Fishin' Fashin

Finally, the fashion community is starting to realise the vast potential of fish to make people stylish and irresistible. Here, you can see practical and elegant fish headwear, which two people support - allowing them to split the cost of the hat, as well as enjoying the spirit of camaraderie you only really feel when you are sharing a garment with someone else. In Europe, critics are calling these hats 'the new jeans', so you can expect to see them shortly at all the major fashion houses. As with jeans, it is likely that wearing sneakers with your Prada Duo Fish Hat will be considered an unforgivable faux pas. Be warned!

Hope springs

In this rare shot, we can just make out the gentle salt water fly fisherman (right), pictured alongside the traditional bait fisherman/lure user. Note the thickset, burly frame of the heritage method fisherman, and the tyrannosaurus/prizefighter cut of his shoulders. In comparison, the SWFer is slimmer, more upright, and has the firm, lithe poise of a professional dancer. While many believe that the divide between these factions - separated as much by philosophy as technique - will never truly be closed, this picture is a beacon of hope for a united future.*

* This photograph has been officially inspected, and judged not to have been altered in any way. What you see is one of the very few confirmed shots of cross-species co-habitation recorded in recent times.

SIGH

Dirty water?

A snapper from Auckland's welcoming coastline. Our public transport might be patchy, our Mayor might be lecherous, and our ironic beards might be laughably pretentious, but I won't hear a bad word about our shore fishing.

Front door steps

A couple of chronologically selected snaps taken from Auckland's promenade to the stars and gateway to the kings. The slightly less glamorous parore was a happy accident and like the more desirable subjects was served upon a silver platter to two hungry diners, crumbed, fried and delicious.

Why your sunglasses will eventually divorce you

When I first started hanging around with these beautiful Arnette polaroids, I couldn't get enough of them. We'd hang out all day, and at night I'd polish them carefully and put them lovingly in their case. I took care of my personal hygiene, since I didn't want oil getting on the lenses. We danced, sometimes, just the two of us: no music, no light, just dancing. I never missed a birthday. Over time, we started seeing less of each other. I got a new job and didn't have so much free time. I worked hard and felt like I was doing the right thing by us - we needed the money to keep the comfortable, easy-going lifestyle we wanted. But, in working for the lifestyle, I sacrificed the ability to live that lifestyle. Sometimes we were together, but it was always fleeting: on the way somewhere else. I never had time to clean them anymore. They stopped living in their case. One morning, not so long ago, I woke up and put them on. The lenses had seen too much salt water, and the polarising transfer was coming off in a terrible pock marked pattern. Then, I knew: my neglect, my complacency, had killed what we had. And things would never be the same again.

Moocherati

This handsome beast took a jack mackerel in 5 metres of water, close into the bricks. In his stomach, I found a bait pilchard I'd cast and lost earlier, some crabs, and a stone tablet with an eleventh commandment relating to the inappropriate use of sinkers in shallow water.