Hiding Justice


It is quite possible that at the time of writing, I may be the only person in New Zealand who still has no idea what the courts tried to hush up during the squalid Louise Nicholas affair. Perhaps the poor woman let slip that the revolting Clint Rickards had the mark of the beast on the left buttock?

Whatever it was, the justice system, such as it is, is going to take a hammering for this.

And a good thing too. I am increasingly amazed at how much time and effort is being expended these days making sure that the legal system is no longer transparent. Justice is supposed to be open to all to see.

Not now though. Whenever some worthless wrongdoer wishes his or her nasty details covered up, then as long as they can afford the right lawyers, it's done!

May all Lawyers die and be damned I say. And if, as in this case, they choose to stick a sign on their backsides saying "Please Kick Me', then I for one will join the queue to oblige them.

By the way, if I ever do find out what all the fuss is about, I shall post it here just to be on the safe side.

SPOT THE LITERARY MISTAKE..................

Ok, I know it's only a week or two since I posted an unpublished article from ages ago. But since nobody seems to have noticed, I'll just drop in another.

A year or so ago our dear old local newspaper The Gulf News ran a competition to celebrate it's 30th birthday. All you had to do was write a thousand word piece set on Waiheke, 30 years into the future.

Easy, I thought. Waiheke is wonderful enough now, give it thirty more years and it will be even better. So I wrote the following jolly little tale.

Alas, I had forgotten the rules of New Zealand literature.
1. Life is NOT funny.
2. All good literature is gloomy and depressing, (Janet Frame understood this)
3. The future is going to suck.

Naturally the three winning entries were pure unadulterated shite. Written by whining fuckwits, who, having got it all down on paper probably went off and slit their wrists, and good riddance..

Now I'm not saying my entry wasn't shite too.
It was.

But at least it was cheerful.

Anyway.....here it is.





The Gulf News. July 5th 2033.

A DAY IN THE LIFE.
This week we meet Zack Sprott, Equerry to his Royal Highness Prince Barry II of Waiheke.

“It’s a pretty easy job when all’s said and done. Looking after His Royalness. Working in the Royal Household is a family tradition for me, my old Dad was Equerry to Barry the First. That was back in the days after the island declared independence. The short lived ‘Republic’ lasted about three months, which was long enough to get us disentangled from the rest of the country and also long enough for everyone to realise how expensive and boring republics are. The referendum that saw our Monarchy established was run through in a matter of days.
Prince Barry Senior was a nice old bloke. Liked a beer and a day out fishing, and hardly ever tried to get involved in running the place, which of course worked out just fine for everyone. He’d run for the old Community Board a few times around the turn of the century and had been disastrously beaten every time. Gracious and cheerful in defeat, he was the obvious choice for the new Monarch.
I was just a sprogger when he got voted in, but I remember his Coronation like it was yesterday. Everyone cheering and crying as the Royal Morris Minor convertible drove through the streets of Oneroa on it’s way to the Ostend Stadium.
Well, Barry the First died back in ’29, and his son took his place. We’d been at the High School together and when my Dad retired the following year I stepped into his shoes. I live just round the corner from the Royal Residence in Surfdale, and usually arrive around nine to start on the day’s work.

The Crown Prince has a fairly busy schedule. There are events to be opened, Vineyards to be visited, (The Royal family taste all new vintages before bottling, it’s a tradition) and visiting foreign dignitaries to be welcomed. Waiheke has set something of a fashion for this type of new tame royalty, and with what used to be called New Zealand gradually devolving into smaller independent countries, it’s now fairly common to see new royal dynasties springing up everywhere. Most are based on the ideals that we pioneered. The King, Queen, Prince or whatever has to look nice, have a pleasant smile, be capable of waving properly and promise not to get any funny ideas about trying to govern. That’s the people’s job.

