Pouring heritage back into Christchurch
Nick Inkster’s success in hospitality is down to a phenomenal work ethic, the ability to see opportunities where others don’t, and a knack for throwing a good party. By Jo Youl.
Ahushed enclave of High Renaissance architecture nestled in a corner of Cathedral Square, the Old Government Building serves as a welcome refuge from the glass, steel and graffitied modernity that is postearthquake Christchurch.
One of the few Edwardian buildings that managed to survive both the 2011 earthquake and the subsequent razing of so much of the city’s history, this elegant matriarch is home to Inkster & Company’s founding hospitality venue, OGB Bar.
When the dust from the earthquakes and the resulting demolitions had finally begun to clear in 2016, the heart of the city was a wasteland, boarded-up heritage buildings and a ruined cathedral all that remained.
In those days the hospitality scene had been reduced to an incongruous line-up of Calendar Girls, Baretta, Mama Hooch and the Christchurch Casino, and Cantabrians were crying out for a venue where people could gather for a convivial drink and forget about what had been lost.
Enter OGB, a defiant symbol of the city’s resurrection among the gravelstrewn empty lots and condemned buildings, and just metres from the ruined cathedral.
Featuring a speakeasy-style bar with cocktails and live music, it’s now a Christchurch fixture and is clearly Nick Inkster’s baby, although he’s reluctant to play favourites.
“It was kind of at a perfect time when Christchurch was needing something a bit different, so it just went off,” he says.
Inkster’s success is down to a combination of a phenomenal work ethic, the ability to see opportunities where others don’t, and a knack for throwing a good party.
Growing up in 90s Christchurch, Inkster frequented the usual bars on The Strip, but he remembers being particularly taken with Sol Square when it opened in 2005.
“I’ve always had a romance with coollooking bars, with laneways and stuff,” he says of this exotic precinct, which was the beginning of the “peak hospo” era in Christchurch, when new bars seemed to sprout overnight and it finally felt like the city was starting to grow up.
Born and bred in the Christchurch suburb of Dallington, Inkster, 40, recalls working as a glassie at the Dux de Lux at age 16.
This celebrated hospitality venue was an integral part of the Arts Centre, pioneering both vegetarian food and live music in the city, with Shapeshifter, Salmonella Dub and a young Anika Moa all cutting their teeth in front of a diverse and enthusiastic crowd.
Inkster’s father Robin recognised his son’s flair for hospitality very early, and was happy to indulge his propensity for throwing “epic parties, with live bands and heaps of kegs, the works” at their Dallington home.
Mum Marianna, who moved to Amberley after the earthquakes, is also Inkster’s “biggest fan”, and he emphasises that it is her enthusiasm and energy for his venues that constantly inspires him to do more.
Old flatmate Liam O’Laughlin – he and Inkster have been friends since the late 90s – recalls the house that Inkster and twin brother Leon bought in South Brighton after leaving school.
Inkster wasted no time installing a spa pool and building a deck around it, then cut a hole in the side of the garage and fitted a window and bar leaner to serve beers to paying customers at his parties.
“He always knew a lot of people from different schools, and from the beach and the rugby club. It was a lot of fun.”
Robin died of prostate cancer in 2013, but not before telling his son that he “needed to build a bar”. He has since been immortalised at OGB in the form of a tap beer dubbed Robin’s IPA, which features his kindly, smiling face on the logo.
His picture also takes pride of place above the bar, along with a street sign taken from the now red-zoned Tilbury Place, where Inkster, Leon and sister Colette spent their formative years.
Inkster’s passion for hospitality makes his early decision to become a builder all the more surprising. Offered a brewing apprenticeship at the age of 17, he opted instead for a career in construction, and spent the next four years learning the tools of the trade while playing rugby for Linwood.
Once his apprenticeship was complete, he headed to remote Barrow Island, off the coast of Western Australia, and spent the next seven years building accommodation and other facilities for the oil and gas industry.
Inkster laughs at his choice of building over brewing, because he “thought he’d end up fat, tasting beers every day”.
It was during his tenure on Barrow Island that the seeds of the Inkster empire were sown, with Inkster remotely signing the lease in 2014 for what would eventually become OGB, using his earnings from construction to pay for the lease and to design the bar he wanted.
