At 3:35 this afternoon I felt my first ever earthquake. I was just sitting at my desk at work and it felt as if someone had jogged the table. I'm used to sudden movements now - the rickety lift in my apartment block greets you with a mini-earthquake whenever it stops - so I probably wouldn't have given today's tremor a second thought if the word "earthquake" hadn't been mentioned. It was a 6.5 (yes a biggie by the raw measure of magnitude) located just west of Taupo but 150 km deep. The depth explained the pattern on Geonet's intensity map - what looked like a random hotchpotch of greens and yellows over a wide area instead of a more concentrated Christchurch-style pattern. Here's Wellington's seismograph:
On Friday night I spoke to Gran (now in her 90th year) for the first time since I moved to Wellington. After endless answerphone messages and being transferred to nowhere by reception, I'd almost given up hope of ever getting through to her. She was very confused but at least she knew it was me and was looking forward to a plate of fish and chips. I think and hope I made a positive impact on her. Dad reckons that he and I are the only two people able to make such an impression; I'm inclined to agree, so I must make a persistent effort to call her once a week.
I happened to wake up at two o'clock on Monday morning in time to see Djokovic's virtual walk-on-water second set against Nadal, which he won 6-1 en route to his four-set victory in the Wimbledon final. With 48 wins and only one defeat this year, he really is operating on a different plane.