This is a quantum jump for a second blog entry. It's 7.15pm in New Zealand, and I'm sitting in our backpacker van atop a flowery mattress, in jumpers and a sleeping bag at 7.15 at night. It's dark, and cold after a cloudless day. We're in a posh managed campsite on the southwetern corner of the Coromandel, in the North Island of NZ. Yes - we made it here in one piece. I say that because Clarissa's nervous build-up to the first flight leg from Heathrow became so intense that even I started to doubt a 747's ability to take off and land safely. It started a whole almost fuzzed month ago, with my lovely wife deciding that she would need some serious synapse-numbing drugs following a bad experience when we flew to Portugal earlier in
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