Welcome to the ‘arsehole of the world’

THEY have a sense of humour in Invercargill and, let’s face it, you would need one to live here.

Former Lions hooker Brian Moore infamously compared this most southerly outpost in New Zealand to the nuclear wasteland of Chernobyl and yesterday its good citizens hit back. As Moore’s successors in the 2005 Lions squad to play Southland this morning disembarked from their chartered jet and strolled across the tarmac, they were greeted by two men bearing a tray each of Bluff oysters, the local delicacy. The men were wearing gas masks and bright yellow anti-radiation suits.

This is the tour stop every player must have dreaded. Bad enough you weren’t selected for the Test team, but as further punishment they made you play in Invercargill.

The offerings were respectfully declined but you have to admire the waiters’ spirit. But then this is the town which has a signpost on the main road in from Dunedin that reads: “Welcome to Invercargill - ‘arsehole of the world’,” a quote attributed to Mick Jagger, whose presence here at some stage is almost as puzzling as why the townspeople would advertise the fact he said it in the first place.

A journey into the centre is an insight into Jagger’s thinking. Grey skies hang over this flat, bleak landscape of approach roads lined by drab, one-storey dwellings, the continuity of which is broken only by the appearance of a liquor shop, convenience store, motel or fast food joint.

A spot of window-shopping in the town centre, though, highlights the local sense of fun. In most towns playing host to the Lions, the shop owners have gone out of their way to welcome the visiting fans. This usually entails a vividly red and black window display of Lions and All Black regalia, topped off with a team jersey from each side.

They do things differently in Invercargill. One shop has changed tack by offering two mannequins, one adorned in a Southland rugby jersey, the other in a girl’s hockey uniform, pleated skirt and all topped with a straw hat from which pigtails dangle.

The hockey shirt has the word “Lions” written across its chest.

We are three hours drive from Dunedin, the Lions’ last port of call at the weekend, when they beat Otago at Carisbrook. Three days later and those members of the Barmy Army that can be bothered have found themselves in very different House of Pain. Most have declined to venture into the town until matchday, preferring to sample the delights of New Zealand’s mountaintop pleasure capital, Queenstown, some 200km due north (and where isn’t?).

You cannot blame them. If you are going to have to endure cold like this, you may as well have some snow, skiing and bungee jumping. Invercargill offers none of the above. It is just so cold here compared with the other tour stops encountered so far and a look at the map explains why. This is the most southerly tip of the South Island and continuing southwards, over the Stewart Islands lying 32 km off the coast, would have you reaching Antarctica next.

Invercargill bears the brunt of its icy winds in return. Which is a shame, because the surrounding Southland scenery is spectacular, wild and unspoiled, while the people here are very warm and eager to please their biggest influx of visitors since, well, the last time the Lions were here in 1993. Brian Moore must have missed them.