Whole lotta shakin' goin' on

So usually this blog isn't specifically about every little thing that happens during a day.  It's generally, though not always, painted with a bit of a broader brush than that.  Well, screw that approach and leave it gasping for breath because, I don't know if you noticed, but some pretty interesting stuff happened over the weekend and I was in the thick of it.

And no one expected that, did they?  Because we all know that Auckland is for celebrities and super-mayors, Wellington is for extreme wind and/or earthquakes and Christchurch is for violent crime against prostitutes, racists thugs and boyracers. Correct?

There are many stories in the flat city. This is but one of them...

4.20am - Wake up.  Roll over and look at alarm clock.  Make disgusted noises that I should be awake this early on a Saturday morning when cocktails and ill-advised dance moves are not involved.  Get up. Go pee. Go back to bed.  Recall the last thing I dreamt and idly wonder if I should tell the person who featured in the dream about it or if that would be lame.

4.35am - Shaking. And then a bit more. Actually, it seems like this might be sort of serious levels of shaking, so leap, gazelle-like and gracefully, the 2.5 metres from my bed to the doorway.  Start out hanging on to the doorframe in a standing position before sliding down to the floor and gripping it in a crouching pozzie.  And when I say gripping, I mean, my house has turned into a bucking bronco and I'm hanging on for grim death.  I hear things toppling. The sound of breaking glass registers.  At no point do I think that I'm a goner but I am able to reflect that if this goes on for too long the 1920s-built single-level house that I live in might well crumble around my ears.  At which point I hang on to the doorframe with one arm and fling the other up over my head...as if that will help significantly if the roof decides to cave in.

4.36am - 5.00am - Aftershocks, almost but not quite as bad as the initial quake. In breaks between shaking I'm able to a) flick a light switch and realise there's no power b) dash the 3 metres to the living room to get my iPhone, and c) locate my torch (I know exactly where it is because I was using it as a microphone during The X Factor earlier in the evening). In that half an hour I realise several things.  I'm alone.  It's dark.  There's no power (and therefore no heat) and I won't be going back to sleep anytime soon).  When I do a bit of a reccy around the house to survey the damage, I am surprised to find that I can't train the flashlight on one spot very well...because my hands are shaking so badly.  When my friend who lives 10 minutes walk away texts me to say that she's having a calming whisky, I decide that I'm going to seek the company of others (and their finest islay single malt).

5.10am - After dressing in whatever clothes were nearest at hand, gathering up my phones, and more torches than one person needs I step out into the dark and walk the few blocks to my friend's house. In my street there are several people standing out on the footpath looking around and people sitting in their cars listening to the radio.  There are no streetlights and I am the only one who seems to be going anywhere in particular or who has a torch.

5.15am - Halfway to my friends' house with torch in hand I look down and realise I have a Chewbacca action figure clasped in my left hand.  It usually balances on the top of my bedroom doorframe along with a few other random items like a piece of "blarney stone" bought on a trip to Ireland and a small figurine of the Eiffel Tower.  I recall that, between aftershocks, I had picked it up off the floor where it had fallen.  Somehow I've managed to get dressed, gather torches, and exit the house with it still in hand without even realising it.  Chewie stays with me the rest of the weekend, in my handbag.   It seems entirely appropriate to me that a 30-year-old action figure should be my good luck charm.

On my way from my house to that of my friends I'm struck by a certain surreality.  Everything looks more or less the same except that it's dark and that one or two folk actually inquire if I'm okay as I trudge through the night, torch (and wookiee) in hand.  As I take a shortcut through the reserve at the bottom of my street I look up.  There are more stars in the sky than I have ever seen when in the city.  It's like the heavens are heavily freckled, but in negative.  I am alone, in the dark, in a world that has just proven itself to be scarily unpredictable but just at that moment the view is lovely (even if it is accompanied by the sound of car alarms).

5.20am - 7.30am Get to my friend's house and demand a whisky. Flop down on to the bed where my mate Tulip is hanging out and we listen to their battery-run Tivoli radio until the sun comes up.  Tulip points out that radio call-in people certainly say the word "mate" a lot.  We spend a lot of time with our iPhones out texting people and Facebooking (Twitter seems not be cooperating).

We get word that our heavily pregnant friend, D, has gone into labour.  Eek.

