I got a broken face

Last week, my family and I spent a lovely day and night on Rottnest Island in Western Australia, home of quokka (see below – merrily eating a chip). I got a swim in the Indian Ocean under my belt, a sticker for my suitcase and the obligatory quokka selfie.

The next day the Pigalinas hired bicycles to tour the island a see the sights. I was riding along happily thinking about lunch, looking at the lighthouse in the distance and the salt lake next to me as I started downhill. While freewheeling downhill I noticed my (work)phone and selfie stick (don’t judge…) in the drink holder were wobbling and looked like they would fall out. In that brief moment of lost concentration, I may have reached to move them – I can’t remember – I flew over the handlebars and landed on my face!!

Cool kids wear lids

Yes, I did take a photo (I said don’t judge!), I took it before I realised how bad my fall had been and as soon as I spat out some of my precious teeth (more came out after). I needed to survey the damage. Luckily for me two off duty nurses were on hand to tend to me while Mr Pigalina phoned for help. Some lovely passers-by shielded me from the sun and wafted the flies from wounds while we waited for transport.

An ambulance was offered but as I felt OK we opted for a regular ride, who turned out to be a guy from the bike hire shop in a Ute. Mr Pigalina was not permitted to ride along and had to cycle the 3km in the hot sun to the nursing station. Later he said he had thought adrenaline would kick in like in the movies and he would breeze along. It didn’t.

At the nursing station they patched me up and called ahead to a hospital in Perth while we waited for the next ferry. One ferry and taxi ride later, while nursing a bleeding ear canal, we arrived at the hospital. I was scolded for being “so English” and not making too much of a fuss about my injuries but the truth of the matter was, it wasn’t that sore. Although I also don’t like a big fuss. An X-ray and CT scan later it was determined it had broken my jaw in two places which came as a huge surprise!

A big farce followed due to me being an overseas patient. It’s nobody’s fault but let’s just say:

• Had to find a hotel in a strange city at 10:30pm
• Why have travel insurance if they won’t honour it?
• So many different options from so many doctors over the next four days. Who to listen to?

Scaring children on the ferry

After being declined by the travel insurance and hearing it could take up to four weeks in Australia for the surgery I decided to ride out the rest of my holiday all patched up and get sorted back in NZ.

I made the most of the rest of my holiday, despite being on a liquid and mush diet and looking dreadful with my bandages with a front tooth rapidly changing colour. Saw some wild kangaroos, went to the beach, visited Fremantle prison. No time for mooching about!

Finally on the way home, After an almost 7 hour flight back to NZ we were told to “make haste” by the flight crew in order to make our connection home. It’s very hard to make haste when you still have to queue to get off the plane with everyone else and, what’s this?, they parked the plane ages from the airport so everyone getting off the plane has to BUS to the terminal?! Then you have to find your bag, clear customs and then race ten minutes to the other terminal with a heavy suitcase with a wheel kindly broken by the baggage handlers. Dragging my broken 20kg case, making haste, while carrying two other bags and wearing a coat, powered by the little bits of mush I could glean from my plane meal (hummus, mashed peas) was the second time I cried. The first was when I realised now have meth-head teeth.

Once home, the ball finally rolling, my surgeon here said I DON’T EVEN NEED SURGERY. A six week mush diet should see my broken jaw heal itself. I could have had unneeded surgery AND a six week mush diet. And a four week extended stay in Australia. It isn’t all smooth sailing though as I am yet to be assigned a Case Manager to discuss getting my teeth sorted due to where I work. Sigh. And it’s mush for graduation, Christmas and the Pigalinas’ Wedding anniversary.

It gave me something to write about though!

(Mr Pigalina has been an excellent and attentive nurse and taxi driver 😘)

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The Stench, Make it Stop

Hedgie smells terrible. To be more specific, what comes out of Hedgie smells terrible. The little creature is almost like one of those Play-Doh contraptions where you put the dough in, squeeze and sausages in various shapes flow out. In his case, dog meat goes in and nearly instantaneously appears out the other side, only ten times stinkier. How he can produce so much boggles the mind.
I looked it up online, people keep hedgehogs as pets so surely this level of stink and poo can’t be normal. Apparently it is. There is no way Hedgie will be becoming a permanent indoor fixture that’s for sure! He has been relegated to the spare bedroom but the stench creeps from under the door.
I have washed and changed his bedding three times in four days; I clean up his droppings and wipe up his wees about four times a day yet still it reeks. I retch and heave unless I hold my breath or cover my airways.
I have no idea how people keep them as pets, any vague images I had of him becoming part of the family have vanished in a haze of smelly vapours. Once Hedgie has reached his goal weight he will be going to live outside as nature intended where he can stink up the neighbourhood all he likes.

(Hedgehog watch day five)

Hedgie Sure Loves Dog Meat

After adding a new task to my morning routine – replenishing the hedgehog’s bowls with the cat and dog’s food and cleaning up his poo I left Hedgie alone for the day.

When I returned I checked to see if he was still alive. He was burrowed deeply inside his blankets so when I gently moved them to look at him I received an angry snort. Well, at least he was living. Most of the dog meat was gone and he had a go at nibbling on a plum.

That day I purchased a water bottle, like birds and guinea pigs use, a little dish for some pet milk and his own supply of food. Spoiled hedgehog. I then set about making holes in the plastic tub with a screw to hang the bottle, under the curious watch of the dog and cat.

The dog (Tobias) and cat (William) are not really interested in Hedgie, more jealous. Tobias sat on my lap and kept trying to “kiss” me while I struggled to make the holes in the tub. I proudly hung the bottle, and Hedgie’s house was complete. When he didn’t seem to know what to do with the bottle I looked online to see how to train him. I read that they can damage hedgehog teeth and trap tongues. Whoops. That was the end of that.

