Speaking of seals, that reminds me of ... erm ... me

My Sydvillean relations recently informed me that one of the seals at Taronga Zoo is called Lexie. It's hard to think of a higher tribute to a name than to have it conferred upon a seal. That it happens to be my name too fills me with an inordinate pleasure. I may not be much chop when it comes to balancing things on my nose, but nodoubtaboutit, Lexie the Seal and I share a deep spiritual bond.

I also share a deep spiritual bond with the butter substitute known as Nuttelex. Nuttelex, like me, comes in Original, Olive, Lite, Kosher, and Cholesterol Lowering varieties. It is my butter substitute of preference, and I would be adding dishonesty to narcissism if I denied that half the appeal is in the final syllable.

So it was with considerable pleasure that I stumbled upon Dunedin's Alexis Motor Lodge. Had I not already paid up for a completely satisfactory berth at the backpackers', and had the Alexis Motor Lodge had any vacancies, I would have been hard pressed not to barge in immediately and demand a room with complementary monogrammed towels.

Then I see my surname in Christchurch. This building isn't a seal. In fact, I have no idea what this building is. It might be the headquarters of the South Pacific Meatpackers' Union, for all I know, but is that going to stop me from posing in front of it? Are the bemused looks of Christchurchians who wonder why some backpack-sporting nerd is standing on their tramtrack? Is the fact that someone else has to be persuaded to wield the camera? Um, no.