The Long-Term View

Standing in amongst a group of my neigbours the other day, I saw shuffling feet, stares at the pavement, bitter recriminations or resignated sighs, as we learned just how long it was going to take to fix our homes.

The cynical side of me, that floats half hidden in the grimy shallows of intolerance, like an impatient old croc, chuckled "insurance arse-covering" to any fellow swamp creature that would listen.

The other side of me knew that we were just being surely hearded into an inevitable bureaucratic cattle-yard for processing and escape was unlikely. You're Kobe beef, you're a Big Mac pattie. The only choices we had were to walk away and loose the lot, or wait until at least the end of 2013 before we would be back in our homes. Since that would make three years since the earthquake tossed us out of them, the idea was a little unpalatable. Kind of like a four-day-old Chicken Nugget. It quickly occured to me that there was a third choice. We were lucky enough to be able to take number three as we have a smaller mortgage and no kids.

And so here's the third choice, the one we took. It's our new house. It's not broken, it's next to a stream (the ducks come free of charge) and it has a garage, also known as a Man Cave. Ugh. There's even an old toy train on the workbench, left behind by the last owner. How's that for karma?

Three years to go meant time to get on with our lives and jump the fence of that cattle yard and get the hell over yonder hill to greener pastures.