For so many bars and restaurants in Christchurch, many of which had been through a post-quake rebuild, the arrival of Covid-19 in 2020 was the beginning of the end. Inkster, however, saw an opportunity where others couldn’t, and “instead of sitting around moaning about it” he reasoned there would be a gap in the market.
While the rest of us were watching Netflix and sneaking socially distanced drinks with neighbours, Inkster & Co was hard at work setting up three more hospitality venues: the Austin Club, Paddy McNaughton’s, and Civil & Naval in Lyttelton.
With the help of government subsidies, Inkster managed to retain all his staff through those uncertain times.
And he is thrilled that his latest venture, The Church Pub, has finally opened in Worcester St after four years of dealing with a succession of naysayers, bureaucracy and red tape.
The Church Pub, originally the Trinity Congregational Church, is an architectural triumph, with Inkster’s desire to remain true to the building’s heritage apparent in every detail, from the lovingly restored limestone cornices on the stained glass windows to the cleverly wrought replica organ pipes behind the bar.
Religious purists might disapprove of the quiz nights hosted by drag queen Tony Chestnut and the live music played by the aptly named Unholy Trinity, but there is no disputing Inkster’s love for the extraordinary craftsmanship of what is now the oldest stone building in Christchurch.
His reverence for the building’s heritage was even noted by a passing member of the clergy, who so liked what he saw that he kindly offered to bless the venue on its opening night, during which he sagely noted that Jesus did, after all, turn water into wine.
Inkster believes his company thrives because he refuses to be pigeon-holed and doesn’t subscribe to the elitism that has proven the downfall of so many craft beer start-ups.
He has a good relationship with Lion Breweries and is acutely aware that Inkster & Co’s longevity relies on appealing to the masses alongside its more niche projects. “There’s a reason why Heineken and Corona and Speight’s and Steinlager are the popular brands – because they’re sessionable.”
To this end, Inkster Group bought the Fox and Ferret in The Palms in March last year. In Inkster’s words, this unassuming little venue “is a classic English pub, and it was well ahead of its time”.
While it has a vastly different vibe from his other well-known venues (like the Austin Club and Parlour), his latest venture was inspired by nostalgia as much as financial gain. The Fox was where dad Robin took Inkster and his brother when they came of age, insisting they buy him a celebratory beer in a timehonoured Inkster tradition.
An avid historian who delights in the circularity of his various ventures, Inkster recalls sitting in the old Civil & Naval bar in Lyttelton, which he now owns, while drawing up the plans for OGB in 2014.
In the same vein, his purchase of a black Austin 10 car, with its distinctive Inkster & Co moniker, was inspired by a picture of the OGB building in 1952 which featured a similar vehicle in the foreground.
Spying the rare beauty sitting in a North Canterbury paddock not long after, he made the farmer an offer and the rest is history. Inkster was told by a member of the city council recently that the Austin actually took the title of mostphotographed object in Christchurch in 2018.
Perhaps born 80 years too late, the 1940s were part of an era Inkster has always felt drawn to, with postwar speakeasies, basement bars and swing, and the Austin 10, looking like it’s come straight from the London of that period, is also the namesake of one of his most recent ventures, the Austin Club in Cashel St.
This high-end basement bar is all about cocktails, comedy nights, poetry readings and DJ sets that go till 3am, and if you’ve managed to actually find it, you’ll need to know the password to gain entry.
While Inkster is the face of Inkster
& Co, the company has been run in partnership with brothers Andrew and Richard Norton since 2019. Well known in hospitality circles, the Norton family previously owned the Speight’s Ale House in Sol Square, and are now the proprietors of Bailies Bar in Edgeware and the Cranford Ale House.
The trio have been friends for almost 25 years; Andrew was Inkster’s rugby coach at Linwood Rugby Club, and Richard and Inkster played seniors together for several years.
The Gaelic jewel in the crown of the Inkster empire must surely be Paddy McNaughton’s Irish Bar in Manchester St, which takes its name from the Nortons’ fourth great-grandfather, Paddy McNaughton.
Young Paddy had the misfortune to be arrested and sent to Australia as a prisoner of His Majesty in 1810 for the heinous crime of stealing an orange.
