Kerre Woodham: Jagger got Invercargill all wrong

Every now and then, it does you good to get out of Auckland. This city has a lot going for it, and it may well be the epicentre of many trades and businesses, but it's not the only option.

I was in Invercargill this week to talk to more than 400 rural women on a girls' night out. I love Invercargill. Mick Jagger once famously labelled it the arsehole of the world, but that was a long time ago.

More recently, a churlish British rugby player turned commentator called it the Chernobyl of the South, but the opinion of a boofhead lager lout counts for squat.

I prefer to see Invercargill as the place where Bert Munro dared to dream the impossible and which the fabulously idiosyncratic Marcus Lush chooses to call home.

In just a few hours on the streets of Invercargill, I met escapees from Wellington and Auckland who have moved there to take advantage of the lifestyle, the beachfront properties and the laid-back attitude.

At the iconic Zookeepers I had the best feed of bacon and eggs since the last time I was in the deep south. Remember when bacon was thick-sliced and tasted like pork? Served on huge slabs of toast - eggs with yolks brighter than the sun.

The main street is thriving despite fears the Ware Whare would kill the city centre, and if I'd had more time and money, I could have shopped up a storm.

A young mum at the funky hairdressers was wondering why she hadn't moved to Invercargill years ago. It's not for everyone, and I think the locals prefer it that way.

But just remember, when you're festering in traffic at the beginning of a one-hour drive home, it's all a matter of choice.