Roy--You Rock Girl!

So Rodney and Roy have buried the hatchet in something other than each other’s backs and moved on. Their mutual adulation was somewhat nauseating and in Roy’s case more than a little mocking. But any smug satisfaction she now has, she deserves—she out-mastered the old dancing master himself and her sudden appearance in Parliament ahead of time and without notice was beautiful to behold, as was the look on Rodney’s face. Hide had nowhere to hide. Last week Fryday opined that the very public falling-out would hurt Rodney Hide more that it would Heather Roy. Some readers took issue with that, citing that Heather was out of a job and Hide wasn’t. I stick by my contention—I thought then and I think now that the incident would not only lose Hide his job in the next election it would consequently lose the Act Party its place in Parliament. The big loser would be Rodney Hide. I can’t see the events of this week changing that frankly. As they say, once a loser…

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You can run but you can't...Hide

A couple of years back I was waiting at an Eden Park bar (which you do) standing next to someone I vaguely recognised but could not place. I obviously stared at him a little too long because he stuck out a rather large hand and informed me that it was good to meet me again. Okay, he is the consummate politician but the incident shows just how disingenuous Rodney Hide is; he and I had never met before. I was reminded this week of that small incident when I read of his falling out with Heather Roy. Among Roy’s complaints is that Hide is something of a bully. He denies it. But I believe it—he has bullied just about everybody in Auckland over the governance issue. And no amount of dancing, glad-handing, forced joviality and sun-eclipsing attire will persuade me differently. They are simply Jekyll masking the real Mr Hide. No doubt he will run again in the next election, but I believe this destroying of Roy—along with the Super City issue—will damage him more than it will her.

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The Rat Pack

Opposite where I live is a cemetery. Its residents are for the most part quiet. They keep to themselves and don’t trouble me. Or my dogs. Nor do I trouble them. I do not venture over there at night to wake them. I do not invoke or insult them. And there is no intent on my part to instigate Satanist ceremonies and orgies. Indeed I doubt that Helensville harbours orgies of any sort anywhere. In fact, Helensville’s principal appeal may be that its cemetery is the liveliest place in town. It’s a quiet town. Quiet as the grave. Yet we learn today that we have reason to flee—a flea. It appears that the local rats of the rodent kind are carrying typhus carrying fleas. This does not come as welcome news, nor is there consolation in the hospital board’s less than comforting claim that “less than 2% of those who contract typhoid die from it.” We have all been instructed to be on the alert for rats and do all we can to eradicate them from the town. I will participate in that campaign with enthusiasm and vigour. I don’t like rats anyway. Nor fleas. But I do like life. I honour it and my life with my wife. And dogs. I have no intent to be among the 2% and join the folks across the road—nice as they are.

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