Despite being offered land in New South Wales upon his release seven years later, Paddy decided he’d rather take his chances in New Zealand, signing on to a whaling operation at Te Awaiti in the Marlborough Sounds.
During this time, the colourful Irishman married a high-ranking Ngāi Tahu woman, Makareta Tangitu, changed his surname to Norton, and the pair moved to Christchurch in 1850.
This traditional ale house in the Shand’s Emporium building (now the oldest wooden building remaining in Christchurch) has sawdust-covered floors, an extensive whiskey selection and Guinness on tap. It’s snug enough that on any given weekend the bands playing traditional Irish ditties are almost sitting on patrons’ knees, in true Dublin style.
Inkster’s good friend Mijntje Lepoutre worked with him on the interiors of OGB, Parlour, the Austin Club and Paddy McNaughton’s, and The Church was the work of local designer Gemma Atwood from Pluvio Design Studio. Inkster sources the old cash registers, phonographs and assorted paraphernalia adorning his bars from local dealers.
One of the more appealing additions to OGB comes in the form of Inkster’s rather glamorous leonberger dog, Winston, a well-known fixture in the OGB and Church Pub courtyards. According to Inkster, Winston is great company, as well as being “extremely chill”.
Despite being in charge of six hospitality outlets and 140 staff, Inkster has also been managing the Linwood division one rugby team for the last four years. He and some friends even bought a bus for the club three years ago to allow players to travel as a team; their motto is “get on board”. Linwood are currently in the top four of the metro competition, and Inkster hopes victory will be his managerial swansong.
Inkster & Co’s 10-year plan will hopefully see bars opening in Sumner and Redcliffs, and linking them with Civil & Naval, which will allow for a kind of Port Hills pub crawl (replete with a sober driver of course).
Ultimately, Inkster’s goal is to extend the Inkster & Co empire beyond the confines of the Canterbury Plains.
Auckland, Wānaka and Queenstown are on his radar within the next decade, and there is no doubt that the boy from Dallington who was born 80 years too late will show them how it’s done, one pint at a time.
It’s 4pm on a Wednesday and Judge Andy Nicholls has just finished four sentencings. Back in his office – called a chambers – he sheds his robe. Soft music is playing and on a table are the first of the files he needs for Thursday.
Eight files to start with, applications for bail and some applications for a limited driving licence – from those who had previously been disqualified but need a licence for work and bail applications.
“A lot of those licences are precious to them for work and family and I need to really process them,” he says.
Each case has different demands and each one comes with its own set of factors the judge has to consider.
It is an important part of the job, to get some time to prepare. “That can vary wildly as to how much time you get to prepare for the day ahead.”
While Wednesday’s court is over, work on Thursday is just about to begin.
District Court judges are mostly seen on the bench, working their way through whatever case is before them. But it is very much the tip of the iceberg.
Behind the courtroom are a multitude of people working, sometimes into the night, Nicholls says, to get ready for the next day.
Court files can be made up of conviction lists, summary of facts, witness statements, victim impact statements, probation reports, lawyers’ submissions, reports from various organisations or people like doctors and mental health experts.
When someone wants bail, it might also include a bail assessor’s reports and opposition from police.
There can be lots of voices involved, the more the better as far as Nicholls is concerned, to give him the best picture.
It all needs to be read and considered, hopefully before the judge has to go to the courtroom.
There’s a balancing act involved, especially with bail applications.
Nicholls will have read them all before he finishes for the day.
“Bail oppositions are not straightforward,” he says.
“For example, surprises come up. Can you deal with it on the spot and in a quality way? Or do you need to hit the pause button and give everybody a chance to unpack?”
He says there is a need to stay curious and humble about what information could still come in.
Thursday, 9.15am
Thursday morning and back in his office, casually dressed – he has yet to change into his suit for the day – he’s going through the files that arrived this morning.
The soft music is back, the office is calm but without a single law book in sight. Instead it’s plants and an Avengers poster – a gift from former colleagues.
He’s received files for four overnight arrests. As yet, those files have little in them and he won’t get all the information until he’s in court.
Once he’s there, he’ll get even more cases. Those that come out of the registrar’s list when people appear for the first time, mostly wanting to plead guilty or for bail conditions to be considered. He’s very conscious of time.
