Clash with Cash

Yesterday Minister of Finance, Bill English, was asked how he felt delivering a budget when “he” had no money. Much like the rest of us I suppose; there are degrees of wealth and poverty but the thing they mostly have in common this that discretionary money finds its own level and there are few among us who have much cash to spare. In my case my BMW with a rapacious taste for petrol and an owner with an equally rapacious taste for single-malts have seen to that. But the cashless society, using the term in another context, was borne home to me in two other ways this week. One was when I cashed in some loose coinage collected over a three-month period. The total collected, as calculated by a helpful ANZ teller (almost as rare as cash today), was $204. Much more than I expected and, at that level, quite a nice savings mechanism had I not then promptly spent it with my second clash with cash. I made a $150 purchase at a shop paying for it with the newly garnered, freshly minted, and still teller-perfumed notes. The retail assistant—formerly known as the kid behind the counter—was fleetingly confused. Cash? I am not sure she quite knew how to handle that, or at least the part that required giving me change. She asked if I had a credit card instead.

Groser and Grosser

Claire Trevett’s article in Wednesday’s Herald about MPs’ spending overseas gained the attention it deserved, which was almost nil. The subject has been hashed over incessantly, usually to cover a slow news period. Initially it was of prurient interest, but it is a sign of increasing maturity, I think, that it now solicits no interest, other than from a junior reporter. We have better things to do than monitor the laundry requirements of our ministers. What matter that Trade Minister Tim Groser’s staff spent $490 having their underwear laundered. I would suggest that it would be a lot grosser having Groser wear his underwear over two days or, grosser still, reversed. Murray McCully spent $473 over dinner at Trader Jacks entertaining Cook Island government ministers. So? I have had a bottle of wine that cost more than that. The point is that in questioning these expenses we start to demean ourselves. We diminish New Zealand. Would we want our prime minister, for example, to be seen flying economy class? As a country, could we not afford anything better? Or are we that small-minded? As someone who has worked closely with politicians, I know they work hard, at least unless they are a List MP, and I wouldn’t have their jobs for quids. I don’t see a $490 laundry bill as a reward, it’s hardly that, but if it makes life easier for them I have no problem with ministers airing their dirty laundry—and I would thank Claire Trevett not to thrust it in my face.

Banks for Nothing

Friday usually starts for Fryday with the donning of tracksuit pants, the push-button immediacy of the coffee machine and overnight email correspondence. This morning the tracksuit pants were put on backwards, the push-button immediacy was forestalled by an empty reservoir and my only email was a promise that I could “get it on all night” if I purchased some pills. I have re-clothed myself and refilled the reservoir, but after two very late nights (which I think contributed to the pants), I despair of a present inability to get it on all night, pills or no pills. It’s been a busy time and whilst that can affect all things, including relationships, I am emboldened by a strong relationship and a will to win—with or without the whiskey. I am a bit like Banks in that regard. John Banks is the antithesis of the Teflon politician; every piece of mud thrown at him sticks. He attracts it. Yet he disregards it, seemingly with aplomb and superiority. As an experienced politician he might be relying on the much held belief that it will all blow over. Banks might be right in that, but I think not. This thing is already as big as Kim Dotcom and will get bigger. My understanding is that too many people know too much about this affair, and Mr Dotcom controls them, what they know and the timing of delivery. Watch this space—or any space—it's coming. Banks on it.