Before I get started, let me make a disclosure about Dunedin.
I love the place.
Dunedin is the best city in New Zealand. It has natural beauty and wildlife in abundance, it has a sensational location, it has an overwhelming sense of occasion and history, the finest historic architecture in New Zealand and a fantastically easy lifestyle.
But, perhaps most importantly, it has people who genuinely love the place, rather than just using it as somewhere to live between holidays. I’d be back living there in a blink if I wasn’t so committed in Oamaru, where I now live.
My first experience of Dunedin was as a nipper in 1948 and was the result of a combination of family matters and a wish to get my brother and I out of Auckland during an infantile paralysis (polio) epidemic that was raging in the North Island, when schools were closed for months. The polio bug liked the warm, muggy air of Auckland and so baby brother and I were sent south to the cooler climes of Dunedin where we spent several months with our paternal grandparents until the epidemic was over.
That was a halcyon time. Our Scottish Grandad and Nannie Dick lived…
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