“As a judge I am acutely aware that people can be waiting a long time.
“Each day has a distinct character in terms of the nature of the conversations that you’re having with defendants and their lawyers in what they want to achieve in the courtroom that day.”
Nicholls came to the District Court bench after being Wellington’s managing partner at Chapman Tripp – one of the country’s biggest law firms. He had no criminal work background but it was time for a change, he says.
And he arrived at a time of upheaval – fresh out of the Covid lockdowns and with protesters occupying Parliament grounds, arrests from the scene were some of the earliest criminal cases he dealt with.
A judge’s day is determined by a roster. Some weeks it’s the main criminal list in Courtroom One, on others it’s a trial or he might be heading out of town to the Hutt Valley or Porirua courts.
And it’s definitely not predictable. “On a day where we’re doing the criminal list, which is a busy, busy court day, a variety of things can be presented to the judge to move matters along for people.
“You will have done some preparation and you will have an expectation about what it is that the lawyers want to achieve and what the lay of the land looks like. For other matters you will not have seen the file before it’s handed up to you. And so you do live by your wits.
“Some surprises can come up even in the files that you think you’ve prepared for, that you haven’t seen until the moment that they handed up to you, so you do have to be prepared to adjust your thoughts or your take on what it is that you’re going to achieve that morning or that afternoon.”
He needs those appearing in his court to know that he can see them, can appreciate where they have come from and that everyone in the room has worked hard to understand how they got there and where they go from here.
9.50am
Just before court starts and the courtroom is teeming. Lawyers come and go, mostly waiting to talk to the prosecutor, a probation officer or the registrar. The public gallery has a small group already taking up seats. Out in the foyer are more. One chap, wearing work gear, settles in, he doesn’t know how long he’s going to be here.
The door to the courtroom swings open and the registrar announces the arrival of the judge. Nicholls welcomes everyone and the day kicks off.
First up is one of the limited-licence applications – for someone wanting to keep their job and look after their grandmother. It’s one of the files he had read the night before.
He grants it and wishes them good luck with their grandmother and to look after the licence.
With that, the list is under way. Nicholls thanks everyone who comes forward, asking them to wait for a moment while he talks to the lawyers and saying he’ll come back and talk to them.
The old hands with a few court appearances under their belts give him a nod. Those in court for the first time relax a fraction. It’s clear his greeting takes a bit of the sting out of the scariness of court.
Courtroom One is an endless procession of defendants, lawyers, probation officers and prosecutors. They move about in what looks like chaos but it’s all about pushing cases forward.
Nicholls says that behind the scenes police are working as fast as they can to get the information to him if they are opposing bail for people who have been picked up overnight and brought to court.
“There also needs to be time for them to talk to a duty lawyer, it’s not pleasant in the cells.
“We are hamstrung without the information. It can slow the process down and put additional pressure on.”
Court staff also come in and out, bringing more files from other courts.
11am
In the first hour he’s dealt with four limited licences, three people from the cells who are able to be given bail, an impromptu sentencing and a couple of guilty pleas.
It’s not him doing whatever he likes. “There is a balance. I get the file for any appearance. A lot has happened to get to this point [of appearing in court]. It means a lot of work to do to understand all the individual circumstances.
“Nevertheless I am still conscious a judge might not have all the information. It’s an imperfect way of managing risk.”
In court he reminds one chap that it was important to keep his court dates, then thanks the brother of another for turning up to support him.
A student who had a few beers on the ferry is called. He was over the alcohol driving limit. Today is his first appearance and he wants to plead guilty on the spot.
Nicholls disqualifies him for six months.
“I’m not going to lecture you, you know it was the wrong thing to do and easily avoidable,” he tells him. “It’s the first time you have stumbled like this, just don’t drink when you are going to drive.”
Nicholls is very aware that for everyone who appears before him it’s a serious matter to them.
“There’s a lot of people in New Zealand waiting to have their matter aired in court. And you’re very aware of that and that right now, this conversation with this New Zealander in front of me is really important for them.”
Among the cases he is hearing are bail breaches. Police often check bail conditions, especially curfews.