Because they have gas for cooking we're able to dine on soysage hotdogs for breakfast.  My nerves are totally calm by now but I have another whisky anyway.  It's now light and I start to think about the mess at my house.  Mr and Mrs Tulip's house is always tidy and largely free of clutter. Mine, not so much.  I start to think that I might have quite a bit of cleaning up to do so I decide to walk home. 

On the way, I finally figure out why there were so many wet patches of footpath on the way over.  In the dark, I couldn't really tell but in the light of day it's clear to see the effects of liquefaction.  There's silty-sandy stuff in the gutters and water is bubbling up out of cracks in the footpath. People are now out on the street looking at the cracks and talking to each other.  I point out the liquefaction to a random woman who is walking past, mostly because I have never had an excuse to use the word "liquefaction" in a sentence before.  I'm not sure she has any idea what I'm on about and seems a bit rattled.  I take pictures and continue on my way.

Further on, I see that the cafe where I often go to get a muffin on the way to work, Simply Catering (pictured above), is simply munted.  A large portion of the front of the building is on the footpath.  I am amused that the flower pots in the windows are largely intact, though.

7.45am - Arrive home.  The outside of the house is completey unaffected other than a crack in the concrete front door step, and the chimney is where it usually is.  Inside is a different story.  In the torchlight at 5am I could see some things on the floor and knew that there'd been some breakages but in daylight the place looks like...well, there's been an earthquake.  I "triage" the rooms and decide that the kitchen is probably the worst affected, especially the pantry, so I start there. 

My emergency supplies of water have leapt off the shelf and one of them has deposited its three litres of contents on the floor, where it has mixed with various packets of spice, Chinese Five Spice and mustard seeds especially.  Some glass jars have also fallen and been smashed by other items and this is all mixed up together on the pantry floor.  I can't help thinking that together the glass, water and spices are the kind of soup that you would be served as an entree... in hell.  I sweep it all up with a broom and brush and pan and dump it into my wheelie bin, which I've brought into the kitchen, but am hampered a bit by the fridge, which has walked forward almost half a metre.  I also have to mop the floor because I'd left the sink full of dishwater the night before and most of it has sloshed out on to the lino.  The mental image of the amount of movement required to make a kitchen sink empty itself freaks me out a bit.

I spend the next hour sweeping up broken glass and putting things back on shelves.  Among the losses are the glass dolphins Tulip gave me as a gag gift a few years back and two martini glasses, but nothing major and the TV is safe. However, my fireplace has detached itself from the wall and the big concrete tub in the laundry has done the same.

At one point I glance at my watch and realise that it's not even 9 o'clock and that I wouldn't usually be found mopping the floor at this time of morning on a Saturday.  All the usual rules have been thrown out the window.  Today is not a day of normality, at all.

9.30am - Mr and Mrs Tulip turn up and despite being asked nicely to stay in our homes we venture out on our bicycles to visit other friends in the area and to survey the carnage.  I am quietly amazed that despite there being no traffic lights, drivers are being courteous and cautious (surely a first for Christchurch) and that traffic is moving well.

Our friends aren't home but we briefly chat to their neighbours.  We chat to their neighbours. The normal constrains of social interaction, at least for today, are completely gone.  Making eye contact with strangers and greeting them in the street is allowed.  Asking people if they're okay? Totally fine. In Edgeware, the suburb we are in, there are many people out on the street in the vicinity of the shops despite the fact that few of them are open. 

Whole families are out and about.  Where on a usual Saturday they might have been gardening or at soccer or watching cartoons, today there is nothing else to do but be in the company of other people.  It almost feels to me as if Christchurch, which I have often said has only two "degrees of separation", is a village again.  It's kind of nice.  Sure, it has signficantly fewer chimneys than it did last week, but there's no denying the bonding, solidifying effect of a shared experience (even if it does, ironically, involve the ground beneath your feet turning to liquid).

And also, it's a stunning, pearler, cracker of a day.  Mother Nature slaps upside the head with one hand and gently caresses with the other.  Dear Mother, please go back on your meds.

So this post is already too long, and there's a bunch of other stuff that happened over the weekend which I'll probably go into tomorrow (aftershocks, John Campbell hugging me, where not to eat dinner when you've got no power) but if anyone wants to share their earthquake yarns here, or ask questions, then go right ahead.  I can't promise I'll be able to answer though as the power could well go out again if there's another big shake.  In the meantime, I and my people and my TV and my Chewbacca are well (if somewhat sleep-deprived).

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