Hypocritical Cunts

Is Bomber Bradbury's vituperative defence of Martin Devlin simply a bombastic defence of his own deficiencies?

What skeletons are in Martyn's closet?

Quite a few if industry gossip is anything to go by.

Double Fucking Standards

While I think of it.

I'm really interested in Judith Collins and her position on hate speech laws. You know, the ones she's announced a National Party led Government would repeal because of the importance of free speech and the rights to self-expression.

I hear National MP Todd Muller got forced out because he gossiped to a reporter about a colleague - the one with the dodgy expense claims.

Free speech warriors always tend to defend the speech they like. Not so much the barbs that cut a little too close to home.

Many years ago, more years back than I care to remember, back when I was a cub reporter in Christchurch, I was given a tip about the SIS carrying out surveillance on the Al-Noor mosque. This was back in the days when the 9-11 attacks were fresh in the memory; the USA was at war in Afghanistan and was making its moves to invade Iraq. It was a time when all things Muslim were being treated with great suspicion.

Add in the euro-centric and barely closeted nature of Christchurch racism, and you can see that Christchurch was probably right up there with Alabama when it came to religious tolerance and cultural understanding.

The SIS monitoring or, to put it bluntly, spying on the mosque was pretty Mickey Mouse. According to my source, the panel vans were relatively obvious, and the awkward Caucasian blokes slouching around, trying to fit in while trying to take note of who was going in and out of the mosque were, “a bit fucking obvious”.

It wasn’t quite pie and a porno in a briefcase level of tradecraft, but it was pretty close.

From what I was told, those at the mosque initially didn’t make waves. After all, the mood of the times wasn’t great, and they didn’t want to make a fuss. But, as time went on, it became a bit irritating. As far as those who attended the mosque were concerned, they weren’t doing anything wrong, and if there was a problem, the authorities should do the decent thing and raise it with them.

It was a complicated story to stand up. Noone associated with the mosque wanted to go on the record. The SIS did what the SIS does best – refused to comment, and all that was left was speculation, rumour, innuendo and a few pictures of a panel van and men in Hallensteins suits looking furtive.

Fast forward a decade or so, and the pressure was back on the Muslim community as ISIS rolled across eastern Syria and western Iraq like a thunderbolt. News that extremists were travelling to the region to join the so-called Caliphate put the role of the intelligence services and national security firmly back in the spotlight.

Out of this came one of the most disgraceful episodes I’ve ever seen from the SIS, their responsible Ministers, and the Government of the day. It centred on those women who were tagged, Jihadi brides.

At Select Committee hearings, the head of the SIS, Rebecca Kitteridge, along with the relevant Minister, Chris Finlayson, expanded on details about New Zealanders that had gone to fight with ISIS as well s those who had indicated an intent to do so. The Government of the day was very close-mouthed on details. All that was really said was that around five New Zealanders were known to have travelled to Syria to join the terrorist group.

However, some extra details were dropped at the hearing indicating the New Zealand women intended to travel to Syria to be brides for ISIS fighters. But, who they were and where they were was not specified for reasons of national security.

It wasn’t until well after the event that it emerged the women in question held dual citizenship and lived in Australia. None of them were in New Zealand. Not that you would have got that impression from the Government and the SIS when they announced the issue in public.

So, every Muslim woman in new Zealand was tarred by this association. Even though none of them were actually on the SIS’s radar, as had been heavily implied, it was a shameful act by the SIS and the Government of the day, and it’s one they should never be allowed to forget.

There are enough demons in this world without creating false ones in our own back yard.

When political shit goes south

It's funny, but if you observe politics long enough you see the same patterns played out over and over again.

Take, for example, the current travails besetting the National Party - which is currently about as popular as an STD-riddled knocking shop. It only seems like yesterday that the Labour Party was in a similar state. It wasn't so much that they were "Nigel no friends" as they were "Karens without a cause".

As Goff was to Labour, Bridges was to National. If David Shearer was Labour's 'mumblefuck' (people in his own inner sanctum called him this), then Muller was National's "clusterfuck".

Which kind of makes Judith Collins National's answer to David Cunliffe.

