Bliss

After chasing politicians around in the tropical heat for four days nothing beats kicking back on a nice quiet beach.

I give you Pangaimotu Island.




I mean, seriously how cool is this.

Though I did end up with one of those patchwork sunburns. The peril of travelling solo is that there's no-one to smear the sunscreen on the parts of one's back that can't be reached single handedly. I would have prevailed upon a dusky maiden to do it for me but unfortunately they all had boyfriends who were far bigger and stronger than I.

Sometimes discretion is the better part of valour.

I must say I am glad my flight home is tonight. I had considered taking this one.

Actually I suspect my employers would have preferred it if I'd been on that plane - for news purposes of course (I'm almost sure they don't want me dead)

Hot Times in Tonga

Since Monday I've been on the ground in Tonga covering the Pacific Forum leaders meeting and let me tell you it's been an experience.

On the work front it's been quite frustrating. Traditionally these events have been quite media friendly. Generally the media have been able to hang outside the meeting centre and nobble passing politicians for comment pretty much willy nilly.

Well that hasn't been the case here. Security in Nukua'lofa has ranged from insidious to inane. The entire area around where the meetings have been taking place have been cordoned off with police and military checkpoints at virtually every intersection. We arrived on the understanding that our media passes would allow us to get to where we needed to be. The reality has proved to be very much the opposite.

The press conference area has been located within the security zone, however the facilities from which media file are outside of it. Getting in to get to the people we need to speak to has been hit and miss at best, and nigh impossible at worst. The checkpoint that lets you through in the morning is invariably the one that steadfastly refuses to let you through in the afternoon. There's no rhyme nor reason to it either. Invariably we're sent via another route where the same situation repeats all over again.

Getting tetchy gets you nowhere, nor does courtesy, or even abject pleading. The poor blokes at TV3 missed a stand-up with NZ Prime Minister Helen Clark on Tuesday because they were turned back at three separate checkpoints. Myself and two colleagues made it barely in time after walking about 1.5 km in a circuitous route - the direct path was a mere 500 metres.

And some of the restrictions have been bizarre. In Vava'u, at the leader's retreat on Wednesday, cameramen were even forbidden from taking shots of the harbour.

As far as Tongan security is concerned we in the media are the enemy and all our security passes do is serve to identify us. On that basis coverage has been limited to Helen Clark and Alexander Downer which is not what we're here for. We'd love to talk to the other Pacific leaders but the problem's been we can't get anywhere near them. Frustrating doesn't even begin to sum it up.

At times this frustration has boiled over, not into outright confrontation, but pretty close to it. On Tuesday the media were told the beginning of the plenary session would be open so photographers could get shots. They were also told it was for five minutes and then everyone would have to leave. For those in print and radio it meant the event was pretty meaningless so most abstained from attending. However a decision was made to allow the media to stay - that saw the rest of us descend like a horde of locusts seeking admittance.

Were we let? Not bloody likely.

This sparked an exchange with security. Even press secretaries were lobbying for us to be let in but the police were resolute, no-one would pass. Tempers flared and officials were told pretty bluntly what our opinions were. The next day the Fiji Times ran a story quoting Tongan Government official Kitione Mokofisi (who'd coincidentally been lurking in the background when the fracas occurred) describing Australasian journalists as rude and insulting. He even went so far as to attack the female Kiwi journalists for being tasteless in their dress sense.

Well not only did Mr Mokofisi misquote an Aussie journalist, accusing him of calling Fijian Interim Prime Minister Frank Bainimarama a leper (the question was did he feel like he was being treated like a leper), but he was completely wrong about his accusations against the female Kiwi press corp. As the Tongan King had officiated the official opening ceremony in the morning they'd made sure their legs and shoulders were covered and no excess skin was on display. Mokofisi's attack was no more than a case of sour grapes and distracting attention away from the obstructive nature Tonga had imposed on the Forum coverage.

It's also worth noting that the Fiji Times never bothered talking to either the New Zealand or the Australian media about the incident.

Let me point out that my criticism is restricted to the officials. I've found the Tongan people to be absolutely fantastic. Their courtesy and cheer is like a breath of fresh air to those of us who have to deal with the surly, cynical, and abrasive day to day lifestyle at home. Considering the challenges they have to put up with (marginal infrastructure, indifferent politicians) they're an overwhelmingly hospitable people.

PS - if you ever visit, skip Nukua'lofa and head for Vava'u. It's superb.

