Yesterday Christchurch hosted an international conference on potatoes.
Ok that's strange enough. It's kind of weird that something so humble as a potato can be the the subject of international focus.
But what made the event so delightful was one of its attendees.
Yes it was former NZ Prime Minister Jim Bolger - aka "Spud" Bolger.
Delightful!
It's a pretty fraught time to be a journalist in New Zealand at the moment. Retrenchment, lay-offs, cut-backs, and redundancy are words with which we are all becoming too familiar. A wide range of broadcasters; TRN and Radioworks in radio, and Prime and TVNZ in television, are all in the process of shedding staff.
Or, as out bosses like to tell us, adjusting to the current economic climate.
90 staff are being axed at TVNZ of which around 20 are from news and current affairs. This follows on from cuts TVNZ made but a year or so ago when around 160 people were sent down the road. It's hard to see what fat, if any, there can possibly left to trim within TVNZ's news unit. How on earth they're going to cover morning news, the midday bulletin, the 4.30 pm bulletin, news at 6 and the late news, beggars belief. Add into that its commitments to TVNZ7 and its news service and one has to surmise it's an impossible task for those that are left.
But as bad as things are at TVNZ the situation at Prime News is far far worse. Its 5.30 news show already operated on a shoestring and, with no disrespect to those who work there, its quality always was well short of what it should have been. This is now going to go downhill double quick. From what I've been told the production, camera, and editing staff have pretty much been massacred. The show will now be piped out of Sydney based on the efforts of 4 video-journalists (three in Auckland and one in Wellington) and very limited production support.
Basically Prime News is now terminally fucked. There's absolutely no way they will be able to produce a credible news programme on those numbers. My suspicion is that their bulletin will either be cut in length, or canned altogether, within six months.
To all my colleagues out there who are now facing a fraught future. My sympathies are with you.
I'm a smoker.
It's a dirty disgusting habit and becoming less fashionable every year. But before you moralise at me, let me remind you the additional tax revenue the Government gets from my addiction is helping pay for your healthcare, retirement, and the like.
You're welcome.
So it's fair to say I am somewhat pissed off at the practices of Bellamy's - the firm that holds the monopoly on catering and cafe services at Parliament. A few weeks ago they decided to up the price on cigarettes. If you walked into any dairy, supermarket, or convenience store around the country you'd expect to pay $11.50 for a pack of 20.
Not at Bellamy's.
There they'll sting you $17 a pack for your nicotine pleasure.
F**kers.
There's a major difference between our current Government and the previous one that I only found out about today.
It turns out the current National Party led Cabinet is a lot more fecund than that of the old Labour regime. Apparently, between them, our current collection of Ministers have 19 school age children.
That compares to just two when Helen Clark was chairing the meetings.
Now I'd hate for anyone to read too much into this (no comments about them being a bunch of f**kers please!) but apparently it has had some interesting ramifications.
It's all to do with the ministerial residences. You see under Labour most Ministers ended up renting apartments. But apartments are hardly the best residence when you have kids underfoot. So it seems the powers that be have been having a bit of time locating suitably appropriate digs for our new ministerial warrant holders.
This morning I was having one of those terrible semi-muffled conversations with my dentist.
You know the one. He's talking away merrily while you're making vague grunts through a mouthful of medieval torture implements.
Anyway ...
He was apologising for the lateness of my appointment. Apparently the early morning downpour had caused traffic chaos and his efforts had not been helped by a small incident that occurred upon his arrival at work. Apparently some charming individual had cut him off in traffic, nipped into the practice carpark, and stolen his reserved carpark. Furthermore, said individual was less than polite when the dentist remonstrated with him about his lack of driving etiquette.
However karmic balance was restored five minutes later when our driver friend found out exactly who was to do his root canal!!
Life. Sometimes it can be a real bitch.
Doing this ....
The weather Gods weren't smiling. Guess exactly where the wind decided to switch directions meaning I had a head-wind in both directions.
A couple of weeks ago in a fit of blind enthusiasm, with absolutely no hope of ultimate success, I decided this would be the year when I'd get back into doing the occasional cycle road race. Unfortunately such aspirations require exercise.
