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.