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It was a bit confusing today: sorting out photographs (these ones didn't make the cut) to go with a Mauritius story, selling one about the Inca Trail, trying to sell another about Victoria, and getting on with writing about Tasmania, at the same time as thinking about a special blog event that's coming up to promote New Zealand to people who may be thinking that coming here could be an adventure too far.

Our neighbours had the moving van in - what a shame they're not called pantechnicons any more - to load up their stuff that's to be sent to Oz. Imagine: on the side of the truck, the slogan 'We move you to Australia'. It's a business, now, so many people are heading off across the Tasman for a better (read, generally, richer) life. Apparently lots of Christchurch residents have got Oz in their sights, their nerves shot, their houses in ruins, the future of the city - well, not in doubt, it does have one - just too hard to imagine at this stage. It's understandable. But... Australia?

It's a terrific place. I've had great times there, I love the Outback and all its furry wildlife (excluding the tarantulas), the history is exciting Boy's Own Adventure stuff, the food's delicious and the Aussies are thoroughly good sorts. But I wouldn't want to live there. The environment is too harsh, the insects are awful, there are snakes, the accent wears me down after a week and though the country is so rich and the infrastructure so good and the go-getter attitude so inspiring and effective, I like it much better here where everything is gentler. Even if sometimes it's bloody rough.