Darwin Was Wrong!

So as Oliver informed me very early on Sunday, Darwin was wrong. Probably because I had just survived a Vespa mission with Rico through the quiet Martinborough streets, sans helmets, after packing three of us onto the Vespa. Inappropriate, as after all, Vespa is Italian for wasp and we had just been to a Catholic wedding.

So my cousin Leon had finally married Donna, and we were celebrating the wedding in high style. Drinking as only people from Palmerston North can, and I was holding my own, pretty well. It was a great night, even if I was roundly abused for trying to get a taxi back from the 'after party'. And then everyone lost the swipe keys to their chalets.

I spent the Friday before in Wellington, catching up with Jonette and Alek. Alek and I managed to pretend he was getting married and had half of the Matterhorn trying to buy us drinks before we beat a hasty exit. I wasn't sure how I would feel on returning to Wellington, but I loved it. I even entertained the idea of living there again briefly.

I'm not sure at which point Darwin was wrong, or if Olly was even qualified to make that claim, as hours earlier when he called me, he asked whether Martinborough was a club. A weekend out of Auckland was actually great, and lovely to see two people that liked each other so much that they even learnt the dance from Pulp Fiction. Nice.