Sit down and give my impressions of the new New Zealand after being away for two years? Love to, Dave. As a political scientist, of course, and a student of culture. Some very impressive developments—ten o'clock closing, the NDC, hunt for oil.

Harp!

Food and faeces. Yes, food and faeces have preoccupied my attention since my return. Could they be the basis of New Zealand culture?

Harpie

We all know about the New Zealand - consumes - more animal - protein - per - head than - any - country - in - the world bit. Just go into any coffee shop at eleven a.m. Two hours before lunch, but old and young alike can't seem to stuff the eclairs down fast enough.

Must Not Come Into Contact

But what's the faecal connection?

With Anything Except the Bowl

On the way up to Auckland, I noticed a sign by the road. Evidently aiming to make the motorists stop for refreshment, it read Have a Cuppa Toilet. Whether this is going one better than Roman self-regurgitation, I can't say. As a foreign tourist, I'd never before been aware of the full meaning of "Have a Cuppa".

Special Formula

It's Ruskin's point that individual taste makes culture. What about the Taj Mahal? Not the Mogul masterpiece at Agra, but Wellington's own eponymous structure. Proclaimed an independent territory in 1967 by patriotic citizens, it was once a public toilet and is soon to become a public eating place.

Keeps the Bowl

I was shopping in Rotorua, and as often happens to us tourists, I had to go. "Upstairs", the salesgirl told me. "Try two doors down", the upstairs girl said. Two doors down there was indeed a big door marked 'Toilet", but once inside I was confronted by a virago called a Plunket Nurse: "Now we don't come in here, do we?" said she, smiling sweetly as she threw a hammerlock on me and tossed me to the pavement. With feverish steps, I walked from street to street. Twice more I was directed down blind alleys. (Did I dare? I did.)

Germ Free and Clean

Has the North Islander gone beyond effluence, I wondered. Did the absence of men's toilets have any tie in with the talk of contamination of Lake Rotorua?

Perfumed

The West Coast, Haast, Milford, Manapouri—what a paradise of wilderness is the South Island. But touring around we discovered a curious thing: you could drive for miles and miles without seeing a house or any other human habitation, but every half mile or so there stood a grot. In the midst of magnificent rain forest, with the birds in serenade and a vista of the Southern Alps to enhance your meditations—and you were supposed to walk into this two foot square enclosure and shut yourself away from it all. Why so many toilets with so few people to use them? And why so many in the country but so few in the city? It seemed all right for sheep and cattle to honour the land with their blessings of nature, but much expense had gone into seeing that no humans did.

Lavatory

Not long ago the newspapers told of an individual from the town of Leeston who sat for 166 hours on top of a flagpole in order to raise money for a toilet-building project. Where ever it is, Leeston must be in the South Island. As a protest against too few toilets the logical demonstration would be a public shit-in. But no. In Leeston a man sat for a week with a flag-pole thrusting hard against his bowels. Reportedly, the people loved it. (Did he love it, too?)

Cleanser

Such promotion would launch a tourist revolution and the immigration trends would reverse overnight. New Zealand would become a cynosure among nations and enjoy permanent prosperity.

I thank you with tears in my eyes.

Jonathan Fox.

Nicola . . . Salient's nominee for Miss Victoria.

John Eastcott