Don't let the balmy weather fool you, next week the summer holiday is over for MPs and the political year begins in earnest.
Next week, Labour's (hopefully) refreshed, beach-bronzed MPs will gather in New Plymouth for the parliamentary party's annual caucus retreat.
Caucus retreats are meant to be scene setting - a chance for Labour and National to make their pitch for how they'd like us to view the political year.
Labour's caucus retreat was where Jacinda Ardern famously (and calamitously) dubbed 2019 the "year of delivery", and 2021 the "year of the vaccine".
(As a matter of interest, Labour's 2020 caucus retreat in Martinborough was also the site of the first Covid press conference fronted by a minister. Then-health minister David Clark answered questions under the searing midday sun next to a bouncy castle erected to keep MPs' children occupied.)
Caucus retreats are a reminder of the people who drive the political narrative - MPs junior and senior, at various positions along the greasy pole that leads to the ninth floor. For the woman at the top of that pole - and the man who would like to replace her - caucus members are both a team that could win them the next election, and liabilities who could undo their leaders' lifelong ambition with a dumb Facebook post.
Both leaders have problems in their caucus that must be dealt with this year.
National leader Christopher Luxon's woes began early with yet another transgression from MP Harete Hipango, who posted to Facebook an image of herself at an anti-lockdown rally this month.
Hipango's entire political career has played out under a louring and ever-present cloud of avoidable scandal. An ineffective opposition MP, she's never successfully prosecuted the Government in her portfolios; the only time she comes to the attention of the wider public is when she gets in trouble.
The fact her frequent missteps undo the efforts of her more hardworking colleagues to rebuild National's shattered reputation has bred disquiet and possibly resentment.
In Luxon's businesslike view of the world, Hipango is probably more of a liability than an asset. The question for him is whether she becomes so much of a problem that she needs to be forced out of Parliament this year, or whether she can be banished to the nether regions of the party's 2023 list and disappear from politics at the next election.
Getting rid of an MP mid-term is messy, and National would probably prefer Hipango quietly shuffled home to Whanganui at the next election. The key determinant of which path will be Hipango's will be whether she can keep herself out of the headlines this year.
Labour has no obvious landmines. Its whips and wider party have done an excellent job of disciplining the party's enormous caucus.
But Ardern will be conscious that she might go into the 2023 election looking stale compared to National's new leader and refreshed front bench.
This could prompt her to refresh her own ranks. Midway through his second term in power, former National prime minister John Key reshuffled his Cabinet, saying it was time for a refresh. He sacked two ministers and promoted up-and-comers Nikki Kaye and Simon Bridges into Cabinet (Kaye was only a select committee chair at the time). Ardern has at least half a dozen MPs (starting with Kieran McAnulty, Barbara Edmonds and Deborah Russell) who she could use to refresh her executive lineup.
The question then becomes who's out to make room.
Broadcasting Minister Kris Faafoi is an obvious choice for retirement. He's visibly not enjoying his time in Cabinet, and only appears to have stuck around for a second term under duress. Decisions on his largest work programme, the establishment of a new public broadcaster, are due before Cabinet next month, with legislation set to be introduced (and probably passed) this year.
It wouldn't be at all surprising to see him announce his retirement when that work is done, giving time for a successor to get their feet under the desk before the next election.
Nanaia Mahuta is another possible candidate for a change - although reshuffling a high-profile minister in the middle of an important year for her portfolios would be fraught.
She's unlikely to lose her Foreign Affairs gig, but with the borders reopening, Mahuta will need to travel far more than she has done so far (Covid has meant Mahuta has completed only one overseas trip). This might give Ardern the opportunity to relieve Mahuta of her Local Government portfolio.
The main constraint on shifting Mahuta out is that key decisions on her three waters reforms will be made after the Government's working group reports back in March, and legislation will go through Parliament this year.
Unhelpfully, this will coincide with campaigns for local body elections, where thousands of enterprising local politicians will try to build careers from roasting whatever happens to be bothering their communities.
Many will use that platform to discuss the biggest issue in local government, which just so happens to be three waters. An overwhelming majority of councils detest the reforms and Mahuta is unpopular with councillors for a hollow consultation on decisions that, it was later discovered, had already been made.
The policy itself is sensible, and many (potentially most) people agree some sort of water service amalgamation is necessary. The fact Mahuta has failed to sell a sensible policy to councils and the public - and at the same time, managed to turn nearly every council against her and the Government in the process - is evidence of her poor political nous.
If Ardern wants to avoid spending the latter half of the year watching her minister and Government sledged in council races the length of the country, she may be wise to shuffle Mahuta sideways and install someone who can repair those frayed relationships.
Leaders have always tried to frame the political year to their advantage, but like the rest of us, often find that resolutions set in January are difficult to keep as the days begin to shorten and summer draws to a close. Caucus retreats are a useful reminder that often the biggest threat to the leadership comes not from the member at the dispatch box opposite, but from landmines buried in the Siberian backbench.