A breastfeeding mother went out to get food and came back later than her curfew allowed.
Her going back on bail is not opposed by police, but the judge tells her she’s going to have to make it work until her next court appearance.
Another breach from a chap who didn’t have the key to get back into his home and had to go and get one. He gets bail too.
“Cheers boss,” he tells the judge as he’s sent back out to sign a new bail bond.
11.45am
Shortly after the morning break a woman appears by phone. The courts allow remote appearances by audiovisual link or phone – especially if people are living and working at a distance from Wellington. Then it’s on to an application for electronic bail. Nicholls, however, is worried about where the bail address is and whether the others in the building know what the defendant is charged with.
“If you hop on Google Maps, there are four units in a building,” he says. He stands the case down until the afternoon for some inquiries to be made.
2.15pm
A brother and sister appear for assaulting a bouncer outside Wellington’s Mermaid Bar. Each has a previous conviction for violence.
Their lawyer, Blake Dawson, says they did not start the fracas and asks Nicholls to consider convicting them and getting them to make an emotional harm payment.
“Given the history, I am hesitating here,” Nicholls tells him. “It was a bouncer and he was hit in the face and stomach.”
Instead he gives them 40 hours of community work – the least he’s able to impose.
3.15pm
By mid-afternoon a man is appearing for a family-harm incident on the Chatham Islands.
He appears in the audiovisual screen in the tiny court there, beamed right into the main Wellington court.
There is a bit of figuring out to do. He is being brought over on a flight the next day and going to stay at an address in New Plymouth.
4.20pm
The last case of the day comes after a short delay. It’s called a late arrest – meaning the man was arrested in the morning and brought down to court for the afternoon session. There also appears to be an active warrant for his arrest from 1993.
It’s a file that Nicholls sees only when the registrar hands it to him. His everpresent glasses, on the top of his head when he’s talking, come down to read it.
The man’s lawyer, Hugo Porter, arrives and still has to talk to him, having been assigned to him only minutes ago.
The short break gives Nicholls time to read the file.
Usually late arrests are just desperate to get bail but the guy wants to plead guilty.
The offence – a stupid burglary of commercial premises committed on methamphetamine while he was deep in grief over the loss of his mother – has been bothering the man badly. He even still has most of the goods and has waited for weeks for police to turn up.
He wants to give it all back if he can. Police are opposing bail and Nicholls runs through his past history and the circumstances behind how he ended up offending.
Bail is granted.
“You’ve led a hell of a life, constantly in the criminal justice system,” the judge says.
He says he can see why police were cautious about the man being back on the street.
“It was helpful to hear about your attempts to get off meth, it’s the right thing to do and you are going to have to deal with it.”
The judge puts him off to a sentencing date.
“Each day has a distinct character in terms of the nature of the conversations that you’re having with defendants and their lawyers in what they want to achieve in the courtroom that day.”
Considering bail, a sentence or name suppression is not random. Judges have to follow a set of rules just like anyone else. “There are statutory tests to be met, we have them to guide judges – we don’t have unrestrained discretion,” Nicholls says.
During sentencing, judges have some options but they cannot go outside those. There is a hierarchy of sentences, jail at the top down to no conviction and no punishment. But judges can’t decide to make up their own sentence outside those mandated by law.
“We don't just exercise judgment out of nowhere,” he says.
And within those restrictions are a series of guidelines handed down from higher courts about how a sentence should be structured.
If someone pleads guilty, they qualify for a 25% discount on the sentence. It’s designed to encourage appropriate guilty pleas before a trial or hearing. A late guilty plea, for example the day before a trial, would get a lesser discount.
There are other things that judges have to take into account. Remorse, willingness to consider restorative justice, to pay reparation and make amends, previous good character among others.
All sentencings are a series of pluses and minuses – or, as they are called in court, aggravating and mitigating features.
Judges do have to consider what is called the least restrictive outcome, which means whether a sentence in the community works rather than something more like a prison sentence.
Even then judges don’t get things right every time. And, as Nicholls says, there is an appeal process waiting if necessary.
With the last case of the day over, just before 5pm and more than 30 cases dealt with, he gets up and thanks everyone before court is adjourned.
When he gets upstairs to his office, Friday’s files will be waiting for him.