As a family man in Hastings I have a pastime in common with all my friends in this city.
That is, we visit Napier. A lot. Almost every weekend.
My Monday morning texts to friends typically read something like this:
"What'd ya gt up 2 on wknd?"
"Drove kids 2 Napier."
"Me 2."
So I say forget the international visitors - Napier's most lucrative tourist market is Hastings.
It's what we do. Us Hastings folk make the 20km trip to spend money and, if only for a few hours, vicariously become Napier residents.
It's how Heretaunga Plains peasants gentrify our weekend.
On the face of it, it's inexplicable. I mean, at least to this columnist, Spanish Mission architecture is ten-fold more engaging than the meringue and cream construct of Art Deco.
And to boot, the cities' two biggest stages couldn't be more disparate. One's a genuine opera house with all the trimmings - the other's an exercise in municipal humdrum.
But I'll stop there.
I'm more interested in why we in the more southerly diggs continue to typecast ourselves as the twin cities' Garfunkel.
While it's cruel, it's an altogether apt appropriation. For if the twin-cities were a pop group, they'd be Simon & Garfunkel.
Hastings: "I am a rock."
Napier: "I [was] an island."
Why I thought of that analogy raking leaves on my front lawn in Garfunkel last week is anyone's guess.
No matter how hard I come out fighting in Garfunkel's favour, I too am drawn to the mesmerising, Medusa-like sea-side amenity of Simon.
Us Hastings folks are an unfaithful bunch. On weekends we jump into the car to elope and fall helplessly into Simon's arms.
And I'm no exception. The first thought that enters my head when the kids ask for a trip on Sundays is Simon; a play on the beach, swing in the park and ice-cream.
Kiwis love a coast - and they love a view. In Simon, you're automatically bestowed with one. And if you have means - both.
On the face of it, Garfunkel sounds wonderful; he's a fertile sod who struts about in Spanish Mission robes.
And just sometimes, when the evening sun hits the vineyards and embroiders the opera house fa?ade, I think the perception is unwarranted.
But this sense of pride never lasts.
Venturing into Hastings CBD has a habit of curbing any civic pride. As it did last week, when for the umpteenth time I witnessed a minor scuffle on Heretaunga Street - at 9 in the morning. I've lost count of how many times I've seen this.
This is an angry city. It's rough-sawn, debauched and melancholy. It's the Bay's bronx, and it's becoming an increasingly hard place to love.
Local authorities and marketing groups do their best to cheerlead it. But I'm not sure if they're fooling themselves or just intent on hoodwinking others.
Some are fighting with council right now whether to install more dining areas to heighten the cafe culture. Others oppose it, instead arguing for more parking spaces.
If these people are on a quest to gentrify its environs, I say while that's noble, it's also ill-conceived.
Something has to be done to first rid the city of the monumental chip on its shoulder. Attacking the Albert Hotel with a wrecking ball, erecting more big retail and embellishing the cafe scene will improve only the aesthetic.
All it takes is a quick CBD walk to see Hastings' issues are of the human kind.
The antidote isn't flat-whites or parking spaces. Last time I looked there's a shortage of neither.
I'm trying. Believe me. This is home and the potential here is big. If I'm being critical it's because I'm tired of Heretaunga Street's disenfranchised faces.
As long as Garfunkel's social ills preclude his gentrification, I'll continue to spend weekends at Simon's.
By about 2pm, police determined the package posed no threat.