Life has come between me and blogging for the last couple of days.
I needed that to happen after our bus trip on Thursday.
Geologist Mark Yetton escorted the councillors on a tour of the hills. We touched base with Bowenvale, Major Aitken Drive, Ramahana Road, Avoca Valley, Morgans Valley, Redcliffs, Sumner, Mount Pleasant, back through the tunnel to Lyttelton and Rapaki and then back past the Sign of the Kiwi to home.
Very short version is this.
Rocks and gravity are a bad combination. Those benign looking lichen laden boulders at the foot of the hill didn’t get there because they walked there. Some of the direct hits taken in the hill suburbs are just beyond description.
We walked in behind houses on Heberden Ave – pantries still full of baked beans, laundries with shirts hanging to dry – and giant boulders have pushed straight through them. Back walls look like splintered toothpicks.
This is the untold story so far. While the far east is suffering the empty hills of Christchurch bear testament to a long and difficult conversation we’ll be having in the very near future.
And for that reason I fled a little bit. I’ve developed a niche (and very short term) career as a voluntary kitchen hand for a group of glorious people who own a gaggle of venues throughout the south island. Yesterday I was busy cubing potatoes and skewering kebabs in the kitchen of an unsuspecting Ashburton family who probably had no idea that the reason for my abnormally long tea break was that I was speaking to George Balani on Radio Live.
You need to mix it up a little bit. Hard work needs good fun, great friends, and people to tell you when it’s time to stop.
And it would seem – that time is now.