Headlines We'd Never See

In light of this event over the weekend I was wondering how would I headline it?

I mean "Banks to the Future" isn't bad but I kind of like this:

"BANKS BEATS DICK!"

I mean given there was a porn king running in the same mayoral race it is kind of appropriate.

Bunch of Bleeding Muppets.

Dear Vodafone,
in this modern IT dominated age when we rely on our cellphones for important communication why do you choose to embark on a week long upgrade of your computer systems which means your customer service (which was damn poor to begin with) becomes completely non-existent?

Please do tell me, what company in its right mind would allow it to be in a situation where customers seeking simple things such as global roaming, email interface advice, or even help on blocking spam texts, are being told by your drooling, slack-jawed staff that nothing can be done until next week? I'm so glad to know that when I go overseas next Monday there'll be no way I can get my phone set up because I haven't given you 2 working days notice.

Thanks for nothing you muppets!

I must say I was so impressed by one of your staff who offered to set up a customer's internet connection on his phone for a nominal fee of $25. Never mind the fact he'd just shelled out $800 for the phone so could possibly expect a little bit in the way of free assistance. I was even more impressed the staff member in question couldn't even tell this poor man whether the Vodafone website had a FAQ page that might be able to help him out of his quandary.

Seriously where do you find these people - Morons 'R' Us?

It's one hell of a way to run a business.

May all your crabs turn into lobsters,

A former customer.

One of Those Days.

It seems there is a God and he appears to be a jealous one. At least so far as my loyalties (or lack of) to the All Blacks are concerned.

Today began with the discovery that my car battery is flat/kaput/finis. That meant my much needed run to the supermarket had to be by foot and I had to lug the bloody things back by hand. While at the supermarket I got a call from the landlord who informed me he is selling our property and we'll have to move out.

The move date? 12 days before Christmas. There's some festive bloody cheer for you.

I suspect it's divine retribution for me betting on the French.

Bollocks!

Setting Goals

When the All Blacks last won the World Cup I was 14 years old. At that tender age I did not have the money to buy an All Black's jersey to show my support for our national side. But I promised myself when I was 18 and the All Blacks contested the World Cup again I'd definitely buy myself a jersey after they'd lifted the trophy.

I'm now 34 and still no jersey (sigh)

But on the brighter side, in 1999 I started betting against the All Blacks once they entered the elimination stage of the tournament. When they finally win the thing at last at least I will have collected enough cash to buy a jersey - even at the over-inflated prices they charge for them these days.

Missing in Action

No not me.

TV3's new midday bulletin.

It was supposed to play for the first time today (yes ahead of tomorrow's Sunrise launch) under it' flash moniker "3News@12". It had been discussed in the news team's morning conference call and it seemed it was all go.

We all dutifully tuned in at midday and what did we get?

Everybody Loves Raymond.

The journo's at TVNZ are pissing themselves.

On the Road

Every now and then, just for a change, I give the mountainbiking a miss and take the road bike for a spin.

Here's this morning's effort.



And here's what it looks like in terms of hill climbs.



Mind you the route I took yesterday is a lot more fun. Less traffic and better scenery.



It's not quite as long as the Bays Ride, but the hills are a lot more substantial. Especially the last one.



So that's how I spent my weekend.

Tipping over the Edge

Here's another in the list of mountainbike trails that I've been posting here from time to time. Today's little number is the Tip Track. As you can tell from the picture it's a groovy little descent.



And you can even stop to admire the view on the way down.



Take it from me it's a track you want to always do in the downward direction. Biking up it would require a fortitude not found in mere mortals.

Though I understand there are some fitness freaks that can get to the top in under 30 minutes - not me though.

Paying it Back

I heard an interesting little story when I was ambling through Parliament the other day catching up with a few contacts. It involves Winston Peters, New Zealand First, and the party's election spending as identified by Auditor General Kevin Brady last year.

For about the past 10 months the Press Gallery has been hounding Winston on a regular basis asking him when he intends:
a) releasing the legal advice he sought on the matter late last year.
and,
b) to pay any, or all, of the money back.

About 2-3 months ago Peters said an announcement was imminent but since then nada, nothing, zilch, zib, not a peep from the man.

So what's going on?

Well the rumour is (and I hasten to say it is only speculation) the legal advice Winston Peters has received states that the Auditor General got it wrong. Winston's now loathe to pay back the $160 thousand but is caught in a cleft stick as he knows what public and political condemnation he'll receive should he try to finagle his way out of the situation.

