Weather or No.

There are some cynics who say that New Zealand's summer is merely the bit where the end of last winter joins the beginning of next winter. There are others who aver that New Zealand's only two seasons are the wet and the not-so-wet, while many maintain that there is nothing wrong with New Zealand's weather except the weather.

But climate, like socks, soap and socialism, is merely a matter of personal preference; some like it hot, some like it cold, and some prefer a climatic cocktail. Thus the winter which is too dry for the farmer is too wet for the golfer, the summer which is a drought in the country is a drip in the city, and the spring which is too early for the late worm is too late for the early bird. Autumn, of course, is the season of sadness, when the multitude mourns either that summer is gone or that it never arrived. But autumn hardly can be called a season because if it is wet it is the beginning of winter, and if it is dry it is the end of summer.

The truth is that New Zealand's climate is like every citizen who has managed to keep out of gaol—good enough to keep the country out of trouble. It escapes such exorbitant exigencies as Manchuria, where the country is under the ice in the winter and over the odds in the summer; or Sighbeeria, where in the winter the Sighbeerians reel in hopeless sleet, and in summer peel in soapless heat; or Iceland, where the only two seasons are “the night before” and “the morning after.”

True, New Zealand has more sunlight than many lands, but as it is spread more or less evenly over the year, there are no large lumps lying about on any particular part.