Autumn days go past in such a blur that in a normal week I look back at the notes I keep for this column and am shocked at how much has happened in just seven days.
With no Queenstown Times on Good Friday, 14 days' worth of what I call news is an enormous list.
Last on the list is my son's report of his 21st birthday present from a so-called friend of ours - a voucher for a night at a lap dancing bar in Auckland.
Our son's a funny little boy - he always fussed and fumed having to go to his sister's ballet concerts and made grumpy faces doing Scottish reels at the Arrowtown Autumn Festival.
He tells me lap dancing is very different from ballet or reels and very easy to enjoy. The "girls" do the dancing and the chaps just sit there.
It's nice to know he's enjoying learning about the culture of other countries.
I must admit I know so little about the dances of Lapland.
He tells me the Poles do interesting dancing as well.
I wonder if my book club would like to have a go at Lap or Pole dancing. We are a talented bunch, after all.
Many of us went along to the Ole Ola show at the Memorial Hall - an unforgettable experience and the chaps there were all very interested in the Brazilian folk dancing.
I am wondering if my darling would find dancing with me more exciting if I wore a tiny bikini (a generously large word for the meanness of the real article) with feathers coming out of my bottom. I think not.
Many of the men in the audience wept a small tear for the lead male performer who told us of the problems of sharing a dressing room with the female dancers.
Hurrah for Grahame Todd and Poppy Llewellyn whose exciting and sensual performance of the lambada won them a million dollars and a CD. There seems to be a small problem with the money arriving but the CD is great.
We celebrated afterwards by eating delicious Asian tapas at the Spire Hotel bar and I am still dreaming about the tiny roasted coconut salads on betel leaves.
My brothers' offspring had all been desperate for Easter to roll around.
We had plenty of training runs to ensure maximum harvest at Easter egg hunts and they did excellently on Sunday, although Jack Howley's much greater age (he's 5) saw him walk off with the lion's share of the eggs.
Two-year-old Felix sobbed with rage - his two hands clutching so many eggs that when one fell to the ground he couldn't pick it up.
His cousin Edie won the prize for most eggs fitted into one mouth at once. Not all the chocolate stayed in her mouth, though. An unattractive look, Edie.
I tried to avoid Easter eggs as it is the Royal Wedding today and I was hoping to fit into one or other of my old wedding dresses to wear at the party tonight but it's not looking hopeful.
A smart bride would marry at her heaviest. I always make that same mistake of losing weight for the big day.
If I can ever be bothered going through the rigmarole of a third wedding (unlikely - all that tedious training of a new husband ...), I'm going to get up to 100kg for my special day.
My sister was buying jeans last week and she asked the shop lady to find her a different (bet it was bigger) size.
As she stood in the changing room in her undies, she heard the lady talking to another customer.
Grrr ... who could be more important than my sister?
She stuck her head out and called out "Excuse me, excuse me ..."
The shop lady seemed to think that Kate Middleton's custom was more important than my sister's, but my sister certainly didn't as she slunk back in to her cubicle, snarling irritably.
Someone we should all be very proud of is Kaye Parker - another $1 million into the Wakatipu Trails Trust coffers - you are amazing, Kaye. Well done!
She was bubbly as ever on Saturday at Chard Farm when I raced over the finish line at the Tour de Wakatipu cycle race, only two hours behind the leaders and the small children and probably people on unicycles and penny farthings.
But I finished and I didn't even cheat this year.
I'm so proud and would just like to thank my parents and my coach and the padding in my shorts and most of all lovely Greg from Fat Tyre who taught me and Philly how to cycle down hills. It made all the difference only having to get off my bike for the uphill bits.
All that biking made me desperate for a cup of tea and a lie down with a good book.
And what a good book - A.A. Gill's utterly un-put-down-able AA Gill is Away is old and sensational.
This is travel writing, but not like any travel writing you have ever read before. "Warts and all" doesn't even come close to describing it.
You're unlikely to agree with him on everything - he makes a lot of people very afraid, but he is passionate about a lot of things and that passion makes for some very slap-in-the-face writing.
Not a pretty book to read in company as you snort a lot and laugh until you cry just before you cry at the pure misery of what he's seeing.
I've got so many good books to tell you about but my cruel and heartless editor won't let me fill the whole newspaper.
Next week will ONLY be about books, I promise... unless something else exciting happens.