The Fashion Police

Where have I been? Blame Facebook. It's the greatest timewaster I've come across in an age thanks to Scrabulous. I've been play Scrabble almost incessantly for the past 3 weeks with various friends scattered from NZ, to the UK, and Papua New Guinea.

I guess it has its benefits - apparently "qi" is a word and so too is "jow". There's nothing like having some more useless information to add to the burgeoning list.

Anyway it seems the grip of winter (not that Wellington really has one) is loosening and spring is on the way. I guess this means I've run out of excuses not to be out and about on the weekends and trying to lead a semi-meaningful life.

Mind you Wellington's a bit of a weird place for socialising. The profusion of civil servants and other assorted professional types means there's a certain degree of decorum that I'm still coming to grips with. You see I'm a Canterbury boy by nature so I'm more used to the slightly more relaxed attitude that exists down there. If you feel like going out in Christchurch wearing jeans and a shirt you can pretty much get away with it. A little bit of scruffiness is perfectly acceptable there. Not so in the capital though. Here if you're going out you have to be reasonably presentable and woe betide you if you turn up wearing anything from Hallensteins. For a bloke that managed to get away with not wearing a tie until he was 33 I'm finding it a wee bit of a shock to the system. A few weeks back my trusty old boots ($29.95 at the Warehouse) finally gave up the ghost leaving me with no option but to buy another pair. The Wellington fashionista (or should that be facisnista) got to me and I've ended up with a new pair of $350 dollar footwear.

Gulp!

God help me when I finally get around to buying the shirts and pants to go with them. I suspect I may need a bank loan.

Parliamentary Porkie Pies

And believe it or not I'm not talking about David Benson-Pope.

On Tuesday Herald journalist Simon Collins had a beaut wee scoop about a new anti domestic violence/child abuse initiative that was about to be launched by the Government. naturally this had every other journalist in the Press Gallery scrambling to match it.

But what was the response from the office of Minister of Health Pete Hodgson?

His press secretaries were emphatic in denouncing the Herald story. They said it was completely wrong and no such initiative was planned. One staffer went so far as to suggest Simon Collins had got things mixed up and could be referring to a Ministry of Social Development announcement planned for next month. Even the staff in the office of acting Minister for Social Development and Employment, Steve Maharey, were running the same line.

That is until Maharey went on Radio New Zealand, Newstalk ZB, and Radio Live and confirmed the details of the Herald's story.

And sure enough the policy was announced today.

So what are we to make of this?

Well either Hodgson's staff are incompetent, or they're liars. It beggars belief that they weren't aware of the policy and that it was due for release. Press secretaries, by their very nature, are in those sorts of information loops. While evasion and manipulation is to be expected if they don't wish to talk about such things flat out lying is not.

While journalists always treat press secretaries with a fair degree of scepticism there is a firm rule that lying is not good form. Generally it gets found out and once it is there's no way a reporter will take anything that person says at face value ever again. Any residual trust is dead and buried - permanently.

Lying not only undermines the credibility of the press secretary it also damages the credibility of the the minister. Press secretaries are an extension of their minister, a mouthpiece as it were. Their actions reflect on those that titularly control them.

Pete Hodgson image is now tarred, and it's all because his staff didn't have the good sense to be straight up with the media.

One would have thought Labour would have learned a few lessons from the Benson-Pope experience.

Apparently not.

Flatting. A Necessary Evil.

Flatting at my age is not something I do out of choice. It's determined by burgeoning interest rates, over inflated Wellington property prices, the realisation I don't want to be landed with a mountain of debt, and the fact what I made from my selling my last home is appreciating quite nicely thank you very much.

However by having made the business decision not to buy when the market is high I've been forced into a flatting lifestyle. Something I hadn't done for some time. I'll admit it has its benefits - cheaper utility bills for one - but it also has its drawbacks.

You see it doesn't matter how careful you are you never really know what a prospective flatmate is like until you've lived with them. Here's a sample of what I've experienced in the past year or so.

1) The Vocal Shagger.
When this girl scores the whole street knows (not just our house). The throes of passion are such that furniture in adjoining rooms is rearranged and plaster has been known to fall from the ceiling. Once the neighbours even came round to inquire as to whether someone had been hurt (though how they mistook orgasm for murder escapes me).

2) The Invisible Woman.
She pays all the bills on time and even does her share of the houseweek. Yet she is never seen. Months can go by with no sight nor sound of her. Once a room check had to be carried out to make sure;
a) she still lived here.
and,
b) She wasn't dead and mouldering in her bed.

