I LOVE the eccentricity of small-town New Zealand and as a former North Islander, I think I can safely say that the further south you go, the stranger it gets. And I say that without malice; rather with a sense of awe and sometimes incomprehension and an overwhelming desire to actually meet and talk with the people responsible. I felt that today in the small, North Canterbury town of Oxford, when I came across this little house in the main street, that has obviously become a resting place for the unloved concrete garden ornaments of the world. The small front garden was swollen with activity as gnomes cuddled together under geraniums; kiwi chatted with pukeko; and lounging cats gazed longingly at singing frogs and sun-baking turtles. I would have loved to have knocked on the door to find out more - the journalist in me couldn't help but think of the possible stories behind it all - but I resisted the urge in favour of moving on to the next photographic hot-spot....and there were certainly plenty of those (for me anyway) in Oxford.
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