Katie Holland: A better class of chuggers

Anyone who's ever lived in London, or any other big city, will understand when I say at times I succumbed to "London rage".

It's inevitable in a city with 8 million people, with hot, packed Tube trains that regularly break down, with a work hard/play hard lifestyle where sleep is an afterthought, where visiting a friend on the other side of town can end up as a two-hour plus journey. Where supermarket shopping meant lugging your groceries home on public transport - with the plastic bags cutting into your fingers as you struggled up the stairs - before emerging into a dark winter's afternoon.

It's hardly surprising that, as much as I loved the city, there were times of pure exhaustion, exasperation and yes, sometimes, I got my grizzly bear suit on. People standing on the left on escalators, tourists wearing backpacks on a crowded train, strangers (God forbid) talking to you on the Tube, and "chuggers" (street fundraisers or "charity muggers") were most likely to bring out the rage.

So what a relief when I returned to Rotorua. After eight years in London town, Rotorua was a much-needed breath of fresh air. It took a while to take for granted being able to jump in a car and be at the supermarket, a friend's or wherever you needed to go, in five minutes. Where you could wander down the city's busiest street at lunchtime without getting bundled along by shoulder to shoulder suits barking into their cellphones, although some might say a few more handsome men and women in suits on Rotorua's streets wouldn't be a bad thing.

Yet I was surprised to discover that even in laid-back Rotorua I couldn't escape the chuggers, those smiley folk with their jackets and clipboards fundraising on the streets. In the UK, there were scores of them on every high street. They were aggressive and intimidating at worst, plain annoying at best, and there was a lot of public hostility towards them.

Most were not volunteers but salespeople working on commission. There were articles dedicated to avoiding them - dodge eye contact, keep walking, challenge them, never go outside.

On my lunchtime walk to the nearest Marks and Spencer, about 100 metres, I would have to run the gauntlet past at least three. There and back. Every single day. They were relentless, some even following you and pretending you had dropped something to get you to stop. A first-world problem, indeed, but still tiresome when all you want to do is buy a bacon sarnie and bag of crisps.

It got so bad new rules were introduced in the UK two years ago, which meant chuggers couldn't follow a person for more than three steps or stand within 3 metres of a shop doorway, cash machine, pedestrian crossing or Tube station entrance. It's true, London folk really don't like to be bothered.

Luckily, the Rotorua chuggers, who mainly seem to hang out at the Pukuatua-Tutanekai intersection, are nothing like their London counterparts. A polite "no thanks" without breaking stride usually does the trick. Kiwis being friendly folk, I see many non-grizzly people who are happy to stop for a chat if not to actually part with cash. Not me.

If I choose to donate to charity (which I regularly do), I will do it off my own bat.

Charities do an amazing job and, if chuggers can persuade someone to support one who otherwise wouldn't, then that's only a good thing. I only hope the Rotorua chuggers stay so nice and laid back, so that grizzly bear suit can stay in hibernation.