3) The Slightly Bemused, Yet Devious, Foreigner.
This person plays upon English being their second language to their advantage. Expect huge delays on getting the bond, conniptions when it comes to getting the rent paid on time, and a complete incomprehension that living in a house necessitates paying a share of the monthly power bill. Trying to explain the situation will be met with a vacant look and the phrase "Que?".

Mortality

I'm feeling a little down tonight. Late last week I got the news that someone I've been professionally associated with for some time was quite ill and in hospital and not expected to last much longer.

I won't name him here as it's not appropriate, but suffice it to say I consider him a friend and a thoroughly decent chap.

For the past few days I've been mulling over whether I should visit him or not. Like I say we know each other, but it's a relationship based on a professional acquaintance and I was a little unsure if it would have been appropriate to intrude at a time best reserved for family and close friends.

Well tonight I visited him .... I'm glad I did but it's highlighted just how patently unfair life can be at times.

Here is a man, who's liked and respected by all that know him, left a shadow of his former self in a hospital bed. One of my colleagues gave a very apt description of him the other day.
"He's a gentleman, but more importantly he's a gentle man".
And that's the honest truth. He's one of the nicest people I've ever met in my line of work and genuinely nice people are few and far between in political circles.

For him to be in this truly awful predicament, well ...it's just not right.

He's barely had time to come to terms with his illness and now he's got just days left. He doesn't want to die, nor do any of us who know him want to lose him, but there's nothing he, or any of us, can do.

What can you say or do for someone in such a situation?

Absolutely nothing - and that's the worst thing about it all.

Bumf.

It's been a while since I did a substantial overseas trip. About 11 years to be precise (that's not counting a couple of jaunts to Australia and elsewhere in the South Pacific). So I was a little bit surprised when I went to collect my tickets from the travel agents.

You see in the old days your travel envelope was fairly straight forward. Tickets, luggage tags, and maybe an immigration form was what you got.



Something kind of like this.

However when I opened mine I was staggered to find 17 different pieces of paper awaiting my perusal. The three essential pieces you see above and 14 other bits of extraneous shite.



In that carbon negative pile of glossy pamphlets are; warnings about not leaving the country with unpaid fines, advertising for Duty Free stores, warnings about drug smuggling (apparently it's a no no - who would have guessed?), warnings about what you can and can't take on your carry on luggage, and even a print out of what I can see and do at my ultimate destination.

Call me a grinch but this is overkill.

Also while it's laudable that Flightcentre is giving me dutyfree vouchers, But I really don't see the point in them giving them to me if they expire in October when I'm travelling in December.

Vive la Revolution

Politics is a strange racket sometimes. It sort of goes without saying that, by and large, your average politician (and most of them are distinctly average) is a fairly thick skinned creature. It's not the sort of career one chooses if one is easily hurt by criticism. For most politicians a personal attack slides of their hide like mud off a basking hippo.

But when it comes to the media it seems to be a different story - at least as far as their behaviour in the sacred precincts of the debating chamber is concerned. Deputy Prime Minister Michael Cullen is selling the new broadcasting rules as a liberalisation give that TV cameras will be allowed to show reaction shots. And, to be fair, that is a relaxation from current practice. However not extending the same liberty to still photographers is somewhat perplexing. the argument a single moment can be taken out of context has limited merit when newspapers can quite freely take a still from a broadcast agency.

But this is all a sideshow when compared to the fundamental issue. Blocking the use of TV footage for satire and banning any images that might denigrate an MP's image.

It's skewed from the beginning. A cartoonist, such as Tom Scott, is free to lampoon and a radio journalist is free to describe what they see in whatever terms they choose. Yet a TV journalist, or a still photographer, is not allowed to show what anyone in the public gallery can see. Doesn't this strike you as a little out of kilter?

If anyone in the public gallery can see what an MP is up to then so too should any other member of the public elsewhere in the country. However MP's are canny beasts. They know the power of an image and there's no way they''ll allow the public to see them as they really are. The behaviour in the Debating Chamber in Parliament regularly borders on the farcical and MP's would prefer that not become common knowledge.

Michael Cullen made the claim this week that Parliament is for debate, not theatre, though how he managed to say it with a straight face is beyond me. Theatre outstrips debate by a country mile in our Parliament and the Right Honourable Dr Michael Cullen is one of the practice's most well known exponents.

