MARNIE BARRELL

It was the most frightening thing I’ve ever experienced and it came completely out of the blue. In two seconds, I am on my feet and into a doorway almost before I realize what I’ve done. Strangely, I am quite lucid and calling the dog in the calmest voice I can muster. At the same time I can hear my daughter crashing out of bed in the next room screaming "earthquake, earthquake." My first thought is this must be the Alpine Fault, what else could it be? My second thought is there’s a very old brick chimney on one side of me and yes, another very old brick chimney on the other side and this is clearly enough of a shake to bring them down. My third, and this is the worst thought, is that the doorframe I’m standing under is probably no protection at all. So for the next 40 seconds of that frenzied, violent, terrifying noise, I felt very frightened indeed. I actually thought these might be my last minutes; that if those chimneys came down it would be, quite certainly, decidedly, fatal. Knowing where my handbag, my keys, my wallet, a torch and my shoes are before I go to sleep–that the car’s got a full tank of gas–those things are the new important.

Subconsciously there’s quite a ferment going on, sorting out the things you can control from the things you can’t. And in some ways that’s been good, I’ve become less particular about things that once would have bugged me. But the other side of that is a certain fearful fatalism. That stuff can come out of the blue, just blow you out of the water and there’s nothing to be done about it, you can’t mitigate it in any way. Add to that the churning wheels of bureaucracy. The Government, CERA, the Council, the insurance companies, and there again is the feeling that there is little or nothing you can do to affect anything at all. That your only choice is to sit and await their pleasure.

I’m not usually a particularly patient person, but I’ve had to sit and wait patiently for the last 18 months. Perhaps along the way I’ve got a bit more resigned and a bit more tolerant because as everybody says, there are other people in a far worse position and as long as you’ve got a roof over your head and food on your table you’re doing better than many. That’s pared me down a bit, made me think about what’s important here. The realization that stuff doesn’t much matter anymore. That there’s food on the table, that we’re physically safe, and have a roof over our heads; that is significant.