It’s a ferocious argument containing extreme and often confusing views on either side.
 
Recently the Associated Press announced it was instructing journalists to use the terms “doubters” or “those who reject mainstream climate science” in their climate change stories as opposed to skeptics. It was believed using skeptics gave them too much credit given the overwhelming scientific evidence in support of climate change. 
 

I've  stayed out of the bed tax debate thus far. It’s not that I don’t have an opinion or five but more that it’s such a complex issue and there are so many valid points of view. However having just visited Hawaii to enjoy a wedding in stunning Waikiki, I have been able to draw on some comparisons from another rapidly developing tourist mecca.

Last Friday night innocently minding my own business propped up against a well maintained shoulder press machine, gathering up the muscular fortitude for another crack at throwing a few weights around, I was approached by a spritely looking young gentleman who gestured awkwardly for me to remove my headphones. 

Not really in the mood for chin-wagging as I was nipple deep in a great 80’s glam rock play list I begrudgingly removed one headphone  in the interests of politeness. 


“Sir could you please not wear denim next time you train, it’s not allowed.” 

Trotting around last week with veteran Mountain Scene chief news hound Scoop on our usual Friday morning run, basking in the early spring sunshine, the mildness of the weather was the subject of our banter. 

As we solved the world’s problems, interrupted only to take a cheeky glance at nature’s more fortunate-looking athletes in their sleek attire speeding past us, we commented on the mild winter and the promise of an early summer and its associated influx of bikini-clad Swedish backpackers to the main bay. 

May, believe it or not, is a dull month in our fine mountain retreat – the only highlights being Mountain Scene chief news hound ‘Scoop’ Chandler’s birthday and opening weekend for we southern duckshooters. 

Despite the resort pausing to catch its breath, Queenstown’s PR machine has aggressively penetrated the globe with images of a vibrant nightlife, plentiful jobs for all and a laid-back lifestyle where people pay you to simply turn up to work hung over and post status updates on Facebook. 


So it must be a shock to the system for new arrivals to find reality’s a little different. 

As I sit here gazing out a slightly off square north Dunedin window nostalgically lamenting my student days a grey misty drizzle shrouds the surrounding hills, it is as if the city is crying, mourning the loss of two iconic bastions of its proud and unique culture all in one weekend. The air is still and the streets airily quiet, I imagine this it is what it could be like the day after the world has ended. The more relevant and perhaps truer explanation is this is what it is like the day after the last ever test at Carisbrook has provided a decent portion of the populace with a David Tua left hook sized hangover. 

As my own head clears and the haze recedes the gravity of what has just been put to rest wells up inside me like two day old fish pie. I guess this is the feeling of loss sinking in. The Gardens Sports Tavern or Gardies for short summed up by owner Pete Innes Jones as ‘an iconic old boozer’ has poured its last Jug of Speight’s, dried the felt on the pool tables for the final time and locked the doors on 40 years of memories.