Love a duck

I have a friend who rather enjoys a good duck. If he could, and he often does, he will have one in the morning and another at night. I have even heard tell of him phoning his wife to tell her he is coming home for a duck in the afternoon.
The guy is insatiable.
Personally, I have never yet had one that satisfies me. I am told I am strange in that regard. There are few indeed, I am told, who do not enjoy a good duck. Even when it’s not done right, it’s good, I am told. Yes, I am told. In other words, people talk a lot about ducks they have had. And will have. It seems an obsession for them; one I, somewhat sadly, cannot share.
But is that indeed symptomatic of my strangeness? Am I indeed unique in that regard? I think not. Whilst I have nothing but circumstantial evidence for this contention, I can point to quite a number of people who, through their demeanour, and their silence on the subject, give every appearance of never enjoying a duck or indeed perhaps never having had one—of note, anyway:

 Helen Clark
 Tariana Turia
 Gordon Brown
 George Bush Jr (but not, sadly, senior)
 Tom Cruise
 Geoff Boycott
 Most Canadians
 All Dutch
 Greenpeace activists
 Green Party
 Osama bin Laden

But, like many on this list, I can be “turned”. In fact, I am receptive to a duck right now—right now, as I write. Right now, as I look out my window and at my brand new fire-red BMW, called Pricilla, and a f**king duck sitting on the bonnet! Oh yeah, you had better believe, and here I put my wife on notice, I am in for a good duck tonight on a plate!

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Now playing: Kris Kristofferson - For The Good Times
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Unreliable Rodney

I don’t know whether it is the economy or the emergence of reality TV and docudramas such as Border Patrol but we are in danger of losing sight of one of life’s staples—humour. There doesn’t seem to be much of it around at the moment, certainly in New Zealand. We are taking ourselves far too seriously.
I knew last night we were below par when I saw Rodney Hide on TV, devoid of his incessant and ingratiating grin. Of course he was meeting Auckland’s mayors and that would swipe the smile off anyone’s face—but, still, Rodney Hide? The dancer par excellence, the workout king, the judicator of jovial, the Yellow Peril? Yes, we are in parlous state when Rodney starts to take himself seriously. We have to fall back on Keith Locke.
I blame Billy T. James.
The late great Billy T. James gave us the apex of New Zealand humour, taking up that mantle from the earlier John Clarke. There has been nothing of their kind since. In them we set the bar too high. I doubt we will ever attain that level of humour, at least from our entertainment sector, again. And these days “comedies” such as Diplomatic Immunity inflicted upon us are less of a laugh than laughable. If Billy T. James was the apex of New Zealand comedy, Diplomatic Immunity is the nadir, akin to the long-forgotten (thankfully) Melody Rules.
TV, through this and other comedic attempts, fails us.
So do politicians. Because if we have now to resort to relying on politicians to give us a good laugh we are well and truly in trouble—Keith is silent, Winston is gone and Rodney is, clearly and sadly, no longer reliable.


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Now playing: Jimmy Webb - MacArthur Park
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Helen Back

It is hard not to seem churlish and graceless when one writes disparagingly of a politician when she leaves office. But hypocrisy is worse and there is a fair bit of that going on now at the resignation from office of Helen Clark. Of course there are people who regret her leaving—many like her, admire her and some even idolise her. But even they will agree that Helen Clark is far from everyone’s cup of tea and the near universal plaudits she is now getting are, in many cases, disingenuous. And that is why I am delivering one final Fryday on Helen Clark; I have a perspective. I doubt that there has been any New Zealand Prime Minister who reigned (sic) for so long for so short a legacy. Yes, she did achieve a few things, but in my view most were ideologically driven and of limited benefit whilst others, such as her incessant apologies to all and sundry, were simply vacuous. Yet it is exactly these “achievements” in which she claims most pride in her valedictory speech. She cites the Civil Union bill, recompense for Waikato-Tainui, the dissolution of titular honours. Yet all this is not leadership, not visionary, perhaps not even productive. It is tinkering. And that is all Helen Clark did—tinker. She says at the end if her speech that she came into the House hoping that she would leave it having contributed to making New Zealand a better place to live in. She says she has. I cannot find any evidence of that.

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Now playing: Harry Chapin - Vacancy
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Dear Michelle VII: The Good Doctor

1 April 2009


Dear Michelle

I never thought I would find myself attracted to a man
I know you know this. We have discussed it. You and I are of like mind on this. It is a fundamental of the synergy and homogeny (interesting word) of our relationship. Peter knows it. Dear, sweet, practical Peter. As he said to me, as I remember, when we discussed my needs, “It doesn’t really apply to me, does it?”
But I find myself attracted to this man. I find it a strange sensation, as if I am embarking on a new life-stage. I am, of course, with my new posting and heading to New York. Some things remain the same: I still stride the world stage; I still tell people what to do and what is best for them, without actually achieving anything (there is not much difference there between the NZ Government and the United Nations Ha! Ha!) and I am comfortable in my cervix, as you put it.
But what of him? Why is he going? Yes, it has a certain inevitability—the job is tailor-made for him and he has long harboured a desire for it. But that is the point—I thought it was his ONLY desire. I didn’t think he had any other. But now…
Is it me?
Does he desire me or the World Bank? Is it me or the bank that takes him to New York? And close to me? Nobody yet knows he is going of course. That’s our secret. And, even there, there is the certain sensuality in shared intimacies. At the moment it is between me and my doctor. Ha! Ha! But people will know soon, when his posting is announced. Will they talk? Will they speculate? Will they know?
Do I?
These things will no doubt tax me in the future—as he taxed me in the past (Ha! Ha!). But, for the moment, please be assured that there will always be more Michelles in my life than…Michaels.
Find room for me on your couch next week.

Yours forever,
H.


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Now playing: The Chapin Family - Sunday Morning Sunshine
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