of memory and voicemail, not to mention my imagination, this is how the sevens unfolded.

It nearly went pear-shaped from the get-go, after my Rocky Balboa costume arrived on my doorstep a mere 10 minutes before my sweaty dash through 30-degree heat to the airport.

Arriving sodden, flustered and without time for my customary pre-flight airport terminal Speight's it was stressful times.


At least my costume cost only $110 – the Chewbaccas apparently spent $700 on theirs!

Despite the plethora of tacky campaign adverts, stock standard election-year bickering and vote buying, it’s refreshingly easy to be distracted from the election hype, living in this unique part of the world. 

You only have to take a glance out the window at snow-dusted mountains – in November?! – to realise the insignificance of anything a government can do compared with the real forces that shape our world. 

INTRO: As seems to be customary in the Ionian Islands my stay at Corfu’s infamous Pink Palace lasted a little longer than the 2 nights I had planned. Upon sobering up long enough to compile some reasoned cranial thoughts I felt it appropriate to pontificate some glaring similarities between the Palace and extremist religious sects more commonly referred to as cults.

Mark Wilson in Europe, Greece 5th-16th July 2011, 10 things you need to know to get through. 

What was I expecting.....? I had just flown from the prosperous lands of Scandinavia to the rock bottom of Europe, from order to chaos from prudent financial management and austerity to complete lack of any financial management at all.

I landed in Greece what was once renowned as being one of the most advanced civilizations on the planet in ancient times, revered for fighting its prowess, technical innovation and the advancement of mankind having heard only a scattering rumours about the state of country beyond Athens sufficiently normal looking airport lounges, to be honest my mind had wandered off into the beauty of Scandinavia and its people.