25/04/2026
In the midst of local and global gloom, there is beauty and tales of true kindness. Not words. The ACTION of kindness..
My daughter pointed at the irony, as she giggled, that as I’m about to appear in a reality TV show (Bridget Jones does the beach.) I’m sleeping on her couch. With me I have two shopping bags containing two pairs of pants, two miss matching sweatshirts, 20 pairs of underpants, (I know. I’m a weirdo) The wrong shade of foundation, a weird pink blusher, two pairs of socks, my jewellery, and a baby pink dressing gown. I am ever so grateful I also escaped the flooding with the puffer jacket I was gifted fromCeleb Treasure Island. My dogs , albeit suffering from foggy trauma, and joy of joys, my cat is alive. She’s a canny ginger that one. Katherine was convinced she’d drowned in what seemed like a raging river down past, and through my home. It’s been bloody awful, but compared to others? I’m ok. A few days ago I was sure I wanted to pack my bags and leave the country. Now I realise I have no bags, and my passport ( expired) is half way to Tahiti. Other folks are truly suffering. One, apparently wonderful, man lost his life, and a neighbour a few houses down, an elderly woman, just escaped perishing when her wonderful neighbours, also up to their waists in mud and water, rescued her. More about that in a minute.
Neighbours. We have them. Some folks know their neighbours well. They have BBQ’s and beers on sunny days. Some folks pretend their neighbours next door don’t exist. I’ve had friendly waves and quick chats. Angus on the left has kindly trimmed my hedge and w**d whacked the lawn out front a couple of times.The folks up the hill are nice, and my other neighbour, also a single woman waves out when we are on our respective decks. (No longer decks. Now piles of wood.)The other man next door is very quiet. I’d seen him only once before he arrived on my doorstep on the early hours of Sunday morning. This time he was pounding on my door. (As mentioned in an earlier post.)Morgans manic knocking on my door, had Toast my dog, who was sleeping on the end of my bed, madly barking. I got out of bed in to water, waded barefoot to the door, and there was the fairly reclusive man next door coming to rescue me and grab my doggy.
Not necessary to the story, but just a very ‘Polly’ detail. I was wearing Peter Alexander Easter Bunny PJ pants, and a giant floral T. Shirt. Clearly no one sharing my bed other than a small dog.
So my neighbour grabbed my arm, and steadied me through a meter of wild water, mud, branches, garden furniture from goodness knows where, up to my front neighbours home. Toast escaped from my arms and swam struggling back to my front stoop. Then in a really heroic move, he struggled back through the deluge, grabbed Toast under one arm, and carried her to safety. Now I’m standing on my neighbour Vanisha’s deck up to my calves in mud. Toast, who resembled a tiny brown Labrador, as opposed to a black and tan miniature German shepherd ran madly around her beautiful pristine floors, with me chasing her muttering, “I’m so sorry…I’m so so sorry!”
“Oh please don’t worry. She said so sweetly and genuinely. “My uncle has a dog. Let me make you a cup of coffee, and get water and towels for you.”
(Vanisha had tried calling me. My phone was on silent. Last time ever!!)
The whole early hours of last Sunday morning are sketchy. I do remember Angus from the other side taking me back in to my home when the water was dying down.
“Come on Polly.” He said (again so kindly) “Let’s go get you some things you might need.” He stayed with me as I collected a particularly odd selection of person items in several countdown bags that I had on the kitchen bench. As we were sloshing our way out he hesitated by the door and said,
“Do you need a hug?”
I did. This from the lovely young man who now had my demolished fences, garden furniture. Trees, and mangled decking completely covering his entire back yard.
I called my daughter apparently. I don’t recall. She lives a few minutes away in Island Bay. Fortunately on a wee hill. It took her awhile to get to me. Most routes to our neighbourhood were completely cut off. The next hours are pretty fuzzy. I feel the brain will often foggy our memories up. Hide them in a back file in our brain, to ensure we don’t entirely lose the plot.
