For once, Peter Sellers is lost for words.
The 87-year-old retired radio broadcaster with the colourful tongue and the encyclopedic memory has been stumped by a simple question: who have been his favourite interview subjects?
Sellers gets up from his couch, with barely a creak of his knees, and wanders over to the feature wall in the living room of the apartment, No 304, he owns in the high-rise block of the Frances Hodgkins facility in St Clair.
He looks at a lifetime of memories.
There are the photos of him with 1936 Olympic Games hero Jesse Owens, New Zealand running great Peter Snell, golfer Sir Bob Charles and rugby commentating pioneer Winston McCarthy.
The personally signed pictures of Muhammad Ali, Mark Spitz and Bob Hope. The videos of Sir Donald Bradman and old All Black tests.
The wall is a shrine, of sorts, for a man who rubbed shoulders with many of the greats in his long career.
"Bradman was one, of course," Sellers replies. It was an answer I was expecting.
As much as Sellers is a devoted All Black and heavyweight boxing fan, nothing can ever recapture the admiration and respect he held for Australia's greatest cricketer.
He met Bradman, interviewed him and exchanged letters. He's got more videos on The Don than he has on the All Blacks.
In the Bradman church, Sellers has always been one of the most devout worshippers.
Sellers then wanders up and down the room.
There are a lot of "ums" and "yeahs" as he narrows down the contenders for his second and third-favourite interviews.
"I suppose Peter Snell. Every time I interviewed him, he was very nice. And Colin Meads. I better say Meads."
Sellers lives, as he has done most of his life, on his own. Confirmed bachelor.
He's been married to sport since he was a boy in short pants watching every bit of rugby and cricket he could find growing up in Wellington.
His apartment is tidy, surprisingly free of clutter even though it holds so many memories.
The main living space features shelves on both sides packed with some of Sellers' many hundreds of books.
A medium-sized television holds the corner and a small bar heater helps ward off the south Dunedin chill.
There's a small office where pride of place goes to signed and framed mementos from fellow broadcaster Keith Quinn, All Black great Meads, former New Zealand cricket captain John Reid and Olympic gold medallist Murray Halberg.
Sellers' love of American entertainment is reflected in the shelf of videos of Dean Martin's famous "roasts" and the stuffed Betty Boop doll.
More shelves and cupboards in the bedroom overflow with books, scrapbooks, photo albums and general memorabilia. It's been a life well lived.
For Sellers, sport was never an interest so much as a way of life.
Through four decades, he entertained and enlightened, covering sport and interviewing sportsmen and women with determination and strength of conviction.
It's been 22 years since he went off the airwaves - and 52 years since he uttered his immortal "bloody lot of pies" line before the second test between the All Blacks and the Springboks at Athletic Park.
Since 1986, Sellers has been slowed only by the inevitable ageing process. He's healthy, alert and as passionate about sport as ever.
He still enjoys a cold beer, though he concedes he doesn't consume quite as much as he used to in his prime.
He looks out for interesting articles in the Otago Daily Times, the Dominion Post and the Sunday Star Times, and neatly clips them out and files them in one of his many overflowing scrapbooks.
There are regular walks around the retirement village - "It takes 43 minutes. That's including to the corner and back" - and visits to the Waterloo Hotel.
Sellers was the second person to buy an apartment at the village. He moved in 13 years ago, making the difficult decision to leave his Cutten St place behind.
"I miss the flat. It's an awful hill leading up here. I get no enjoyment out of walking up hills - or down them."
Interestingly, Sellers does not listen to much radio.
He is a slow but voracious reader, devouring newspapers and books.
He brings out the stack of books he is reading at the moment: titles on the great cricket commentator Brian Johnston, New Zealand running great Jack Lovelock, heavyweight boxing champion Jack Dempsey, musician John Hammond and film pioneer Mary Pickford.
"I still enjoy my main hobbies, which are sport and entertainment."
That prompts Sellers to divert into a discussion of the merits of the Metronome All-Star Band and Artie Shaw's Navy Band.
"It's gone now, of course, the big band music. Everythings's changed. A lot of the guys have gone too. A lot of them died young."
Sellers is thankful his own health has carried him through a long working career and 22 good years of retirement.
"I'm lucky, I'm lucky. It's quite good.
"I had a bit of a scare some months ago but they say I'm OK. I have to admit I didn't ask many questions. I don't really want to know."
Sellers might be out of the old school but he has rolled with the times, paying for Sky Television so he gets to watch all the top rugby and cricket and things like cycling and athletics.
His thoughts on modern sport include:
Twenty/20 cricket: "I'm not sure about it. I haven't really followed it much. I suppose I watch it if New Zealand is playing. I'm sure it's devalued test
cricket quite a bit and that's disappointing."
Super 14 rugby: "Oh yeah, it's all right. But I still get the rugby competitions mixed up. And there are too many young men playing top-level rugby
that just aren't good enough.
Professionalism in rugby: "It's stuffed it up, hasn't it? There's so much emphasis on the All Blacks now.
"And so many of our best players are playing in other countries. Professionalism has had a bad effect on New Zealand rugby.
"But I feel sorry for Graham Henry. Honestly, who would want his job? No wonder he never smiles."
Sellers has lived in Dunedin for 50 years, but his home will always be Wellington.
He still makes a point of watching every game the Wellington rugby team plays. He can't remember when he last went to Carisbrook.
He doesn't like night rugby and can't bear the thought of freezing in the grandstand.