It's been gratifying to see the media thumb their noses collectively at the rules this week. Kudos to TVNZ, TV3, Prime, the Dominion Post, Newstalk ZB and others for taking a stand against the self righteous, self-serving, and hypocritical line taken by our country's elected members.

(oh and if anyone's interested Auckland Issues Minister Judith Tizard managed to sleep through most of Question Time today. She only woke when prodded by Dover Samuels who noticed the Press Gallery had their eyes on her)

Nice Work If You Can Get It

Well the rumour mill is bubbling about the salary being paid to TVNZ's new communications manager Peter Parussini. The word is it's around $250,000 which is a hefty sum and more than what some of the presenters actually get.

It's also equivalent to the salaries of five intermediate level journalists - do you think the 30 odd news staff that have just been axed in TVNZ's cutbacks might be a little pissed off?

A Week in Politics

Sheesh, what a week it's been. The corridors of power have been flat tack with spin, innuendo, and the truly inane.

Lets start with the last first.

Inanity of the Week.

This has to go to the minor parties (Greens, Maori Party, United Future, and ACT) for their proposed code of conduct. To see Rodney Hide and Peter Dunne talk about the need to remove personal attacks from the House was ludicrous given some of their past behaviour. Rodney Hide (now known as the recently reformed Rodney Hide) is noted for his sharp tongue and scathing with during Parliamentary debate. In fact it's a strength of his and by signing up to this code he's effectively emasculated himself. And as for sensible Peter (setting aside some of his past diatribes against the Greens) wasn't he the one that all but accused Labour of being political adulterers just a few weeks back?


Wally of the Week.

Gordon Copeland by a country mile. Gordo, if you're going to commit your vote to one party make sure you name it correctly when you do your interview with One News. Naming the wrong Party makes you look like a bit of a dick. And as for supporting the Government on confidence and supply and National on everything else, well that's just bizarre. It's not often that I find myself in agreement with Whaleoil but this time I think he's hit the nail on the head.


King Hit of the Week.

This goes to the Ombudsmen and their scathing report on the Department of Corrections and it's prisoner transport procedures. The bad news just keeps coming for Corrections Minister Damien O'Connor who is by now a dead man walking. The smart money says he loses the portfolio at the next Cabinet reshuffle. The question then becomes who will be the next minister? One can't really see people queuing up for this job as Corrections is where Ministers go to die. If I had to make a pick I'd posit Ruth Dyson, Lianne Dalziel, and Shane Jones as potential candidates.

In O'Connor's defence I have to say his performance in Question Time on Thursday was a marked improvement. For the first time in 18 months he actually took National MP Simon Power head on and fought fire with fire and came out of the debate with some credit. Though one has to ask; why hasn't he done this earlier? It seems like it's too little too late.


Bizarre Diplomacy Award.

The hands down winner here is Fiji's Interim Prime Minister Frank Bainimarama over his regime's expulsion of NZ High Commissioner Michael Green. It seems the marching orders stem from Mr Field getting a better seat at the rugby than did Frank. No wonder Bainimarama is known as Coup Coup Frank in some quarters.

Mind you Foreign Minister Winston Peters didn't exactly cover himself in glory in the way he handled the matter. The media were aware of the situation shortly before 10 am Wednesday morning but could they get a comment from the Minister or his office on the situation? Not likely. Peters was intending to release the information at a Select Committee hearing after midday (if one was cynical one might suspect he intended to grandstand on the issue) and there was no way he was letting anything slip. In fact he went so far as to have the media booted out of the hearing when he briefed the Committee. The end result was that National Leader John Key was the first politician to comment on the development - not a good look for the Government.

The other bizarre thing about the Select Committee hearing was that for an hour and half not a single MP asked a question about Fiji. The biggest issue of the day and they stayed mute throughout. National also did itself no favours by not being there. They'd walked out in a huff earlier.


Junket Award.

I'm awarding this one to Trevor Mallard. It seems our Sports and Recreation Minister is heading back to Valencia again for the conclusion of the America's Cup. It seems being there for the Louis Vuitton Cup was so appealing he's felt the need to go straight back again. Mind you his presence there could explain this outburst from Ernesto Bertarelli about boorish Kiwi fans. Trevor "Heineken" Mallard does have a certain reputation.

The Human Touch

This is one of a series of videos produced by a group of young Iraqi men. They're attempting to show what it's like for civilians living in Baghdad. I seriously recommend you take the time to watch it. It's a side of the Iraq story we don't get to see through the media and it's a perspective we need to see.

