Reece Johns: Our beloved Christchurch has gone

Reece Johns. Photo / Supplied

Opinion

They told us how the quake hit them and their families. Now, five Cantabrians tell us how their lives have changed.

I am not sure if it's a good or a bad thing, but the events of February 22 seem more than three months ago.

It's possibly because we have moved premises, my house is liveable and I am not reminded on a daily basis how stuffed the city is.

Do we still have a CBD in Christchurch? Maybe it needs renaming. I threw it open to the office for some thoughts. Carlene provided the best acronym: Comprehensively Bloody Destroyed. It fits - we should make a T-shirt.

I went there on the weekend, across the road from the CTV building which is protected by a small security fence adorned with bunches of dying flowers. A sombre moment at what is now a photographers' playground.

There are plans to re-open the bar and restaurant strip and nearby mall by Cup week in November, an annual ritual for many Cantabrians. I think the TAB would have stopped taking odds on that happening.

I fully expect legislation to revamp the role of the EQC. How an organisation with 12 staff is expected to handle a natural disaster with more than 100,000 claimants defies logic.

I have been busy, working for an international insurance broking firm - our clients need us more than ever. The office move was tough - IT issues, no phones and kitting out an office is never easy. We will be here for a year or two minimum.

One of my clients, Darryl, got back into his CBD apartment for the first time three weeks ago. The sprinklers had gone off and the pipes burst.

All he got out was some mouldy clothes that stank so badly he had to toss three-quarters of them out.

He has been at his 82-year-old mother's for three months now, and I had my mum at my place for six weeks. Not really that hip for a couple of 40-plus professional males to brag about - and there are only so many chops, spud and three-vege meals a man can eat while watching

Coro St

.

The EQC are supposed to come back for a proper inspection of my place some time. The clock is ticking. I had a two-minute assessment from the exterior while I was at work, nothing since. Builders have done a temporary repair on the roof where my chimney once stood, the flue to my gas fire still sits in the driveway.

But the days of getting the bus into town at the weekend, riding the tram and a chocolate crepe at the Arts Centre are things of the past. Just like Christchurch as we knew it.