Hedgie spent the rest of the evening eating the dog meat. He LOVES it, and should be 700 grams in no time if he keeps it up. He was not so successful in drinking his milk (don’t worry I bought the special lactose free pet stuff), it went up his little nose causing him to sneeze it out. I am not sure about his policy of not moving away from his food to do his business. He just stands with his face still in the food and lets rip.

Tomorrow I plan on attempting to create some kind of outdoors enclosure for him so he can get out of the plastic tub. Hedgehog shantytown coming to a garden near you.

(Hedgehog watch day two)

Hedgepigalina

As I was driving home from work yesterday I spotted a very small hedgehog merrily walking down the middle of the road. Thankfully my car is a tip so there was a towel on hand to wrap it in and whisk to safety. I popped him (gender is unknown but I am going with male) still curled in a ball in the towel into my garden and went inside for some dog food.

While he was wolfing down his Pedigree Little Champions homestyle beef, pasta and veges I Googled what to do. He was out in broad daylight so something was up. I found the number for NZ Hedgehog Rescue and left them a message. I then watched the imaginatively named Hedgie as he strolled along the width of the garden into a patch of (the bane of my life) vinelike weed. Hedgie seemed pretty sprightly and had eaten a meal so I headed inside.

NZ Hedgehog Rescue called me back and inquired about his size – just slightly bigger than a tennis ball when curled up. The lady informed me that he was too small to survive on his own and asked if I could take him into the rescue centre. Without a trip to the North Island on a plane I could not and thus became a hedgehog carer. I am to get his weight up to 700 grams so that he will be insulated enough to survive a Dunedin winter. Hedgehog Rescue said Hedgie was probably out searching for his Mum who was likely to be dead.

The first task was to locate him in the bushes. My dog went crazy trying to find him and I also scrabbled around, agitating the dogs who live over the back fence. When I couldn’t locate him I retired inside hoping to spot him later creeping about for more Little Champions. Sure enough, once the sun had gone down there he was, feasting.

Hedgie was bundled up and placed into his new enclosure – a plastic tub with one of the dog’s blankets shredded up and some strips of newspaper. The poor chap spent the evening trying to escape, attempting to climb the walls and, when that failed, trying again with slippery, wet, feet courtesy of his water dish.

I tried to weigh him on the bathroom scales but he was too light to register. Mr Pigalina is out of town so has not yet been exposed to the madness in person. When he is back one of the first tasks will be an official weigh-in.

(Hedgehog watch day 1)

Farewell Sprout

After five years of us living in our house, the Cabbage Tree in the front garden grew a new sprout. Both Mr Pigalina and I were quite excited by this development.
Today we arrived home to find the sprout lying on the grass. It was too high for a person to reach and snap off and there was a longish white hair stuck to it. This has led me to the conclusion that the culprit is next door’s cat. Not satisfied with costing us money and sleep thanks to the beatings he dishes out to our cat in the middle of the night; he has now taken up tree vandalism!
I will attempt to plant the sprout in a pot tomorrow.

Live Blog: Pigalinas at The Dickies

We are at an R18 punk gig with F and C bombs flying. A lady and her approximately 10 year old son just came in. I can’t decide if this is terrible or awesome parenting.

Mr Pigalina just asked me to remind him to drink a litre of water before bed as he has work tomorrow. Not me! I am sensible, I also told him LAST YEAR to book the day off.

Had some delicious noodles. Everyone eats noodles at gigs/the pub, right?

Time for dancing!

Freak Out

I got home and pottered about, put the junk mail in the recycling and then noticed this (pictured below) sitting on the other bin lid.
What?! I don’t recognize that, how strange. Seeds? Poppy seeds.
Someone had obviously been in the house. Thank goodness I read the article 23 creepy unsolved mysteries nobody can explain just yesterday!
Nothing was out of place, nothing had been stolen. Mr Pigalina hadn’t seen the bag before. There had to be someone hiding either under the bed, in a cupboard or in the attic. Someone into poppy seed, therefore opium, therefore heroin. A heroin addict was hiding in my house.
Mr P checked the roof space with a torch then, logical as he is, asked what we had done since last night “Did we get any mail?”. Light bulb moment! The mail I put in the recycling had had a poppy on it! I pulled it out and sure enough the real estate agent who sent it had gifted us some poppy seeds to commemorate ANZAC Day. They had slipped out of the letter unnoticed to sit menacingly on the bin and freak me out.
I’d been about ready to contact Police…

A Very Merry Un-Birthday

Today is Tobias’ (dog) birthday, here he is enjoying his present.
Only it isn’t his birthday at all. When I checked his file to find out how old he is discovered his birthday is six weeks away! Someone struck it lucky thanks to my false recurring calendar event – 2 presents this year.

Good Friday, Average Birds

Thanks to Good Friday and a day off work, I have finally finished the mobile that I started making for my nephew back in January (possibly December).  I hope the poor chap doesn’t grow up with a bird phobia having had to stare up at birds with Coraline-esque button eyes while trying to get off to sleep.

Apologies for poor quality photo, and questionable sewing.

Pigalina is Kiwilina

Although it was April Fools Day the Department of Internal Affairs made sure that my Citizenship Ceremony was in the afternoon – meaning it was unlikely to be an elaborate trick.

Yes, after 20 years in the country I can now officially call myself a New Zealander.  (It was purely slackness on my part, it usually doesn’t take that long.)

Here is a rare glimpse of Pigalina with Mayor Dave Cull.