The Handsome Sampson Diaries: The One That Sucks.

It is just as well no-one will read this diary.
If they did,  Aucklanders would really know what I think of them.
They suck.
We should call this place Suckland. First off reason is Suckland’s reaction to the 9.9% rates increase. For goodness sake, don’t they realise that is only an average? Some will get a lesser increase; some higher. But the average will get what they deserve—an average. Ironic, really, because what they get in return is an average council (Ha Ha, Bev would like that).
But that is not my fault. The council are mean people and it seems all but the Pennies have dropped on me. What about that proposed move to build a new Council Chamber? Yes, they all wanted it. Once. They all said they didn’t like the four-minute walk down to the Town Hall, especially when it was raining and especially when it was with me with all that abuse and all. What was it you all said—it was bad enough being rained on, but shat upon too? Worth spending a few million dollars of ratepayer money to avoid that. That is what you said.
Now you say you didn’t say it. And now I have to say I didn’t say it. And it is left to the CEO to say he said it, because I said to say it because I didn’t want me having to say I said it. Or having said to him to say it.
Why is it that these days nobody takes anything I say (even if I didn’t say it) at face value? Answer me that Bevan. Oh, you are not reading this are you? Wish you were. I wish a lot of things. I wish Bernard Osman would stop picking on me. I wish Stephen Joyce would go away. I wish Ports of Auckland would go away. I wish Auckland Transport would go away (and give me a carpark at Henderson). I wish I had my time over again with Bevan—over and over again.
Most of all, I wish everyone would go away and leave me alone. Just because I am an elected official, does that make you think you own me? Obviously, you think it does. But, be warned (even though you are not reading this. Are you?).
If you persist on picking on me, I will not stand again. And what will you get? John Banks?
You deserve him.
Suck on that Suckland.

Handsome Sampson

My Dearest Bev

I do so prefer calling you Bev. It is somehow more masculine, somehow less—well…gay, than calling you Bevan. You don’t mind, do you? Of course you don’t. You never minded anything I did, did you? That is one of the things I loved about you…when I knew you.

Sorry about that, I didn’t intend to be maudlin. It is just that I miss you so. I scan the social pages of the Herald, but you are not there. I am. But you are not. It is as if you have dropped off the face of the earth. Understandable, given what you/we went through. But I am a victim here, too. You can’t imagine how excruciating it was to go out in those first weeks after our story broke. I just wanted to stay home and in bed. But I wasn’t allowed there. I could have of course gone to the Sky City Grand and gone to bed. But that would have brought back memories—memories of you

So, I didn’t. I went to those functions instead. To be booed. I was even booed at the Auckland Nines. How unfair is that? After so long. Did you see me on the television? Do you see me, and still think of me as your Handsome Sampson? I am sure you do. I hope you do. I still think of you as my little Chinese Takeaway. Such laughs, we had.

Not many laughs these days. I find most of my councillors revolting—in both senses of the world. How you and I laughed about them! We could in those days, because it was hard to take this rag-tag bunch seriously—after all, they were elected by Aucklanders. To be fair (as the Mad Butcher says), they still can’t be taken seriously. What really hurts is that they don’t take ME seriously. To be fair (thanks Butch), they never did. Just because I came from South Auckland. But I showed them. Just let them open THEIR rates demands and then open mine. J

To get away from them, I could choose to do a round of visits to the CCOs. But very few of them know me or notice me. I went to Auckland Transport the other day, and reception asked for my name and gave me one of those stick-on ID labels. AND I was told that I would have to use Wilson Car Parks because all their spaces were reserved for AT executives! How humiliating is that? Wait until they get their rate demands!!!! AND they should be using pubic transport rather than their cars.

People are so unkind to me. John Key won’t speak to me, Steven Joyce laughs at me, Iwi ignore me, and Cameron Slater has forgotten me.

I am so lonely.

Come home to me.

Room 406.

Your Handsome Sampson.