Agony Aunt: Red-stickered
Three men in hard hats pulled up outside our front gate on the weekend. "Do you think they are coming to see us?" I asked hubby. He looked back at me like I was daft. As the owners of a 1950s red brick house with the corners missing, two chimneys down, smashed windows and a few retaining walls pinning our mountain bikes to the ground, the hard-hats weren't in our street visiting an old Aunt.
I'd rung the council earlier in the week to report the damage and faltered slightly when asked if it was "severe". It certainly wasn't on par with the historical homesteads in Hororata, but yes, our brick cladding looked like a boiled egg smashed with a teaspoon. And "yes" we considered it uninhabitable with its chimney breasts in slightly precarious positions and piles of smashed crockery everywhere.
The council weren't sure when they would make it to Akaroa - the French village 80km from Christchurch. "Maybe a month," the nice woman guessed. "Or if we get more engineers and inspectors we'll be there a lot sooner." And indeed they did come sooner. The trio of hard-hats coming towards us were Aucklanders.
We could see the glow of the red and green stickers in their folders and the outcome almost felt inevitable. A form was produced and we had to answer some questions.
Luckily for us, we have a second unscathed home in Christchurch to retreat to, so while it was heart wrenching we are very lucky.
To their immense credit, our trio of hard-hats were wonderfully kind and quick to check on our emotional state. The inevitable did happen. The red sticker was produced. The old brick lady was wrapped in red tape, the warning notice was stuck on the garage door and the neighbour's garden cordoned off. Our house was deemed unsafe to inhabit. That morning we'd removed most of our possessions, but the large furniture stayed inside covered in tarpaulins. It was an attempt at showing our insurance company that we were trying to minimise any losses, but in hindsight it was probably quite potty given the hazards.
The red-sticker was a moment of clarity. The house was unsafe while the aftershocks were occurring; walk away. As a financial person, it's ingrained into you to attack everything logically and weigh up the risks. On one side of my computer screen sits the VIX index (a measure of sharemarket volatility). On the other side a new incumbent; the GeoNet website with up-to-the-minute aftershock measurements. It was a screen covered in synthetic and real volatility. But the quake partially disengaged my brain this week. The professional ability to weigh up risk deserted me a few times.
For some reason I thought it was a good idea to take a business trip to Auckland three days after the quake. Life had to carry on, Cantabrians are staunch. But that night we had a host of aftershocks registering 5-plus on the Richter scale. Instead of cancelling, I proceeded to the airport. On reflection, it was a bad assessment of risk and I spent the day worrying about those at home. There was a second Auckland trip this week. I cancelled. Then the board meeting in Sydney. I cancelled. Everything can be done by phone and Air New Zealand is giving a full credit on their fares, even when tickets can't be altered.
To my mind, while the aftershocks are still regular, those airline seats are better filled with nice engineers, inspectors and community workers from Auckland and Wellington. Everyone is different, as some people felt safer by leaving town, but it has been a lesson in sticking to your core values. I'm a low-risk person, I manage volatility for a living and I feel happier when I'm true to type.
For the rest of the week, logic prevailed and the professional skills swung into action.
Step 1: Fill out the EQC form online. We are claimant number 13,476. That's not a bad position given it's currently north of 45,000 (but wholly irrelevant given they are attending to cases in order of severity and need, not sequentially).
Step 2: Ring the insurer. AMP promptly assigned an assessor at a company called Cunningham Lindsay.
Step 3: Ring the council and put our house on a list for building inspectors to visit.
Step 4: Ring Elliot Sinclair, a private engineering firm to get on their list for a full assessment (since it can be reclaimed as an expense).
Step 5: Speak to the assessor and outline the damage.
Step 6: Ring about a storage unit.
Step 7: Make a list of broken things.
Step 8: Take photos.
Step 9: Ring the vet and ask how to de-stress the dog.
Step 10: Wait patiently - all the above parties are inundated.
What are the financial lessons this week? Forget the amounts of money involved in this catastrophe, as the the lessons are emotional. Don't leave your family and go on business trips if you are a low-risk personality type. And try not to worry about the red sticker - it feels like a complete loss of control over your assets, but that's what insurance is for. Even as a financial professional, I'll fidget and worry and try to second guess what the insurers will want to do. I'll fret that our cool little 50s retro house will end up looking like some patched up, naff new thing and that I'll forever feel unsafe in it. But for now, I'll stay safe by keeping my eye on the VIX and GeoNet, keep family close and ring the vet about how to stop the dog howling at night. Concentrate on the things you've still got control over.
Janine Starks is a financial commentator with expertise in banking, personal finance and funds management. Opinions in this column represent her personal views. They are general in nature and are not a recommendation, opinion or guidance to any individuals in relation to acquiring or disposing of a financial product. Readers should not rely on these opinions and should always seek specific independent financial advice appropriate to their own individual circumstances.