If there’s a Hell, then it surely starts in the little things.
And lots of them.  But the tiniest things aren’t to be found in Nature, but in the human mind.  It’s as if Life itself is like a giant rockish block of Parmigiano cheese, but our nasty wee minds break it down and grate it into that stinking yellow dust we sprinkle on top of our spaghetti Bolognese.  Wrong image, but you know what I mean.
Wellington, though, is not the sort of environment that suits small-thinking.  I think it’s because of the seething harbour, the steep hillsides we build our houses and hovels on, the constant torment of wind and rain, and the black-brained Domesday-merchants who keep dwelling on when the Big One is going to hit Wellington.  My personal belief is that it will come in about a thousand years time, but in the mean time the biggest threat is our own ideas (or lack of).  Just reflect on the following heinous incidents that rocked us in the last seven days.
The Honourable Nicolas Rex Smith, the Minister for Climate Change, walked up a suburban street with water dripping from his togs after having a swim in the Thorndon pool.  So what.  It’s hardly like King Kong lumbering towards New York.  But no, someone had to complain.  For some reason, it didn’t seem right to some woman who let out a big moan about it. (I bet she’s a Jafa).
Then the people on the trains started whinging about feeling like “sardines” in a can.  How ungrateful.  We spend millions giving them luxury seats that are like Easy-Boy armchairs on rollers and organise a pleasantly intensified intimacy with other rail-riders, and what do they do...Bite us in the bum.  They should learn that song Don’t worry, be happy and all sing it arm-in-arm as they roll into town.
Other niggles round the burg are the airport people wanting to close down one of our public roads just to make life cosier for themselves.  These guys live in a different world.  Think of the poor peasants: we live here, too.
Which reminds me.  A young house-painter I know who’s just got back from a decade in London decided to pick up a coffee from a stand in town.  The roads were dead so he parked across the road while he collected a cup and dashed back.  In that twinkling of an eye, a Council Parking Enforcer swooped on his vehicle and drewlingly sucked over a hundred dollars out of him with a fine (he had paused on part of the thousand miles of yellow lines round Wellington).  These Wardens are waging war on motorists.  What next? Tear gas and rubber bullets? And no, the Homecomer won’t be buying coffee again.
To cap off this happy week, Wellington’s leading theologian Lloyd Geering revealed there will be no afterlife.  Well, given everything else happening, that’s no surprise at all: Heaven has been cancelled.