After over ten thousand earthquakes, then many more to the northern regions, droughts, floods, socialism and the week just passed delivering an Australian magnitude destructive wild fire, this morning the wireless is sans actual life, only spluttering through a fog of hissing, the sort of canned music I imagine might accompany the end of the world from a "putor" running on till its batteries fail.
Technology would do that when the chips fell off.
The knobs who pretend to have the answers for when disaster strikes, preach from their cardboard pulpits to listen to the "radio" but don't say what to do when that media is not going to deliver.
All the two frequencies that carry Canterbury's very own "Pravda" can manage is a squelchy voice intervening through the appalling music suggesting Newstalk ZB will return "soon".
I am starting to wonder if the aliens have finally done what the gods failed to do and Christchurch is no more, deceased, gorn.
Garry McCormack warned this week that the City was facing burn out, was the smoke last week evidence that confirms his prediction.
No "pearly gates" , no ugly bastard with a tail and a trident, no seventy odd virgins and a paradise with a pile of mince at the gate, so I wait.
Might give Mr McCawber a call and see if he has any idea what the hell is going on. Bugger he's still dead, hang on, was that fact or fiction.
Maybe it doesn't matter any more.