So instead of taking a well earned break I've been doing things like this.
And this ....
Plus this ...
Not to forget this ...
And lastly - and most stupidly - this...
My legs are stuffed and, to be honest, I really don't feel a hell of a lot fitter.
This exercise lark is a complete con!
There are those that don't really count limericks as proper poetry. Mainly because of their tendency to lapse into the lewd and the profane. Personally I kind of like them - especially those that spark a response.
One of the best examples of this is the Nantucket limerick.
There was a man from Nantucket,
Who kept all his cash in a bucket.
His daughter named Nan,
Ran off with a man.
And as for the bucket, Nantucket.
He followed the trio to Pawtucket,And then there are the limericks that delight in playing with words:
Nan, the man, and the bucket.
He told the man,
He was welcome to Nan.
But as for the bucket, Pawtucket.
She laughed and called him Mr,Now given that we've had three relatively clean examples I guess I should close with something slightly more risque.
Because, in jest, he kr.
So out of spite,
The very same night.
This Mr kr sr.
There was a young woman from Thrace,
Whose corsets no longer would lace.
Her mother said "Nelly,"
"There's more in your belly"
"Than ever went in through your face."
I've just set up my first wireless home network.
Apparently, as promised by the set up instructions, it's supposed to be easy.
Bollocks to that!
For what it's worth the task was completed - though it did require swearing, angry cigarette breaks, and acts of casual violence.
I guess I'll never be an IT sort of a guy.
I was fossicking around through some of my old books today and came across something my parents gave me when I was quite young. It's called "Coles Funny Picture Book" and was a reprint of a childrens' book that was first published back in 1905. It'd be fair to say there was definitely a much different moral imperative back then - well compared to today anyway.
I give you:
A Deed of Horror - By J.W. Lloyd.
The night was dark,
The rain came down.
Amidst the loud
And roaring wind.
There stood a man
With look as though
Some heavy weight
Was on his mind.
With fearful stare
He gazed around;
He starts and from
His lips then come
These fearful words,
With anguish wild,
"The deed, it must,
And shall be done."
With hurried step
He onward glides,
And soon he reached
The cottage door.
Forth from his pocket
Drew a key,
He enters 'midst
The thunder roar.
He gropes his way
Across the room,
For all inside
Was dark and glum,
Again he groans
Those fearful words,
"The deed, it must,
And shall be done."
He strikes a light
Then round the room,
With stealthy step
Does slowly creep.
He reached the bed,
And thereupon
Three little children
Calmly sleep.
He fondly gazes
On their forms,
Then turns away
Quite overcome.
"I willingly
Would yield, but, no!
The deed, it must,
And shall be done."
He then drew forth
A hideous knife,
And roughly roused
The sleeping babes.
Who all shriek loudly
With affright,
Yet neither one
For mercy craves.
He drags the children
Cross the room,
Again those fearful
Words did utter,
He raised the knife
And cut - for each -
A nice thick slice
Of bread and butter.
After a year of playing poli' chaser I guess it's time to sit back and reflect on the highs and lows, as well as the fuck ups, achievements, and happenings of the year.
George W Bush Award for Dumbest Statement:
Winston Peters for his "no" comment on receiving donations from businessman Owen Glenn.
That, along with all the finagling and hypocrisy over NZ First's party funding, effectively killed Winston's 30 year political career - oh, and his party.
Balls of Steel Moment:
National Leader John Key for refusing to do a post election deal with aforementioned Winston Peters.
It could have blown up in his face had Labour run a better (or even slightly intelligent) election campaign.
Most Misguided Campaign Approach:
Labour wins this hands down.
When you're defending the actions of NZ First the last thing you should do is base your strategy on trust. It's about as intelligent as DIY circumcision.
The "What the fuck is this person doing in Parliament" Trophy:
Lots of competition for this award this year with some perennial favourites in the running. (ie Judith Tizard, Ashraf Choudhary, Colin King, Allan Peachy, Gordon Copeland, Barbara Stewart).
However the winner has to be .... Ashraf Choudhary. In the face of complete non-achievement, invisibility, and general all around lack of ability he's back in Parliament thanks to a relatively high position on Labour's Party list.
