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

Helen Back

It is hard not to seem churlish and graceless when one writes disparagingly of a politician when she leaves office. But hypocrisy is worse and there is a fair bit of that going on now at the resignation from office of Helen Clark. Of course there are people who regret her leaving—many like her, admire her and some even idolise her. But even they will agree that Helen Clark is far from everyone’s cup of tea and the near universal plaudits she is now getting are, in many cases, disingenuous. And that is why I am delivering one final Fryday on Helen Clark; I have a perspective. I doubt that there has been any New Zealand Prime Minister who reigned (sic) for so long for so short a legacy. Yes, she did achieve a few things, but in my view most were ideologically driven and of limited benefit whilst others, such as her incessant apologies to all and sundry, were simply vacuous. Yet it is exactly these “achievements” in which she claims most pride in her valedictory speech. She cites the Civil Union bill, recompense for Waikato-Tainui, the dissolution of titular honours. Yet all this is not leadership, not visionary, perhaps not even productive. It is tinkering. And that is all Helen Clark did—tinker. She says at the end if her speech that she came into the House hoping that she would leave it having contributed to making New Zealand a better place to live in. She says she has. I cannot find any evidence of that.

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Dear Michelle VII: The Good Doctor

1 April 2009


Dear Michelle

I never thought I would find myself attracted to a man
I know you know this. We have discussed it. You and I are of like mind on this. It is a fundamental of the synergy and homogeny (interesting word) of our relationship. Peter knows it. Dear, sweet, practical Peter. As he said to me, as I remember, when we discussed my needs, “It doesn’t really apply to me, does it?”
But I find myself attracted to this man. I find it a strange sensation, as if I am embarking on a new life-stage. I am, of course, with my new posting and heading to New York. Some things remain the same: I still stride the world stage; I still tell people what to do and what is best for them, without actually achieving anything (there is not much difference there between the NZ Government and the United Nations Ha! Ha!) and I am comfortable in my cervix, as you put it.
But what of him? Why is he going? Yes, it has a certain inevitability—the job is tailor-made for him and he has long harboured a desire for it. But that is the point—I thought it was his ONLY desire. I didn’t think he had any other. But now…
Is it me?
Does he desire me or the World Bank? Is it me or the bank that takes him to New York? And close to me? Nobody yet knows he is going of course. That’s our secret. And, even there, there is the certain sensuality in shared intimacies. At the moment it is between me and my doctor. Ha! Ha! But people will know soon, when his posting is announced. Will they talk? Will they speculate? Will they know?
Do I?
These things will no doubt tax me in the future—as he taxed me in the past (Ha! Ha!). But, for the moment, please be assured that there will always be more Michelles in my life than…Michaels.
Find room for me on your couch next week.

Yours forever,
H.


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