Now, as disturbing as that sounds, and as much as both of them would loathe the comparison, it actually holds some weight. Cunliffe led a party that had seen its vote collapse. In a desperate bid to shore up its vote he took it to the left - and in doing so he abandoned the middle. You know, that juicy piece of political real estate where most of the voters hang out.

And we all know how that worked out.

Collins has been doing the same. When you're polling in the 20s, and incidentally well below that mid-30s mark you've previously signalled as a benchmark for stability of leadership, you're going to try and pull any sort of rabbit out of hat to try and shore up your support. In this case the rabbit is a redneck with overwhelming overtones of racism.

This approach might have got Don Brash to 40% in 2005, but that was a generation ago. Demographs have changed, and while there remains an innate core of conservatism and racism in the country, its not the force it was 16 years ago. Playing the race card plays to the National Party base, but not so much to the centre as it once did.

The irony is we're hearing some of the same arguments over the relevance and importance of the centre as we did a decade ago. I remember sitting absolutely gobsmacked as a senior Labour MP declared to me (completely seriously I might add) that there was no centre in New Zealand politics and any suggestion it existed was the fevered imagination of the mainstream media. There was also the vehement denial of the polls and the stubborn insistence of, "that's not what I'm hearing on the ground".

Of course it's not. You're shoring up your base, you're talking to to your own supporters. Of course they're going to reflect your expectations.

John Key may have been the least ideological Prime Minister in recent history. He may have been a poll-driven populist who enjoyed the attention and adulation Prime Ministership brought him. He may have also had the least consequential political legacy of any Prime Minister New Zealand's ever had (cough .. flag ... cough). But, he was incredibly plugged into the electorate and innately tuned to their needs, wants, and fears - and he knew how to meet them.

The National Party no longer does.

The shit you find when you least expect it.

Like this blog, for example. I literally forgot I ever created this thing and, now that I've rediscovered it, can completely understand why I had expunged it from the recesses of my memory. Must. Do. Better.

Finding History II

11th November 2006 Somewhere near Aswan.

As I write this we're gently cruising down the Nile on our Felucca, lying in the sun, and generally just blobbing out. I bought some supplies this morning - 24 bottles of water and 24 bottles of beer. I also picked up a kheffiyah and along the way sold my watch. I got about 50 bucks for it so I've actually come out ahead on the haggling today. More so considering the watch was just a cheap knock off I picked up in Thailand.

5pm - Stopped for dinner and beer and discover the booze is non-alcoholic. Egypt strikes again! As the sun sets we're sitting around on deck having a smoke on a water pipe. Life doesn't get much better than this. The guys at home would be so jealous - I must send them a card and let them know what they are missing as this is definitely the best part of Egypt.

12th November - On the Nile.
12.30 pm - not much happening today. Got woken at the crack of dawn by the muezzin then paid a quick visit to a temple at Kom-ombo. Back on the Felucca in time for a quick rain storm. Not what we expected in Egypt with the desert so close.

5pm - We've just noticed how the crew on the felucca are preparing our meals. All the food and utensils are being washed in the Nile ... I foresee a lethal case of the shits somewhere in the immediate future!! Still it's probably irrelevant as we've been swimming in the river several times. So if dysentery doesn't get me he Bilharzia still might.

There's a mixed bunch of us on this boat. Tim and Anton (South African) are OK. They've been working in Israel before coming here and are looking after a pair of Hungarian guys who don't speak much english (and even less Arabic) and are trying to save them from being ripped off by the locals. There's an Aussie called Richard - a physio by trade having a bit of a world wander. And lastly, but not leastly, there are what I like to call the hard core trio; Seamus (Irish) and Michael and John (both Aussies). They're into their pot and generally having a good time as often as they can.

6pm Still moving downriver after dark which is a little hairy as we have no lights on our Felucca. It makes it hard for the multitude of tour barges, that ply incessantly up and down river, to see us.

13th November Still on the Nile.

7am - Wow what an eventful night. We sailed as close as we could to Edfu after dark. As the light dropped we could see these filthy black clouds and lightening way off in the desert. Assumed it was a sandstorm. We somehow lost the guys on the other Felucca so just tied up and had some dinner.

