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Amongst the grim chaos that is modern air travel, there is a refuge. And that refuge is the ridiculously pretty Blenheim.
Instead of grilling you about whether you absent-mindedly packed any bombs, the airline agent admires your cute green Benetton suitcase and asks you where you bought it. Instead of being intensively scanned by machine and human for dangerous substances, you wander across the tarmac entirely unsearched and with your nail clippers sitting unmolested in your handbag. Where they should be.
(That's not to say Blenheim's entirely unconscious of our dangerous times, of course. After all, there's a no parking zone in the bit of street just outside the air force base.)
And that's not the only attraction Blenheim has to offer. When you go out to eat on a Saturday night you can find parking - in the main street! And you can buy Cloudy Bay's 2007 sauvignon blanc from the cellar door at a fraction of the price they're getting for it overseas. Ah, Blenheim, mon amour.
Instead of grilling you about whether you absent-mindedly packed any bombs, the airline agent admires your cute green Benetton suitcase and asks you where you bought it. Instead of being intensively scanned by machine and human for dangerous substances, you wander across the tarmac entirely unsearched and with your nail clippers sitting unmolested in your handbag. Where they should be.
(That's not to say Blenheim's entirely unconscious of our dangerous times, of course. After all, there's a no parking zone in the bit of street just outside the air force base.)
And that's not the only attraction Blenheim has to offer. When you go out to eat on a Saturday night you can find parking - in the main street! And you can buy Cloudy Bay's 2007 sauvignon blanc from the cellar door at a fraction of the price they're getting for it overseas. Ah, Blenheim, mon amour.
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