The French Quarter is flooding. I am actually tearful at the thought of it being destroyed. Forget all that stuff about fratboys getting drunk on Bourbon Street, and all the cheesy tourist shops; it's a truly beautiful, historical place. The architecture alone could keep me occupied for days. It kills me to think of it going under.

My father may be an old prick, but I've discovered that I'd prefer it if he didn't drown. And I don't want any of my relatives to lose their houses. Or for the French Quarter to flood irreparably. That would suck.

Finally down for the night.

There's something wonderfully hiphop about this. 'You down with OBC? Yeah you know me!' Or (shoutout to Simon): 'Millionaires club! We are the O-to-the-B-to-the-C!'

(It's the Oratia lawn bowls club gate.)

How Vinnie looks most of the time. Calm down, sucka!

Today's spam poetry:

but saturable it job , calvinist.
some thimbu a silverware see kyoto, some altruism it's aquarius see collagen try griffin see trainmen not hospital.
and asymptote but rice and nubia.
the coalition a dwight the henchmena phonon and legging the apricot.

I think 'legging the apricot' sounds like a Jeanette Winterson novel.

Last night we saw Sin City. In a word.... ehhhhhh. I'm not sure whether I like watching films that make me feel that icky. Brent teased me for saying how sexist it was, saying 'it's *Sin* City, not *Empowerment* City!' but... I don't know, it wasn't nearly as clever as it thought it was, and there were no interesting characters, and although it looked beautiful that can only take you so far. I'll stick with Raymond Chandler, thanks. Note: 'Rory Gilmore' is a bad actress.

And here's a photo I just discovered from February's South Island road trip. I particularly like the way I'm pointing out Aoraki/Mt Cook as though viewers wouldn't have noticed it was there. 'Oh yes, that enormous peak reflected in a pristine alpine lake? Wouldn't have even seen it without you! Cheers.'

I don't care what you say. 'Fun Ho!' hasn't changed its meaning one iota in the last seventy years.

What's that I hear you cry? You can't wait another moment? You simply must see a nauseatingly thorough, self-indulgent, blow-by-blow photo essay of our house-building project? Well, have I got a blog for you!

And on the way to Tauranga, the inevitable stop at Another Giant Thing. All together now: '... but it iiiis famous!'

Proof that many great photos are a complete fluke - Rach, snapped randomly from the front seat:

OK, this whole silence thing is getting ridiculous. But let's review: there was a film festival, and we adopted a second (second) dog, and that dog ate my glasses, and I cried, and then my insurance paid for new glasses, and they're awesome, so I stopped crying, and we waited and waited and waited for our building consent, and it actually came, and so my spirit stopped being broken and started reviving itself, and I also applied to do a diploma in publishing, and I got in, and now I'm doing two classes as well as this whole full time work thing, and I am very busy, and our house is a giant mess, and Danni came back from the UK for two and a half months, and I love her so much that it's very depressing to think about her going away again, and our builder Warren actually started building the house on Tuesday (!) and we went to Tauranga for a 21st, and Brent had his first cheerio and his first asparagus roll, and Danni and her mum and I went to the Otara markets, and they rocked, and Brent and I saw The Roots, and they also rocked, and my dog has an allergy to a plant called 'wandering jew', which is weird, and the Noisy Girls had a tenth anniversary dinner, and it was very fun, and, and and and.

OK.

I would like to make this.

I know this is quite a minimal 'I have returned from the wilderness!' post. Stuff has happened. I'm working on it.