(how on earth do they work their selection system? - it sure as hell can't be based on talent or ability).
Unluckiest MP:
Labour MP Damien O'Connor. Just 40 more party votes and he'd have been back in Parliament. He never recovered from the disaster that was his stint as Minister of Corrections and lost his West Coast seat. He also had the misfortune to be the subject of a nasty and false smear campaign run by certain right wing members of the blogosphere - he should have sued them.
Paris Hilton Award for Blatant Self Promotion:
Act Leader Rodney Hide. That godawful yellow jacket. (and other publicity stunts)
Need I say more?
Darwin Award for Sheer Blind Pig Ignorance and Complete Lack of Brain Cells:
The Labour Party staffers who were dumb enough to try and flog 37 bottles of wine from the Press Gallery's end of year Xmas Party.
How can anyone work in Parliament and not know that the security cameras are everywhere and see everything? Congratulations to Mr Aidan Smith and friends - your public service careers are now terminally fucked.
The Keystone Cops Medal for Services to Political Investigations:
No contest here. Soon to be ex-Labour Party President Mike Williams is the hands down winner here.
What on earth possessed him to fly to Australia to trawl through thousands of documents trying to find dirt on National Leader John Key only he will know. Mikey, Mikey, that's what you have party flunkies for. Let them handle the shit storm if the efforts come up empty - at least that way you can have some sort of plausible deniability.
And letting reporters know exactly what you were up to was overwhelmingly dumb too. What exactly did you think might happen if you came up empty? That they might forget about it??
And finally - Politician of the Year:
Nope I'm not giving it to John Key for winning the election. It was his to lose after all. Nor am I going to give it to Helen Clark for the consummate way she handled the election defeat and the leadership succession - there can be no rewards for losers.
Instead I'm giving it to Maori Party MP Hone Harawira.
Why? Well I'll say one thing for Hone, unlike many of his peers you're never in any doubt about where he stands and what his opinions are. personally I find that rather refreshing.
Also anyone who says he wants to kill Trevor Mallard and tells Jim Anderton to go and jump in the lake can't be all bad.
Can he?
These boys are in the shit.
And deservedly so.
Yes in the wee hours of this morning - around 2.30 am to be precise - they were nabbed making off with 37 bottles of wine from the Press Gallery's annual Christmas Party. Three boxes worth actually - and they'd even had the cheek to pinch a chilly bin and pack it with ice so they could keep the chardonnays and sauvignon blancs nicely chilled.
To be precise one was caught and referred to police but his colleagues will be as well. The wonderful thing about Parliament is that it has security cameras everywhere and today the security staff have been collecting all the shots they need to identify the three that weren't picked up. Not that it really matters as it is known who they are.
Now had they made off with a couple of bottles I suspect the Gallery members would have required they return them and left it at that (this has happened in the past with a certain gentleman that made off with a case of bubbly).
But to take over three dozen is beyond the pale. Especially given the culprits had been merrily drinking free booze all night.
A brief four line apology was sent to the Gallery Chair this afternoon via Parliament's internal mail from the person arrested. I suspect had he come down and fronted in person it might have been taken a little more seriously.
Of course the fact a note was sent might be because he's already been given the arse from the premises. I'm reliably informed there are a number of senior Labour MPs who'd happily throttle those involved.
Other than that it was a damn good party - kudos to the organisers.
In the past the Radio Awards have been known for, shall we say, moments of colourful behaviour. It seems steps have been taken as next year the event has a code of conduct.
Anyone care to place a bet on whether it'll be breached?
Now I'm normally the sort of guy that adopts a "bah humbug" approach to Christmas - yes I am a grinch and proud of it - but even a sour old bastard like me finds this pretty damn cool.
Apart from the soppy beginning. Meh!
Today was the day of the annual Thorndon Street Fair. Now I'm not normally one to bag a good cause (and it is a good one), but I do feel the need to vent my spleen at some of the idiots who attended this year.
Particularly the friends of humanity who thought it would be a good idea to come onto our property and tip the contents of their curry lunches all over one of the landings. Cheers for that - and leaving the empty containers strewn across our carport was also a nice touch.
