Spare a thought for our friends and families in Christchurch who have again been given a reminder that the show definitely ain't over and the Fat Lady is still warming up.
While most of us will sit back and allow a feeling of general satisfaction and contentment to waft overus after another successful Christmas, similar thoughts in Christchurch will be accompanied by the ongoing fraying of nerves.
It has been that way for a long time.
In my case a daughter, mother and brother live in the city. They all share horror stories of "the big one" but are frustratingly steadfast in their resolve to stay. That is hard for me to hear.
In probably one of the most harrowing phone calls of my life, my daughter rang me as she ran through choking dust in the stairwell of her central Christchurch building after the main quake. She made it out with cuts and bruises. Those in the CCTV building next door were less fortunate.
My brother refuses to talk about his work these days. He's had to lay off three-quarters of his staff and has battled to keep the business going all year. It's a huge strain but he keeps going.
Each time a shake happens we go through the panic of trying to locate our Mum. She has a cellphone but she never turns it on. We've tried to bring her to Rotorua to live but Christchurch is her town. It's where Dad died. She'll never leave. Already, hundreds have had enough and shifted away. Surely last week's episode will have more deciding enough is enough and reaching for the packing boxes.
But I doubt my family will be among them. They'll continue to tough it out because they love Canterbury. Nobody will buy their houses anyway. And despite my offers of help all I'll realistically be able to do is spare them a thought or two.
