29Jul2004

It all happened over a week ago but the topic was so full of ripe fruit I just had to harvest it. I’m referring to the politicians rush to the Westpac Stadium in Wellington for the Bledisloe Cup game. As we all know the Prime Minister had spent a happy day in Waimate celebrating 125 years of progress and prosperity. Suddenly at 2:45pm on instructions from the boss of the diplomatic protection squad who for obvious reasons is known simply as “X”, he advised the Prime Minister to “move out and move quickly”. So she did. She arrived in Christchurch 100 minutes later. This equates to a land speed of about 147 kph. To give you an idea how fast this is it’s about the average top speed Juan-Manuel Fangio achieved when he won the Grand Prix at Monaco in 1950. He was racing on wet weather tyres and had five pit stops. All this haste is quite amazing when you consider that the Prime Minister knows little about rugby. She’s a self professed rugby league fan. Only a few years ago she thought a “number 8” was a gauge of fencing wire. And a “rolling maul” was a description of her Monday morning caucus meeting. But she’s a quick learner and it was important in the interests of improving closer economic relations (CER) with Australia to show up at an Aussie/All Black encounter. Especially as the punters were predicting that the All Blacks would win. Unlike the way the Aussies run CER, tonight everyone would be playing on a level playing surface and hopefully the Aussies would get the opportunity to move the goalposts. She was oblivious that she and her entourage were setting a land speed record. As the convoy swept through settlements with such colourful names as “Hook”, “Makikihi”, “Winchester” and “Hinds”, she was in the backseat engrossed in conversation with Jim Sutton the Minister of Something. I’ve only seen Jim on T.V. and heard him speaking occasionally on National Radio. His whole demeanour and voice has had a soporific effect on me. I’ll bet it had the same effect on the Prime Minister. Just having to listen to Jim I’d say she would have dozed off before she got to Washdyke. She awoke to see a sign flashing by claiming “Templeton”. Expressing surprise she remarked “are we in Christchurch already?” They were. In record time.

Meanwhile back in the Capital City at 5:00pm it was raining cats and dogs. Don Brash was in two minds as to whether to stay at home by the fire, crack open a bottle soda with a twist and watch the game on T.V. Or brave the elements at the Stadium. When he was the Governor of the Reserve Bank he had often to make difficult decisions. Tonight he chose the hardest option. So it was off to the footy. He called a public service car which as Leader of the Opposition, he along with cabinet ministers, members outside cabinet, under-secretaries and about 50 others are entitled to do. As he climbed into the car he was heard to observe that the rain was coming down more steadily than the rate of inflation. Now this is where things like the weather get murky. “The Dominion” reported that on his journey to the Stadium his motorcade of two cars ran red lights and drove on the wrong side of the road. Not so says Don Brash. “I know a lot of my policies are a long way to the right of centre but this night I instructed my driver to steer a middle course. And what’s more I’ve got no recollection of going through red lights. In fact we never went anywhere near Vivian Street.” (Obviously referring to Wellington’s red light district)

And in all this dash of politicians to the Stadium one notable member of the cast was missing. Winston. Well around 6:00pm, after a meal of fish ‘n’ chips and a couple of smokes he walked to the Ngaio Railway Station and caught the 6:25pm train from Johnsonville to Wellington. The train ran no red lights. Due to the state of the track it travelled at below regulation speed. It arrived at platform 2 right alongside the Stadium at about 6:40pm. As usual a small crowd of well wishers clapped as he alighted. His incandescent smile momentarily lit up the platform. Brighter than the Stadium lights in the background. Blurred by the sheets of the driving northerly rain.

And the sequel to all this:
Helen went home without a motorcade to Premier House after observing that if you keep the playing field level and the goal posts in place for 80 minutes you can actually beat the Aussies.
Don went home to a stiff soda with a twist.
At 2:30am the trains to Ngaio had stopped running. Winston finally found a taxi driver who could speak English and knew where Ngaio was.

01Jul2004

Oxford Street is the heartland of London’s retail area. No matter the time of day it’s packed with shoppers. Late November/early December retailers usually put on a Christmas parade. Full of the usual fantasy characters who over the ages have amused children. You know. Donald Duck and Mickey Mouse. Thomas the Tank Engine and Bob the Builder. Shrek and Paul Holmes. Somehow or other last November a new group joined the parade. There they were atop of an open top double-decker bus. They were dressed in snow white jerseys adorned with a rose on the chest. And in the middle the letters ‘O2‘. “Who are they mum” asked a particularly puzzled poppit from Putney. “Could be Snow White and the dwarves only there’s too many of them. But I can see a Dopey, a Sleepy, a Bashful and a Grumpy. Some of them look a bit big for dwarves. Ask your father”. “Don’t be daft” said dad. “They’re not dwarves. They’re the English rugby team. They’ve just won a world championship. Somehow they’ve mistakenly joined this Christmas parade. Anyway give them a cheer.” So they did. “What’s rugby?” the enquiring precocious poppit from Putney asked. “It’s a bit like football. Except you pick up the ball and run with it. Sometimes you get to kick the ball over the goal rather than into the net. Just like David Beckham does.”

The rugby players couldn’t believe their welcome. But they hadn’t realised that they’d got caught up in a Christmas parade. They thought that Thomas the Tank Engine and Bob the Builder had turned out especially for them. They hadn’t. Some of them found the whole thing very tiring and vowed not to play rugby again at least for another year. Maybe two years.

The parade finished. The bus went down Regent Street. Up the Mall and arrived at Buckingham Palace. The Queen came out. Prince Charles was there too. “I’m so proud of you all” said the Queen. “I’m going to knight you Clive Wayward”. “The name’s “Woodward” Ma’am” said Clive. “And Woodward it shall be then. Arise Sir Clive”. And he did just like an Edmonds baking powder sponge. “And then there’s Marty Johnstone and Johnny Wilkinson. How’d they like the Order of the British Empire.” “But there’s no British Empire left Ma’man” replied Sir Clive. “I know” said the Queen. “But lets just pretend. And I’d like the rest of the team to be Members of the British Empire. Just to remind those colonials in the Southern hemisphere that there will always be an England. And an Empire for that matter.” At this Prince Charles ears twitched rigorously. This happened everytime his mother mentioned the Empire.

It’s hard to believe that all that pomp and circumstance happened only seven months ago. Last Monday Mick Cleary in the ‘Daily Telegraph’ wrote of another homecoming. “There will be no mass of people thronging Heathrow Airport for England’s arrival at home this morning. The crowds have faded so has the world champions aura.” He continued. “A year ago England were brazen, defiant, waving in the next contender with the cold eye stare of the hot shot guns. England may still cock the trigger but they’re firing blanks.” And what did the gallant knight Sir Clive have to say. “If we get November right (referring to further games against Canada, South Africa and Australia next November) then what happened down under will wisely be forgotten. If we get it wrong then some questions will be asked about what’s going on. Like why wasn’t Bob the Builder there to welcome us this time? Has Thomas the Tank Engine gone off the rails like us?

Even champion sponge cakes go flat sometimes. Could be time to change the recipe or the baker.