Our trusty Nissan, 1991-2012.

 It was at Wilson's Hotel, in Reefton, that we had our last supper before the car started to emanate steam through the bonnet.
Looking eastwards at dusk, this is Reefton with its lovely old buildings and a vista of bush leading to nowhere.
But Reefton, like all of the West Coast, has a long history of speculative excitement.  Even the tearooms.

Mercifully, after the big steam and almost bust, we had enough spare water to get us back to Reefton and add lots more water and fill all the bottles to attempt the journey home.

We got home safely and yesterday I left the car with the wonderful JJ and it was early this afternoon that we learnt that our car, the one which JJ had fixed so many times for us and kept it going and warrant-worthy, was not worth fixing.

Before this tumultuous event, I was spending large amounts of my time and headspace, during this school holiday fortnight, in a genealogical bubble.  I lost interest in blogging, or Eliza, or housework, though I did rouse myself to feed the children and spend some time at work occasionally.

Well, I'm never much into housework.  But this afternoon, in need of doing something useful to distract me from the choosing and financing of a new car, I swept the hall floors.  Then I vacuumed the hall floors.  Then I washed the hall floors.  I washed the biggest hall floor twice and peeled bits of chewing gum off to boot.  The water was still dirty at the end of the second wash.

Now I need to decide whether ringing the insurance people to quote on full insurance premiums vs our current third party.  Or clean the bath.  The bath may even win.

Have I gardened during this fair spring?  Why no, not much.  It rains and pelts and buckets down here for days on end.  One day, as I recall from last year, just as I think I need to build an ark rather than buy a car, it will stop. 


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