How Not To Leave a Country.

Again I'm being lazy and blogging something I recently posted on a discussion group. But given the length I really can't be arsed typing it out twice (even if it does blow my semi-anonymous blogging status). It's yet another tale from my multitudinous fund of OE stories - enjoy.

Back in 1990 and 1991 when I was in my late teens I was living and working in Japan looking after a showjumping team. Initially I was all official and had a working holiday visa. All was sweet with the wonder that is Japanese bureaucracy. However after my first six months getting an extension proved to be a difficult task and I had to resort to some unorthodox tactics to stay in my country and in my job. The solution was simple - every three months I'd quickly flit out of the country and come back in getting a tourist visa.

Not strictly legit' but it achieved my aims.

So things progressed along this path for some time but unfortunately for me things changed. You see I wasn't the only Kiwi in a certain area of Hokkaido working in the horse industry and eventually the immigration department wised up and decided to check matters out.

Learning this I made efforts to make my status a little more legal and endeavoured to get my paperwork in order. Unfortunately the system decided not to play ball, in fact it decided to lodge said ball squarely in my fundamental orifice. I ended up in the situation where, not only did I not have a working visa but I also had no tourist visa either.

Matters got worse when immigration rang my place of work and a receptionist (long on looks but short on guile) blithely told them how long I'd been working and exactly how much I had been paid. At this point I decided a strategic retreat to New Zealand was necessary and this is where things began to get a bit tricky.

There I was at Narita Airport plane tickets in hand going through immigration when I struck up a conversation with an Australian. He like me had visa issues and was heading home to rectify matters. He was just ahead of me in the queue, presented his passport at the immigration desk, and a kerfuffle ensued. Two of the largest Policemen I'd ever seen promptly turned up and hauled him off for questioning.

I'm now slightly apprehensive.

I roll up to the immigration officer and hand over my passport. He looks at it, then at me, then calls for the police. Off I'm hauled to a small room and the interrogation, and the bizarre nature of Japanese bureaucracy, begins to unveil. Because I have no visa I'm told I can't be in the country. However without a visa I also can't leave it.
"Simple" says I, "give me a visa and I'll go".
"Not possible", says the not so friendly official,"a visa can only be issued by the Japanese Embassy in NZ"
"OK let me on the plane and I'll apply for one when I get home" says me.
"You can't leave Japan without a visa"

Bollocks.

Anyway while all this was going on files had been checked and my somewhat undercover work history was sprung. In no uncertain terms I was told I could face 6 months in jail and/or a hefty fine. Fairly heavy duty stuff for an 18 year old to handle. Suffice it to say I was shitting bricks.

The official sternly tells me I'm in big trouble (btw all this conversation was going on in Japanese), tells me to stay where I am and heads out the door. I. of course, do the complete opposite. As I still had my passport and plane tickets I was on my feet in a flash, out through the other door, past immigration and heading for the boarding gate at a great rate of knots.

Luckily for me the flight was boarding and I scuttled on and wedged myself into a window seat taking care to ensure there was at least one octogenarian between me and the aisle.

Five minutes later there's a commotion at the front of the plane. Very foolishly I look up to see what's going on and there's the immigration official I'd escaped from not 15 minutes before. His eyes meet mine and down the aisle he strides shouting angry imprecations and calling down all sorts of nasty curses upon my head.

Bugger!

A number of options were flashing through my head as he's screaming at me (in Japanese) to get of the plane immediately. I did what any other baka gaijin would do in such circumstances and stared blankly at him pretending I couldn't understand him(despite our prior fluent conversation). The poor man is now a bright shade of red, and heading for purple, as he speaks through clenched teeth in strained english. Again he orders me off the plane.

Time for plan B and in my best 3rd Form German I said;
"Einen bien auschlander. Nicht spechen sie englisch. Sprechen sie Deutsch?"

Now I won't say his face was reminiscent of Hiroshima revisited at this point, but it was pretty close. Veins throbbing his rage was approaching incandescent status.

And this is when my saviours intervened. God Bless Air NZ hostesses who will come to the aid of a Kiwi boy in distress. Pleading schedules, fuel loads, baggage priorities, and other such aviation priorities they efficiently whisked the protesting official off the plane and onto the airbridge. The poor bugger didn't know what hit him. Before he knew it the door was closed and yours truly had flown the coop and was home free and clear.

Needless to say when I applied for a visa when I got home it was turned down. I've never been back to Japan since - I'm still slightly worried about what might happen if I did.