Day 11 Pipiriki to Whanganui Part 3
Noisy Neighbours Whanganui Top 10 Riverside views
On the other side of my room was another with a young couple in it. She flitted around noiselessly in the room avoiding me. He was chatty and wanted to know what I was up to and was so impressed he took a photo of my jacket to get the blogsite so he could get the details to make a donation to Arthritis NZ. (johnarnold2022.blogspot.com) They had driven down from Auckland overnight the day before to visit whanau. He said he liked driving at night. We took a selfie together. He was bald headed, had the physique of Mike Tyson and sported a couple of impressive tattoos, one on his neck. He exuded charm and good humour and vitality.
Later after I had biked halfway to Whanganui in the dark to have dinner before returning in the pitch black, things soon changed. I settled in to do some serious blogging, search and destroying on the touch screen on my mobile. I burned through my free Top10 allocation and kept on going. They began arguing. There was lots of noise, banging and things getting moved around and a woman shouting and getting more and more worked up. Her languge would have blister the paint on a Church wall. I didn't mind so much as I thought they would probably finish soon and I was up anyway. I finished updating my blog at 1.30 am-I'd only kept going because so had they. What to do now? He had been polite and kind with me, no-one appeared to be getting murdered so I thought it would be mean-spirited to disturb a tiff. I decided to take a quick stroll up to the manager's office and gave their wall a hearty thumping on the way past. The camp was as still and quiet as the graveyard. The office closed. When I returned a waiflike figure passed me with her head down and eyes averted. I asked if she was alright, did she need any help, I was in the next unit? She muttered she was fine and disappeared. When I walked past his door he was busy throwing possession out onto the deck. The blast of alcohol fumes from the room nearly blew me over. I tried to sleep and someone began doing their best to keep me awake; rustling things, scraping walls and making a variety of noises. I must have drifted off to sleep but was startled awake because I could hear a woman's voice swearing and muttering outside. I peered out the back window a few times but couldn't work out where the sound was coming from. This went on for what seemed like hours and probably was a lot longer. I had my phone and torch at my side and resolved to call the Police instantly if things really kicked off, figuring she may have gone away from reinforcements and would return seeking revenge.
I recalled my Sergeant Barry Huston, 'Listen up you bastards,' in my Police training days holding us spellbound us as he told us more Police were harmed in domestic disputes, often when the parties turned on the Police, than other incidents. In 1963 he had swapped shifts with a friend and had the day off with his wife. In the afternoon he had a terrible feeling and returned home to learn his colleagues, Constables James Richardson and Bryan Schultz, had been shot and killed instantly while still in their vehicle outside an address in Petone they had been called to for a domestic dispute. Some lessons you never forget and I always parked well away from domestic calls.
I must have drifted off to sleep but woke again around 5.00 am. There was muttering and a monotonous tick, tick, tick like a drugged metronome. Please, for pity's sake, whoever you are and whatever you are doing speed it up a bit. As the cold grey light of dawn approached I got up and went to the toilet - kitchen block with a sachet of coffee snaffled from the Taumaranui motel resolving to drink it cold from the tap a la Mr Bean if I could not find at least a cup in this hellhole. The lights were burning in the kitchen. I rattled the drawers, a motley collection of knives and forks sprang to life. The pots and pans drawers were all sealed shut. I could have cooked after all as I still had a baked bean can to heat things with. I burned with fury at the managers. Was this some ridiculous Covid rule or did the lunatics believe you only got covid from pots and pans, that cutlery was OK? A tall amiable South African immigrant who was staying there with his father and tiling before returning to Napier where they were living in peaceful bliss appeared in the gloom and asked me how I was? I unloaded on him full sorry saga of my stay, chapter and verse, like he was Dr Phil. He was solicitous and listened gravely. Relieved of my burden, for a problem shared is a problem halved, I rather guiltily returned to my room gathered my belongings. Their room door was wide open, two pairs of shoes lay neatly outside and there was a huge woman's bag on tdhe barbecue table stuffed with clothes. It all became clear. Before I left I shared my story with the other neighbours and Eric's wife rather succinctly added that the woman had a filthy tongue. Eric had slept like a baby through the whole wretched event. I mounted up and headed 7 kilometres into town to the tranquil refuge of a clean and friendly McDonalds where I charged my Garmin and mobile phone, ate a hearty breakfast and left my coffee to go cold while I blogged away until 12.00 noon before hitting the road to Hunterville.
Dawn. Their unit is wide open, clothes gone, lights burning but no one in sight. But the noise has stopped. |
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