Then it started to piss down. The rain was coming down in bucketfuls and there was absolutely no shelter on deck where we've been sleeping at night. We quickly looked like a motley bunch of bedraggled souls so the skipper and his offsider took pity on us and invited us to share the small cabin they have at the front of the boat. Talk about cramped - just try getting 8 people into a space designed for two. It made drunken twister look mundane! Poor old Anton got hit on majorly by the skipper. Tim's a blonde chap and the Arab's love blondes (of either sex). They have a saying "Women for work, boys for pleasure". He fled outside and ended up sleeping outside in the downpour muttering something about preferring pneumonia over a stretched sphincter.

9.15 PM - caught up with the guys from the other boat. They were happy to see us as we're carrying all the food. Their night had been as wet as ours but worse in that they had bugger all to eat.

We met another group of Felucca cruisers today. Turns out their trip was an absolute horror. Drugged food, girls sexually molested by the crew, and widespread tummy bugs. One girl was so bad (ie running at both ends) they resorted to putting a life jacket on her and towing her behind their boat. Not so pleasant for her - but less shit splatter on board .... apparently.


Our Felucca captain gave us a good send off. Though Anton copped it again. The captain was imploring him to stay with him. Even blew him a kiss or three as we were on the bus leaving. Needless to say we thought it was hilarious. Anton was less amused.

Finding History

So I've just moved house. Shifting is always an interesting experience. Not so much for all the hassle and stress, but more for the stuff you find that you forgot you even had.

After having most of my possessions packed away in boxes for the best part of three years opening some of them turned up all sorts of unexpected stuff.

Case in point the travel diary I kept from a trip I did almost 13 years ago. Here are a few excerpts:

4th November 1996 (Bangkok)
Went temple touring this morning (Golden Mount and Golden Buddha) in a tuk tuk. A nerve-wracking experience in BK traffic - involved a lot of flinches and prayers. Pretty cheap though at 20B an hour but you have to put put up with the scams the drivers try to snooker you into. Usually gemstones. I bought a watch for 600B which promptly broke when I tried to put it on.

Bangkok 1 - me 0.

Somehow in 35 degree heat I've managed to catch a cold. Go figure that one out!

7th November 1996 (Bangkok-Cairo)
4am - currently flying over Saudi Arabia and can see cities and oil rigs in the gulf all lit up like candles. We made the airport safely tonight but did see a American tourist getting ripped off in Khaosan Road over a tour. The people at the travel agents looked like they were about to deck him. Their country their rules I suppose. But if the guy hadn't been so obnoxious to them maybe they might have been prepared to compromise?

Flying on Egypt Air which is interesting, Food is ok and the service is good but I think me and Lisa (my travelling companion) are the only westerners on the plane.

8.30 am - Drama in the wee hours!! Lisa was majorly culture shockede on our arrival (to be fair I was too but perhaps not quite as openly as her). A tout tried to rip us off and our taxi driver subsequently did as well. The 20 pound fare from the airport was probably about right but then the driver added on a heap of extra charges which I'm sure were dodgy.

7.45 pm- What a day!! It began with Lisa still being apprehensive about being ripped off by unscrupulous Egyptians. This wasn't helped when we were accosted at the hotel's reception by a pair of gentlemen offering us a deal to go and see the pyramids. Lisa was very worried and I was none too confident myselof either!

The deal was 25 pounds ($NZ11) for a ride to Giza, Saqqara and then back to the hotel refreshments included. Too good to be trues we thought. However this guy (turns out he is a dentist .... "just call me Doc'")was very insistent. He even pulled out a folder full of glowing references from other backpackers as well as a TYNT article in which he featured.

At this point I began to be convinced ... barely. Lisa was very dubious and left the decision up to me (if something goes wrong I get the blame?).

Took the chance and it paid off!

First he took us to a cafe for coffee and a nargileh (water pipe). Spent a very happy half hour there. Then it was off to a papyrus institute. More free drinks. I caved and bought a scroll for may father. Fisher, an errant Aussie whom we'd collected on the trip bought two.

