Winona looked out over the sparkling, glassy bay, then at the pure blue sky. Face upturned, squinting, she murmurs, “Who are you? And what have you done with our Wellington spring?”
The usual modus operandi is that Wellington’s springtime lags, after a burst of September enthusiasm. It dawdles in the rain; it forgets to put away the Southerly chill. School holidays are especially dire. Wellingtonians are thereby able to focus on the terribly serious business of running the country in the best evenly grey bureaucratic style.
One fine spring day doesn’t break this cycle, especially on a Friday. A glorious weekend that previews summer might be just a seasonal taunt. The promise of an equally glorious week to come, and a very warm spring overall, threatens the status quo. Will Wellingtonians be happy to scuttle to the cultural capital’s basement galleries, dark cinemas, and windowless bars when the silvery sun shines? Might a new efficiency sweep the offices, to clear the decks for the weekend and to ensure uninterrupted holidays? Would the polarfleece and the dark, eclectic woolens be cast off for good and all, instead of hauled about like security blankets?
In short, if global warming brought this burg reliable fine weather, would we turn into…Auckland?