Now today for example, Prince Barry is due to attend the monthly Auditions. Ever since all new building was banned on the island back in 2011, the population has stabilised at around ten thousand. People still say that there are Real Estate Agents hiding in the hills out at the eastern end, but personally, I think that’s just something Mothers tell their kids to get them to behave. “Go to sleep or the Real Estate Agent will get you!” That sort of thing.
Nowadays, anyone wishing to move here has to apply to get in. They have to answer a simple questionnaire and will then be called on to appear at the new thousand seater Theatre at the Artworks Entertainment Centre and give a performance of some sort in front of a local crowd. Some sing, some dance, some paint pictures. As long as they can do at least something creative, then the crowd will vote and a verdict will be given. Last month, we got a family that did nothing but drivel on about being Property Developers. Even the kids. They were on the ‘George Hudson’ back to town in short order let me tell you.
After that, the Prince is due at the Parliament Buildings in Ostend for the State Opening of Parliament. Many outsiders wonder why we feel the need to open Parliament as many as fifteen (Sometimes twenty) times a year. It all goes back to the very first such event back in 2007. The architect that designed the new building, (Replacing the old Council offices that were burned down by a furious mob the year before) had little experience designing anything but Pubs. So he stuck to what he knew best and we ended up with a seat of Government featuring more beer taps than offices. Needless to say, the first State Opening went on for over a week, and was such a success that we now do it as often as possible.
This afternoon the Prince was due to inspect the Armed Forces. But the Army called this morning to say his Mum’s not well, and the Navy is still beached on the Causeway having a new bait locker fitted, so we’ve put that off for a couple of days.
That means the State Visit of His Eminence, the Grand Duke of Henderson can be extended a bit. The Prince likes to conduct all such business on the deck of the Royal Yacht, and there have been some lovely snapper running this year, so that should work out all right.
His Royalness married a couple of years ago. Princess Sharon, eldest daughter of the Earl of Taihape, has been a wonderful addition to the family. What she doesn’t know about cooking up a feed of sausage rolls isn’t worth knowing. Their son is a nice lad too. Plays Centre Forward for the Waiheke Dotterels Junior Squad and looks set to be as popular a ruler as his Dad.
This evening is the State Banquet to commemorate the day twenty five years ago, that the Mayor of Auckland and a number of his staff were hurled off the wharf at Matiatia and made to swim home. “Shark Bait Day’ is a popular event in the local calendar with parties, poetry readings and firework displays happening all over the island.
His Royalness usually catches the late news on Waiheke TV before retiring to bed. As for me, well, the barmaid at Salvage has been giving me the eye lately, and it’s not like I have to be up that early….

Sanctimonious Twits

So Hamid Sooden is safely back home in Auckland, nicely wrapped up in an exclusive deal with TVNZ, who, having paid their money for this week’s idiot, will now flog the story to death.

I say, ‘Welcome home Hamid, now shut the fuck up.’

You are just the latest in an endless line of sanctimonious idiots who are trying to save the planet while living on a completely different one. Oh what a surprise! You went to a horrible war zone and got kidnapped. Who would have thought it?

Mind you, the sight of the British hostage moaning in an E.L.Wisty voice about not wanting to be rescued by the armed forces……
They should send him back and let him wait for the Girl Guides to go rescue him.

We will never have world peace. At least not while efforts to procure it are left in the hands of lame wankers like Hamid Sooden.

"Most people can't think, most of the remainder won't think, the small fraction who do think mostly can't do it very well. The extremely tiny fraction who think regularly, accurately, creatively, and without self-delusion- in the long run, these are the only people who count."
Robert Heinlein.

I've always loved that quote. It just annoys people so much. And the kind of people who are capable of getting annoyed about it are exactly the kind of people one needs to annoy.
Regularly.

It has occured to me that I'd love to start an agency devoted to introducing type A & B people to type Cs. So next time some woolly thinking type tells me I'm a Libertarian bastard for suggesting that there are people out there who are merely bulk filler, I can go into the database, find some truly horrible P Head or wino and arrange for them to come and stay in Woolly Thinker's house for a few weeks.

In fact, as soon as I can think of a way to make a dollar or two from such an enterprise, you may rest assured I will.

CENSUS TIME!

OK, would everyone, (and I mean EVERYONE) please shut the fuck up about the census!
I know, you are all bent out of shape about not being able to declare yourselves as ‘New Zealanders’. Big deal. I know it’s annoying, but this is Helen Clarke’s Government we are talking about here. What did you expect? When exactly did that dismal woman or any of her crew of smug bullies, cheats, and furtive bicycle seat sniffers ever say anything about caring what you think?
Apart from election time of course, they can’t get enough of you then, but once they are back in power you can all go hang.
If any of you could raise this level of passion over the fact that these people routinely steal up to a third of what you earn each week, waste most of it on fatuous nonsense and then spend their time patronising you while trying to control every facet of your lives I’d be a lot more impressed.

What the hell is all this ‘New Zealander’ stuff anyway? I’ll show you.
Let me hear you say NEW ZEALANDER!
I can’t hear you………
LET ME HEAR YOU SAY NEW ZEALANDER!
That’s better….
Now let me hear you say BAAAAAAAAAA!

I rest my case.

By going along with this campaign to write in some nonsense in the hope it will annoy the Government, you are just playing into their hands. Divide and rule is their game and this is just what they need.
I have always found, when dealing with impertinent demands for information from slack brained civil servants, that the most effective way to confound them is to give them more, far more, information than they asked for in the first place. This REALLY screws up the system. Personally, I detest the thought that the government wants to know my ethnic background whenever I have to fill out a form. Especially when I consider that, having ticked ‘New Zealander of European origin’, I can then be safely ignored.
So, if they really want to know, I tell them. My two grandmothers were Scottish and Cornish. My Grandfathers were French Huguenot and Jewish. There. I know my family background. And I INSIST that this information be given in full, even if it does require another sheet of paper. What the hell? I paid for the paper. And, I pay the salaries of the sad losers who have to sit and read it.

