Not much action on these pages for a few days and this for a couple of reasons. Obald Towers is, and will continue to be, somewhat preoccupied by a change of location of the baronial manor from the beach to the country. 12 years in our current house will come to an end in five weeks time when we all troop off to the country to sample the delights of tank water, the newspaper delivered to 250 metres from the front door (if I'm lucky) and not having to wash the house after every north easterly blow. I'm greatly looking forward to this.
The other reason for a spot of sloth on these pages is that this is the traditionally quiet time of year for those who waste my money in Wellington stuffing up the country. What have we had? John Key demonstrating that he should stick to making shedloads of money and keeping his mouth shut about things of which he knows nothing. His comments about crab pots, berley and sharks were so inept as to make him look a complete dork. Doesn't matter - no one will remember.
Jeanette Botox Person sullied our screens last night prattling on about her usual bollocks at what she arrogantly calls her 'State of the Planet' address. State of the Nation not good enough for this bunch of wallies - they know so much about everything that they can tell the whole planet what they must do to save themselves. Are you listening, Beijing, Washington, London - all you need to know is on Waiheke. Why is it that everything the Greens do looks so amateurish? Probably because it is. You really can't take them seriously - and that is even before they open their mouths and let you hear their fruitcake ideas. All their banners look as if they are hand painted even if they aren't. All their supporters look unkempt and dirty. They all still wear the clothes they or their mothers wore at Woodstock. They eat ghastly food because it is ecofriendly. I eat food because it tastes nice. What did Jimmy Buffet say? - A cheeseburger is paradise. Alright, Jeanette is in her element looking tawdry, surrounded by like lookers and talking into a Dick Smith Special microphone. And we get the same old , same old. However there is a refreshing air of desperation in her warblings. In amongst nailing her colours to the mast of a ship that is soon to sink with out trace (the HMNZS Anthropogenic Global Warming) there are hints that she will try and work with any party that might win this year's election. Even she has detected that Labour are goneburgers - or cheeseburgers.
Which brings us to bloody Helen. Sir Ed's death has come at just the right time for her. Her hideous administration is lurching from disaster to disaster as befits a disastrous outfit and her opportunity to get herself in the headlines on the back of a national hero must appear to her like mana from heaven. And is she milking it for all she can get out of it? From the hug with Lady H (fancy being hugged by Dear Leader - yucky poo) through to personally announcing the details of tomorrows state funeral. Do you think the Prime Minister would take the trouble to detail the road closures in Parnell herself if we were talking the funeral of Mrs Smith from number twenty seven? Her grandstanding over Sir Ed's demise is as nauseating as it is predictable.
When do the wastrels go back to the Beehive? I am getting the inklings of quite a bit of fun In the next few months. How about the salaries of Government spin doctors reaching $47 million last year when we, the great unwashed, have just been clobbered with the EFA? How about a left wing commercial blog operating from an IP address allocated to the Labour Party?
Fun and games just around the corner - both in Wellington and at the new Obald whare. Be patient
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