Since the unprecedented ‘event’(That’s what the council are calling it ) Peter and his wife have helped so much too. They are temporarily living in a campervan. I’ve met some Incredible folks in the last few days. Really incredible, interesting, brave, and resilient humans who have got us all together to face this gigantic mess. Some homes are water damaged beyond repair. Some have tonnes of mud inside their homes. Some are relatively untouched , but the residents are just superb community minded wonderful people. While I’m ‘couch surfing’at my daughters small family home. One neighbour is travelling to my house each day to deliver water and food to my cat Valentina. She refuses to come out from her secret hiding space at present, but meows for her food on ‘the regular’. 7.00am and 5.30pm everyday. Little ginger ninja. Love that crazy cat.
I will get back to you shortly about the elderly woman rescued..
In an hour Grant, the father of my children, and all around excellent organiser and trained rescue and recovery worker is, along wife his wife Lisa picking up Lisa’s dad’s truck (Thanks Murray!) my sons, and all the industrial gear to do a working bee clean up at my little house. Katherine and her partner Dylan are joining them. Armed with gum boots, freshly acquired from The Warehouse. I’m not allowed to attend. I will be looking after the kids and the dogs. Do I feel guilty? Yes. Do I feel absolutely grateful? Entirely.
(Never fear. Grant has all the right gear for the job. Tools, gloves, masks, protective gear, chemicals, and equipment. He’s a pro.)
This is getting too long…but it’s the first time I have been able to unpack all of this weirdness. So if you’re still reading….Bless your heart. Before I get to the thank you’s, and wind this novella up.
The mayor and a few councillors showed up Thursday. At this point not a single council truck or rescue vehicle. Though they were incredibly noticeable 600 metres over the hill in Island Bay. Wearing dress shoes, and suits they stood on the footpath. Peter, from up the drive, and I decided we’d remain on the deck of the mud soaked house, as opposed to meeting the mayor up on dry land.All the others trudged through the mountains of sludge in their gumboots up to the official party. EventuallyPeter and I reluctantly relented. Giving each other a wink and a smirk. We would have stood there all day and called out to the well suited council to meet us in the swamp. A drone arrived overhead to record the publicity visit. Nice.
“The mayors got a lapel mic on.”one of my neighbours whispered to me.
Of course he did….
Press releases were handed out. Lots of, “We are so sorry this happened to you.”
I know it’s been a nightmare for lots of suburbs, lots of families, and resources are stretched, but the morning of the event? Nothing. Nothing for days.
I like the mayor. I voted for him. I’m just a bit salty.
Right. Back to the elderly woman. Shephoned for help as water rushed in to her house. And was told to stand on furniture. How in the hell was she supposed to do that? It baffles me. As the water and mud rose quickly she managed somehow to get upstairs and on to her little balcony. Where she yelled as hard as she could through the howling wind and torrential rain. Fortunately her neighbours, who were themselves trying to get to safety, managed to hear her and
‘Barnsy’ (I know his name now. Great guy.) got her to safety. Had she remained on the chair she quite possibly would have perished. The water came up to the ceiling of her ground floor!!
Insurance? Well I kind of screwed that up a bit. So it’s not ideal, but my fault for not reading the rules. I’m a bit like that. Only myself to blame, and as a semi grown up person I shall deal with the consequences.
Now for the thank you bit:
Thank you Katherine, Dylan and my moko for a safe home.
Thank you to my neighbours Vanisha, Angus, Morgan, Peter and Ishani.
Thank you to the kind and wonderful folk in my neighbourhood.
Thanks Mike for coming down and helping us all out
Thank you Grant, Lisa, Tom, McGregor, Katherine and Dylan for all the hard work. Grant…You’re the man!!
Thank you for the ramblings of a traumatised goof ball.
Huge thanks to the Wellington City Mission who have yet again helped so many people with food, shelter and pure kindness and boundless generosity.
Thanks to all my friends for offering help and assistance. It’s bloody hard to reach out and ask for help. As Kiwis it’s not really our thing is it…
Thank you to my Moko Roseanna and Malone for providing constant fun, and a constant kiddy giddy circus!
Thank you so much for all your messages. You are amazing ing as always.
Thanks so much to the Carpet Cleaning Company. What a stellar job you are doing in my crazy little house.
Thanks to my Higher Power for listening..
I will reserve my thanks to the council until I see some real action. They are calling it an ‘epic event’ that perhaps occurs every200 years. However I’m fairly sure The EastCosst, West Coast, the far north, n ver expected further ‘events’ that keep happening over and over…and over.
I hope you are warm, safe, content, and loved.
Polly (Toast and Valentina)
🩷🩷🩷
