Hello everyone! Conor is here at the moment, and I'm leaving him at the mercy of my family so that I can still blog. I am like that guy who brought the news from Aix to Ghent, except almost totally different. Dedication. That is the point that I am trying to make here.
Unfortunately, there is no news. Conor is enjoying Christchurch - he said it makes him unnerving, but he may have meant something else. His brother commented that he found it hard to trust a city where you could bike everywhere. Oh, the hostility. Fucking Aucklanders.
Better blog tomorrow - will get up early while C is sleeping & write something of substance. I am on the couch, and the dog, who usually sleeps on the couch, is not so good with sharing - had weird fractured dreams about building a theme park. Woke up and the dog was trying to shove me off the couch with his feet. Conor, on the other hand, had a fascinating dream that he was looking through my DVDs, but some of them did not have rating stickers on them and he had to go and get rating stickers from his work. Soon I shall throw him out of the house.
Claire, who has been inspired by this dream conversation, comments that when she was pregnant with her first son (my nephew, who has only recently discovered that the lyrics to Love Hurts are not, in fact, "Wooahh...I love birds") she dreamt she gave birth to and breastfed a crocodile. She knew it was not right, but she loved it anyway. When pregnant with her second son she dreamt she gave birth to twin Jack Russells. I think I'm out of news now.