An open letter from Dunedin
Okay Canterbury...
Now you've done it.
This was supposed to be raid, for heaven's sake! This was war.
But when we crossed the border between Otago and Canterbury what
met us? Nothing! Where were the barricades? There weren’t
any.
We stopped off in Timaru for lunch. No sign of the armed
militia, no cavalry. By the time we'd got to Ashburton we'd taken
off our Viking helmets. They were really too warm and the horns
kept poking through the roof of the bus.
Things got worse when we reached Christchruch. There were all
these smiling hosts waiting to show us to our rooms. There were
comfortable beds waiting. They took us to a barbeque!
At least the weather was inhospitable.
The element of surprise was completely ruined by all that
publicity. I walked into a bar on Sunday evening and everyone
shook my hand and said they hoped we’d have a good time. I
was miserable.
And the venue? Talk about comfortable? I hated it.
Well we performed for you and you applauded, more than
politely I’m bound to say, which some of our party
appreciated. Softies. The one satisfaction I had from that
evening was that nothing could have prepared you for our secret
weapon: an octogenarian, deaf in one ear, accordion player with a
line in antique, off colour jokes. Thank God for Cyril
Sharpe.
And so a 20 year old tradition was successfully revived and a
return visit is planned for May. Well let me warn you now
Canterbury. When you come to Dunedin on Saturday 19 May
we’ll be ready. There will be no easy rides, oh no.
BY GOD, WE’LL SHOW YOU HOSPITALITY!
Richard Dingwall