Today it was reported by the “News and Star” that Christopher Harvey, MSP for the Scottish National Party, described the Scottish youth as wearing ‘the ugliest clothes worn by anyone on the entire continent’. While he is certainly right, he should also note that the Scottish youth are some of the most socially deprived in the OECD, and that in deprived areas the money is probably more likely to be spend on a six-pack of lager and a new knife than a suit.

The Scotland of today is not the fairy tale Europeans want to see. This is a significantly torn nation struggling to come to grips with generations of underprivileged beneficiaries.

Their dress-sense reflects this.

Today my Google News Alarm finally sent me something truly interesting, after boring me senselessly with such ‘newsworthy’ stories like ‘Houses evacuated after Oamaru bomb threat’. I mean, honestly: who in Oamaru would have the time and leisure to blow up a service station? Especially the only one where you can get a Coke and a Marsbar at 3 am in the morning? The teenage population of Oamaru practically wouldn’t survive if for the nutrients dished out by the nice people behind that counter, and the Victorians would rather attack it with pitchforks before doing something untrad like a bomb (unless it would be a number of barrels of gunpowder, but these you can hardly hide).

No, what I mean is the brillant blog of ‘Red’ Hurring and her team of correspondents: ‘Coracle Oracle‘ is featuring a good range of photography, guest contributions from local celebrities like master craftsman Bill Blair, poems, and of course her own contributions. A long established local reporter, she dishes out the goods without having an editor breathing down her neck, which only contributes to the quality of the blog.

With other words, a worthy addition to the ‘Places you should visit’ list.

While I despise most property-improvement shows, I do have a soft sport for Kevin McCloud’s Grand Designs which is well written, entertaining, well researched and never boring. But recently I am asking myself how Kevin choses his victims: the houses seem to be getting more modernistic (apart from that ghastly project in which the Addams Family met a Glasgow housing estate) the ladies seem to be getting er, more, rubenesqe, outspoken and challenged by fashion, while the husbands have been more ithyiotic: gasping for financial breath and observing their wives burning the money and driving the project.What does that tell us about Kevin’s tastes (in houses and ladies)?

As I am writing this, I am sitting in a train taking me from Edinburgh to Aberdeen towards my new home in Scotland. After six years living on and off in New Zealand, it feels disconcerting to be surrounded by so many people, looking up into a sky that has a dirty gray color that the sky in North Otago never had. The trains are filled with drunken revellers, there are hardly any animals out on the fields, and there seems to be a lot of trees around. As dairy farmers in New Zealand see trees as a pest that has to be removed immediately as soon as the dairy conversion starts, I am sure there is a connection. Not with the drunken revellers, though. But at least Scotland has some sort of public transport, even if its full of happy drunks.

New Zealand is by most Europeans seen as some sort of distant paradise, a view reinforced by the New Zealand tourist board’s clever marketing and Peter Jackson’s editing skills.For some reason it’s rates still on the top five of every German one day to visit New Zealand. They associate the place with clean streams, green hills, cavorting hobbits and funny brown people who rub their noses on theirs as soon as they (the tourists) touch kiwi soil.

Indeed, if you follow New Zealand’s branding efforts around the world, you have to marvel at the advertising industries’ ability to sell this small piece real estate in the South Pacific as the most desireable place to be in the whole world. While there is a grain of truth in the whole branding effort, it conveniently misses out on numerous issues that the discerning traveller from Pigsknuckel, Arkansas is probably not aware of.

Over the next weeks I will be trying to give an honest evaluation of what it’s like to live in a country with a savaged environment, a racially divided society with violence and crime issues that the rest of the would have nightmares about all set in a little paradise that can deliver an unequalled quality of life.

If the Kiwis wouldn’t be hellbent on destroying it.

It’s not easy to find a good bar in New Zealand. Some of them are swamped with tourists (especially in the big hotels), some have terrible staff and some completely forget to stock local fare. But there is one place that just feels right. New Zealand’s best bar is hiding here:

Indeed. Within this rather unassuming driveway is a treasure called Pequeno to be found. Hidden away in a rather unassuming small court yard (that, if I am not mistaken, featured in Perfect Creature) behind a simple door with only a small sign telling you that you’re in the right spot. (I feel almost ashamed by giving it away). Once you enter you are being greeted with a comfortably furnishe, ca 70 square meter room sporting black leather seats and sofas, a fire and a nice, long bar.

Very knowledgeable, polite and friendly bar staff that remembers their guests after the second visit serve classic cocktails, a good collection of single malts, local beers and an excellent collection of pinot noirs from Central Otago.

The music, both live and canned is unobtrusive but well chosen, ranging from classic lounge to jazz. The prices are acceptable for a location of this quality, but not prohibitive. The crowd is a pleasant mixture of students, academic staffers and local professionals. It rarely gets uncomfortably full and most of the time oozes a luxurious, relaxed vibe.

Without doubt the best bar in New Zealand.