Seven days to go before takeoff to NZ, and it's a South Island kind of day here. The horses outside are standing, mournful but uncomplaining, in a form of ultrawet drizzle that saturates your windcheater without your being aware that it's happening. We figure we're heading for weather that's just like that, but colder. Seven days would normally mean five more working days, and for me it does. Notionally for Helen, too, but three of them are to be spent by her on a two-day conference (does that compute?) in relatively sunny Maroochydore. It will give her some suitcase practice. Little time left, then, for itinerary planning. It's not like the two-month UK odysseys of our past, where the days stretched out so far that we set out with nothing more than vague intentions. We have
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