Bring Back Buffoonery

I have been thinking of buffoon. Buffoon is a word not often used today, which is strange because it is one of the few words in the English language that has an exact meaning and therefore not open to ambiguity. It means, according the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, a ludicrous person. It does not mean idiot or wanker, which mean something else but often supplant buffoon these days. No, buffoonery has an exact meaning based on ludicrous and it should be brought back with haste because as I have seen in recent weeks and last night in particular there are so many to whom it so aptly affixes. Here is my list of current buffoons.

§ Hone Harawira—for throwing his toys out of the cot because one of his toys was not a ministerial limousine..

§ Moammar Gadhafi for having too many toys and using them to shoot people.

§ His son, Saif al-Islam Gaddafi, for saying the protests are the work of “drunks” –in a Muslim country.

§ Former Secretary of Defence Donald Rumsfeld for insisting even today that Iraq had weapons of mass destruction.

§ George Bush Jr for employing Rumsfeld

§ George Bush Sr for having Junior.

§ The Egyptian who named his daughter Facebook.

§ The Mexican woman now in the ninth day of a hunger strike she plans to continue until she gets an invitation to Prince William’s wedding.

§ Me for calling it Prince William’s wedding rather than Prince William and Kate Middleton’s wedding.

§ Me (again) for forgetting—or not knowing—a good friend’s birthday (sorry Linda).

And finally, the biggest buffoon of them all…
§ Mark Sainsbury—for a tragic, tragic disaster that deserved reporting of gravitas not idiocy.

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Old Friends

When I was a child, one my pleasures was the reading of the Biggles series of novels by Captain W.E. Johns.
I don’t know what drew me to them, but I know I was not alone; Biggles (worth) and his “chums” Bertie, Algie and Ginger had squadrons of, mainly male, readers throughout the world. Later in life I was to successfully parody those books in a play I called Biggles Flies Undone, which today, 28 years after its writing, is still performed.
In my late-teens I was drawn to another British series, that of Flashman, the consummate cad authored but not created by George Macdonald Frazer. Here the attraction is more evident—fast-paced, rollicking adventures set in historical events and featuring no small amount of sex. Later still I dropped the adventure bit and just went for the sex—the books of Henry Miller.
The point is that certain authors have charted my life and had my loyalty. One, a significantly attractive author from the United States, Sharon Kay Penman, even has me a fawning fan. They have stuck with me—until death, in the first three cases (Sharon lives, as does love and lust)—and I stick with them.
I can’t say that of other areas of my life. Nor can anyone, I think. We all hope those closest to us will remain so forever but even that can’t be certain. We hope that business relationships, particularly the rare friendships forged in the furnace of business, will be as enduring as steel but they too are prone to tarnish and rust. Let’s not even consider politicians.
I am drawn to the conclusion therefore that the only true rendering of the enduring but hopelessly optimistic adage “until death…” is a man’s reciprocated love for his dog. Everything else is fiction.
Am I depressed by that? No. Even an exemplary bottle of single malt whiskey will not last forever, not in my reach. And friendships, like whiskey, are there to be enjoyed and honoured while they last, as long as they last. To cultivate the analogy just once more: whilst most whiskeys and friendships are quickly consumed and have no lingering aftertastes, there are others—rarities—that linger and provide a fine “finish” and delicious memories. They are life’s treasures.
At 60 years of age I have more old and deleted friends than I will ever now have new. But that is a library of enrichment for which I am immensely grateful.

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King Bee A

Dear Liz
I may call you Liz, may I? I feel I know you so well and should we ever meet I am certain we would have an immediate rapport. Of course you would need to take my word—and me being a politician you may have some difficulty with that “Ha Ha”—but I am generally considered here in New Zealand as most approachable and, to use the vernacular, something of stud muffin.
Now, I trust I am not being too forward in writing to you like this. I have read that you are in some form of relationship with the Australian cricketer Shane Warne, but I have also heard that you are nothing more than text mates. I of course am married—more honesty—happily so, the Woman’s weekly continually tells me.
But I have always been able to differentiate between love and lust. I compartmentalise and it would be true to say that until such time as Bronnie takes to wearing dresses held together with safety pins, as you so graphically did some years ago (I still have the photos) she will remain in the love department while you will reign over that of lust.
Liz, you are hot!
Of course one is talking here of unrequited lust. There can be no expectation here of me, a mere prime minister, entering into anything untoward with the most beautifully proportioned, most seductively-eyed, most sensual woman in the world. Any requiting must by necessity be vicarious. And if Bronnie is woken at night by my sighing and groaning, one does not want to disabuse her of the notion that I am simply thinking of Hone Harawira.
Of course I am not; he is not hot.
I hope you will forgive this dewy-eyed boy—this man with a heart of lust—venturing forward in such a manner. Further, I hope that you will allow me to write to you again. Little missives from the king bee in the beehive.
I remain your devoted fan,
(Not so little) John.

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Brace Yourself

Prime Minister John Key is sporting a new holographic wristband that claims to improve performance and keep the body at an optimal "ionic balance" with "free-flowing energy pathways". Now, I also wear bracelets, two of them, given to me by my wife. But as much as I appreciate and love them (and her) they are not the swept up “New Age” bracelets that Mr Key is sporting. What on earth is ionic balance? And would it not be more apt for a politician, particularly a prime minister, to deal to iconic or even ironic balance? Still it does demonstrate that Mr Key is a new age man in touch and comfortable with his feminine side. Which makes something of an ironic balance, given that a former prime minister always looked more comfortable with her male side.

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