That was the worst week that was

 Hi there

Last week I was on holiday in Nelson, South Island of New Zealand.

I arrived there on Friday 13th.  Yes well...  I didn't believe in that hocus pocus stuff.

On the following Monday there was a HUGE storm in Wellington, maybe the worst on record. Me? - I was swimming and sunbathing at the beautiful Tahunanui Beach.  The air temperature was a balmy 22c, there was no wind and everything was great with the world.  I didn't find out about Wellington's storm until I was watching the news that evening.

I found out through a neighbour at home that my small aluminium-sided garden shed was absolutely crushed, my personal stuff scattered around the yard.  

I wanted to get home as fast as I could.  There was a backlog of travellers waiting to fly to Wellington, as the storm had vetoed all flights into the capital.   Not a hope for a seat until Thursday.  I was due to leave on Friday so it was suggested I stick to my schedule. 

I was a complete and utter nervous anxiety-ridden hopeless tearful wreck the rest of the time I was in Nelson.  What was happening to my stuff?  Unlike most people, I didn't keep garden implements in the shed; I had quite a few personal papers and important textbooks. 

Arriving home devastated me.  I couldn't do anything until I'd got in touch with two insurance companies.  When I'd got through to them I was told that sheds weren't included in either policy.  I contacted a young guy who had helped previously tidying up my garden.  He said he'd be there on the next day, Saturday, to help me clean up the yard.

 He never turned up.

Oh, and before I forget to tell you, my four loyal readers, I had visited the doctor within a couple of hours of my arrival home to find I had an infection that required rest and lots of pills. I also arrived home with a broken tooth from the overly battered fish at the Tahunanui fish and chip shop.

On Sunday I decided I had to tidy up everything by myself.  The first time I bent to the ground to pick up some rubbish, I ricked my back.  From then on, I used one of those tall sticks with claws on the end to pick up stuff.  Thanks, Jean, for that long ago sorry-you've-sprained-your-ankle gift.

It took me four painful hours, and seven big rubbish bags, to tidy up all the scattered stuff in my yard.  Thankfully my precious items were encased in plastic and had only got slightly damp.  And the gardener young man did finally turn up; yesterday he'd been surfing and partying.  He kindly stacked the shed panels against the fence for me so as I could get to my clothesline.

Then I got in a row with my neighbour who didn't want the aluminium shed panels resting on our shared fence. 

Now I've had another tearful night because I don't know how to get rid of those darn panels

Altogether now, let's blame Friday the 13th..

I was so traumatised in Nelson that I never even thought to take photos.  Sitting around the airport, I took a photo of a plane, similar to the one I would be taking home.  Note the propellers.