Next it was off to the pyramids where we were plonked on the back of some very scrawny horses and rode round the area for about three hours. Poor creatures - they are so badly looked after that they literally drop dead from exhaustion (there was evidence to be seen!). I refused to trot or gallop my steed. I felt bad enough riding it to be honest.

We went inside Chrephen Pyramid. If you suffer from claustrophobia I'd suggest giving it a miss. I climbed the Great Pyramid (against all the rules - more on this later) and thenj it was off to the Stepped Pyramid at Saqqara. Spent the late afternoon and dusk walking around the ruins.

The Doc' bought us dinner then helped us book a felucca crusie on the Nile. The total cost of the day (including the cruise that we're about to go on and its associated travel and accomodation) was less than $NZ100. Not bad for a first day in a new country.

That's the saccharine stuff. I'll pull out some of the dodgier episodes and post them later.

Doomed.

'Tis the end of days ....

apparently.

BTW what I had last week (see below) was in no way related to the current goings on.

Although I may have said that I had Swine Flu before it became fashionable.

Sick

Yesterday afternoon I was sitting at a press conference of a soon to be retired MP when the first stirrings happened.

Deep down in the recesses of my gut things began to get a bit squirelly. You might know the feeling. It's when you think your OK but deep down somewhere inside you have this suspicion there's a little demon that's about to fuck you up.

The longer the press conference went, the worse I felt. And, boy, did it go on. For nigh on 50 minutes we were treated to some of the finer points of law on legislation around property rights and ownership. Half an hour in and I really wasn't feeling too good. 10 minutes later I was feeling even more rotten and lurking in the back of my mind was the nagging suspicion I really was about to throw up. Not something you want to do at the final press conference of a MP who's had a three decade political career.

So as the presser dragged on I became increasingly scratchy. And I feel I really should apologise to my colleagues who were at the event too. My apparent shortness of temper was nothing to do do with the continuing questions. It was the fact I really wanted to get the hell out of there before something truly dreadful happened.


Sure enough just minutes after the event was over I was hunched over a toilet emptying the very depths of my stomach. Much to the discomfort and dismay of the person that happened to walk into the bathroom halfway through.

And that's pretty much been the pattern for most of last night. Horrendous projectile vomiting on the hour every hour. Feeling like my guts have been forcibly wrenched from my insides on a long length of dirty rope and wondering where the hell it was all coming from. Surely after the third or fourth spew there can be nothing left to lose? But no it seems stomachs are like the Tardis - they can fit more on the inside than you'd ever suspect.

Every muscle from my thighs to my throat have had the most rigorous workout they've had in ages. Never mind the ab-master - if you want to tone your abdominals try chowing down on raw chicken and let the salmonella do the rest. I swear to God the crunchies you do when dry retching are far more intense than anything you can achieve in a gym.

Still, as bad as last night was, it pales in comparison to this experience. I reckon I've got off lucky.

The Basin Reserve and Significant Moments in NZ Cricket

Well, at least the ones I have been at.

February 1986 - Richard Hadlee gets his 300th test wicket claiming the scalp of Aussie Captain Allan Border.



And then there's yesterday. Saturday April the 4th 2009.

Perennial test batting bunny Chris Martin calmly lofts Indian spinner Harbhajan Singh back over his head for a four.

(and I'm gutted I can't find a photo of this momentous occasion)

A Funny Thing

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!

Dark Days

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.

Thieving Bastards.

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.

The Kiddie Effect

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.

Never Fuck With a Dentist.

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.

Stupidity Is ....

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 Necessary Evil.

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!

Rhyme Time Again

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.

It evoked the following response:

He followed the trio to Pawtucket,
Nan, the man, and the bucket.
He told the man,
He was welcome to Nan.
But as for the bucket, Pawtucket.

And then there are the limericks that delight in playing with words:

She laughed and called him Mr,
Because, in jest, he kr.
So out of spite,
The very same night.
This Mr kr sr.

Now given that we've had three relatively clean examples I guess I should close with something slightly more risque.

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."

Nuff said.

id

Technophobe

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.

Suitable for Kids (apparently)

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.

Somehow, as much as we might like it, I don't think we could quite get away with this today.

Pity.