Car Bollocks

The car I am now driving is ten years old and the price I bought it for, a little over a year ago, reflects that. But, when new, my BMW 5-Series was the specified model for the Government’s fleet of ministerial limousines. There is a certain irony, therefore, that my BMW has reverted to that function, at least in part. Occasionally it is used to chauffeur a local minister (of the church) to and from our shared quiz night at the pub. And no, there is no dichotomy of a minister and a pub; if you knew “our” minister you would know that. But that use got me thinking. Back in the 1970s I met the head of the Government’s limo service—the head chauffeur. He was visiting a former government minister whom he clearly liked and whom I was serving as communication advisor. I cannot recall the chauffeur’s name, but I do recall that he was a retired police officer and thus doubled as personal security. I also recollect that we took an immediate liking to each other; so much so that he gave me a standing invite to visit his fleet garage and have the use of a government limousine (and driver) whenever I was in Wellington. I never took up the invitation then, and I am damn sure I wouldn’t be allowed to now. But he was a nice bloke and clearly had a fund of juicy gossip to share about ministerial back-seat machinations, if discretion had allowed. It didn’t. So, my imagination partook of an unbridled journey. What he did tell me though is that there is an etiquette about being a passenger in a government limousine. For example, in earlier days—in the 60s and 70s—ministers and even prime ministers liked to sit up front with the driver in a vacuous attempt to show the common folk that they were ordinary blokes and blokettes. These days, that is not allowed; the minister sits in the back, often with his or her press secretary. And, if you are the prime minster, the front passenger seat is usually taken up by a Diplomatic Protection Squad officer. Furthermore, the minister, or VIP, is required to sit rear-left (curb-side) for ease of access, and proximity to the security guy in front. One New Zealand holdover to earlier times is that the male minister or prime minister is still likely to open his own door. If you are a woman—or even, like Helen Clark, a reluctant one—the implicit understanding is you wait for the door to be opened for you. I don’t know why this is the case, though I have been told that it is in part to shield you from embarrassing photographs as you alight from your vehicle wearing a short skirt. Helen Clark wearing a short skirt would be embarrassing enough, I would have thought. Of course, being chauffeur driven is one of the trappings of power. Nevertheless,  these days it is closely monitored in case of embarrassing abuse. Even so, there are many cases of ministers using their ministerial BMWs, and drivers, for journeys of less than a kilometre; conversely, the longest recorded trip was 734 kilometres by former National minister, Kate Wilkinson, in 2013. In the old and less monitored days, Crown limousines and their drivers were used for such disparate tasks as collecting the minister’s mail, laundry, TAB bets and, more often than rarely, mistress(es). Those days have gone—we hope, and the sleek silver BMWs of today, whilst still an awesome sight if they arrive en mass with the Prime Minister, are used more circumspectly. I don’t have to worry about that. I have a big black brute of a BMW I have called Bruce. I am proud of that. And if I have a minister who doesn’t give a toss whether she sits in the the front, the back or the boot? Well we is (sic) just common folk up here in Kerikeri. It is just the BMWs that are uncommon