In Praise of Hamilton

Mortality and moroseness are like co-joined twins, inextricably linked. I received the news a few minutes ago that someone for whom I have an immense amount of respect died last night. The man (his name need not concern us) enriched this world of ours in uncountable and incontestable ways. I am privileged, as many others are, to have known him. I think we were about the same age—which is where mortality and its co-joined twin come in. However apart for that announcement and imparting my private hurt, today remains Fryday and moroseness is hereby banished…to Hamilton. I was in Hamilton this week, where so many reside in exile and hope to be summoned back to Auckland. Or, at the very least, hope to move to Cambridge. It is not as if I have anything against Hamilton—the least physical contact I have with it the better. But when my GPS refuses to work and the town’s drivers seem oblivious to all other road-users, you immediately know where local-boy, Richard O’Brian, got his inspiration for The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Of course Mr O’Brian had to leave Hamilton and seek a more creative environment to write his show. I know that while down there I struggled to write even a Facebook post. And my reading was largely confined to a KFC menu, given that I found most Hamilton road signs and directions totally incomprehensible. And what is it about Hamilton’s propensity for roundabouts? They seem to love them down there. They build them everywhere. And that is the thing with Hamilton, you see: they love to build things. And they do it well. The reason I went to Hamilton was because of that. Most of my writing these days tends to specialisation in a certain sector, and Hamilton is the hub of that sector. Moreover, the Hamilton companies and the individuals involved in that sector are renowned and acknowledged for their innovation and creativity. They are in many respects an inspiration. But, they also seem to hide it away. And that, perhaps, is Hamilton’s problem. They seem to hide everything away, behind and below a veneer of too many Bunnings, too many Mitre 10s (Mega), far too many fast food joints and far too few restaurants. Hamilton, you should be loud and proud. Proclaim your prominence. If you don’t, I will: I’ll tell everybody that you are the BDSM capital of New Zealand, that you have more witches’ covens than any other New Zealand town, that you did produce Richard O’Brian and gave him inspiration, that you like cows, that you have one of the best motels I have ever stayed in. And, yes, you are home to some very very talented people. It just seems a pity that you seem too shy to tell anybody about it. So, I have. Say thank you Fryday.