Barbara Dalton

The difference between having fun camping versus being completely miserable depends on the weather — and the company. When protection from the almighty Mother Nature is reduced to a mere piece of fabric you hope like hell it can withstand what she dishes out and that you can giggle away and ride out the more frustrating moments together. Arriving at camp, the day was stinking hot and oppressively humid; the perfect recipe for a storm.

A month later, I arrived in Christchurch for a much-anticipated visit that had been planned long before the earth started moving. Although I did not grow up or ever live there, I knew the city reasonably well. What I saw was frightening and astoundingly horrific. The downtown core was predominantly cordoned off; many buildings too precarious to allow passersby anywhere near them. The concrete structures that hadn’t toppled were broken, cracked and buckled. Rubble was strewn everywhere.

I’m sure I am not the only woman who feels this way Photo by Philip Blank on Unsplash I can drive one and fuel it. I can refill the window-washer fluid. I’ll clean it and have it serviced regularly. But, if I ever have to change a tyre I’ve got roadside assistance on speed dial. If a warning light suddenly appears, I am either on the phone or at my friendly garage the same day. I just have no idea about the intricacies of a vehicle. I’ve had to ‘man up’ since I was divorced.