Wellingtonians are a strange breed. None stranger than the Wellington walker. These are people who insist on walking to work, even in crap weather. The wife and I observed a few as I drove her to work last Thursday:
The Trudger: Face like a pummelled pear. As bitter as the weather. Just spent 28 hours on a broken down train from somewhere on the Kapiti Coast. Some may pity them. Not me though. If you chose to live in Paraparaumu (or anywhere in Johnsonville or Tawa for that matter) you have given up on life.
The Reverse Pregnancy: This fellow places his raincoat not only on himself, but also over his backpack. This results in an odd hump. Of course the contents of the backpack are hardly worth protecting. Last night's left over pasta and a library book (or the Economist if you are an upstart young policy analyst).
The Sneaker Brigade: Even the most stylish Wellington girls ditch the heels for the sneakers. Practical, yes. But its a bit like pouring instant gravy over Kobe beef. Indeed, this might sum up all Kiwi girls, but that is another blog for which I will burn happily in hell for.
burn baby burn
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