You are the type of people that could only be improved by being loaded into a catapult and fired into a concrete wall at point blank rage.
Mind you a special mention must be made of the intellectual genius who thought it was a great idea to discard a brick in our driveway. Discovering it by driving my new high performance car (bought less than 24 hours previously) over it so made my afternoon.
It is my considered opinion that the culprit should have his/her knees nailed together.
PS.
Why is it on the day you buy a car and take it for a test drive it sounds perfect and everything seems all hunky dory. But then the next day (after the money has been paid) all of a sudden it starts to make all sorts of funny sounds??
(please dear God let it just be that the brakes are rubbing slightly - Captain Paranoia's insisting it's a dodgy wheel bearing)
What follows is, for me, the best story of the 2008 election campaign. Unfortunately I wasn't there to witness the occasion but quite a few people that I know well were there so I can vouch for this tale's authenticity.
In the last moments of the campaign, as matters were reaching their frenetic conclusion, a group of reporters were camped outside National Party Leader John Key's Parnell residence in the hope of catching a quick stand-up interview with him. A semi-functioning member of society driving by felt the need to wind down his window and hurl some abuse at the esteemed members of the aforesaid fourth estate.
Unfortunately for this news critic he made his colourful outburst in full view of a member of the Diplomatic Protection Squad who dutifully took down the registration details of the man's car and made some discreet enquiries.
It turned out the critic was on company time and driving his company car when he was expounding his opinions on the media. It also turned out his boss was less than impressed with his behaviour and not at all happy about finding out about via the agency tasked with protecting the Prime Minister and the man aspiring to her job.
So a little later that same morning our hero had did walk of shame, returned to the scene of his verbiage, and made a humble apology to the assembled reporters.
As a reporter I like the way it all panned out. In this job abuse is frequent, praise is rare, and apologies nigh well unheard of.
So big ups to the DPS, and the lesson to be learned: don't f**k with them.
It's a funny old thing this credit crunch. Especially the way it appears to have tightened the sphincter muscles of certain banking types.
A little over a year ago, when the property boom was in full swing, I approached my bank to see how much they would lend me should I consider splashing out and buy myself a home. As it turned out they were happy to lend me something in the vicinity of a quarter of a million dollars.
However the market was manic and obviously heading for a fall so I said thanks but no thanks and waited for the real estate bubble to burst.
Which it duly did.
Anyway now the market's in free-fall and property prices in our fair capital are finally approaching something vaguely resembling reasonable my partner and I thought we'd approach the bank again and see how much we could borrow on our combined incomes.
That is; roughly twice the income that I had when I approached the bank solo last year.
Well the man at the bank did what bankers do best. Took details, crunched numbers, hummed and harred etc etc. In fact he even managed to find the banking details my partner had when she banked with this bank back in 1983.
WARNING - even after a quarter of a century these bastards will still have something on you lurking somewhere within their networks. My mind boggles at the fact they went to the trouble to:
a) move it from a paper record to an electronic one (computer records weren't the norm in 1983)
and;
b) hold onto the records of the banking behaviour of a seven year child.
Right I'll get back to the point of this rambling.
So our grey little banking man finally did all his sums and informed us of the sum the bank would be prepared to lend us in exchange for our life, liberty, happiness, and eternal souls.
It turns out it was only 30K more than what they were prepared to lend me as an individual 14 months ago.
So it seems it's not just been the finance companies that have been guilty of loose lending. I can't imagine them getting this tight, this quickly, unless some pretty bad calls were made in the not too distant past.
Actually it reminds of an old joke that's now been completely destroyed by the European Union and single currency.
Q: Why do the Irish call their currency the Punt?
A: Because it rhymes with banker.
I note a few of the Kiwi political blogs, particularly those with right of centre leanings, have decided to up sticks and call it quits now the election is done and dusted.
Fair enough.
But for those who are claiming that their efforts in some way influenced the outcome of the election ... Please. Give me a break!
You (like me) are really that not special and your efforts, while no doubt impressive to yourselves, don't really add up to much in the grand scale of things.
In fact I suspect I influenced the election more than you lot did when I farted in a polling booth on election day.