If I am simply to be lumped in with Spaniards, Italians, Germans or Dutch,(All good eggs in my view, who buy their round and scorn any blithering) then the information would be incorrect! And that would never do. The people at the Ministry would be upset. After all, there is more difference between me and a Pole or Serbian than there is between a Maori and a Cook Islander.
So never mind standing there in the paddock and bleating. Next time some snivelling functionary insists on knowing your ethnic details, give it to them in full and insist that it be noted. A couple of years of that and they will be glad to have us all under the same heading.

Yes!
Now this just has to be the funniest clip I've seen so far this year. It answers the nagging question of whether Muslims have raves. Watch this and weep with laughter.
http://www.glumbert.com/media/rave.html

Mind you, turn the sound down and watch what's happening here. Watch how hard the fat bald dude is hitting himself. Check out the guy that gets the mic and starts raving. These are WEIRD people. Lets be careful out there........

IVOR CUTLER 1923-2006

Mention the great Scottish poet to most people and you'll get a blank look. But for years, the late, great Ivor Cutler wrote recorded and performed some truly magnificent stuff. Look it up, you'll be amazed.
The BBC's Andy Kershaw once told of booking Cutler for a show at Leeds University. Having been offered five hundred pounds for the gig, Cutler then successfully beat him down to four hundred and the promise of not having to be accomodated in a hotel. He stayed at Kershaw's student lodgings instead. Once there, Cutler was gazing out of the window into the street when two youths came staggering down the road and paused to spray graffiti on the fence outside. He watched with quiet interest for a while, then turned to his host and enquired; "Have they not learned to masturbate yet?"

Tomorrow night, at The Legless Arms, there will be a moment's drinking to mark the passing of this great man. I may play The Muscular Tree very loudly until my dear wife hits me to make me stop.

So, here to inspire you is one of Ivor Cutler's poems, No I won't;

I'll leave you with this thought.
No, I won't. It would not be fair.

By the way, if anyone out there has my copy of Life in a Scotch sitting room I want it back!

One of the many things I love about email is the way that instant thoughts flow in from mates in all parts of the world. I got this in the mail today from my old mate Andy Perryman in the UK. Unlike most of us, whose musical appreciation peaked somewhere around 1980, Andy has kept a critical eye on the music of today. I'm glad he does, it means I don't have to.

Here's an excerpt;


The Arctic Monkeys are the next big thing en Angleterre at the moment - they are from the North West and they have Oasis haircuts. They have trousers, the crotches of which drag unerringly on the filth ridden streets of Lancs. I bet they burp sometimes. They don't so much sing about the kitchen sink as the U-bend beneath the granite work surface. In all their pathetic mediocrity they are however the Beatles compared to Hard-Fi. Hard-Fi have sold 200,000 albums on the strength of their pathetically contrived band name. If they were forced at gunpoint to write a melody they would fail, be shot, and not be remembered. They however, are Led Zeppelin compared to some of the Sarf Landon (to be said in a cockney twang) hip-hop R & B co-operatives currently corrupting the youth of the nation.

In my day R & B meant sweat and passion and the stench of your best mates armpits in the writhing pit of the General Wolfe in Foleshill. Now it means perfectly sculptured black women "doing a Maria Carey" (singing around thirty two notes to the bar in an effort to convince the listening public that they are talented and have passion) and shakin' it about a bit. It just ain't Rock and Roll and it certainly aint R & B. Dr Feelgood would choke on their Heineken.

And if another boy band announces another vomit-inducing ten year reunion tour I'll melt down my own diaphragm and offer little sips of it to the homeless...............................

Dear oh dear……


Just a follow up on the silly Michelle Boag saga.

This week’s edition of the ‘Weak Link’ must be it’s best read in ages, with people who would usually ignore the flimsy little rag as it deserves tuning in to see if it’s ‘Editor’ might wish to add his thoughts to the hilarity surrounding his wife’s gaffe last weekend.

Sure enough, Merv just had to make a reply. But we’ll get to that in a minute. Firstly though, what a sad state the Weak Link is in! Like most people, I’ve avoided reading it for the last year or two. After all, who needs to read stuff like that? The editorials, which are about the only real content the paper has, are always telling us what worthless hippies we all are and how we need to stop getting in the way of the important business of making Waiheke as much like the Gold Coast as possible.
I’ve had a notice on my letter box for ages, asking that the Weak Link not be deposited therein. I took it down last week. Not because I actually want the wretched thing, but we have a new puppy, imperfectly housetrained, and right now we need all the absorbent material we can get.
If ever there was a publication that needs putting out of its misery, its this one. For sheer lack of useful content the Weak Link takes some beating. All the fire has gone from it and it would presumably have died a death were some fat cat not propping it up with regular cash injections. I looked for adverts from local businesses so that I might avoid them in future, but found few.

Anyway…the ‘Editorial’ was a disappointment. Merv just waffles on about how tiresome it is that the peasants seem to have such a problem with his wife using our rescue helicopter for her own purposes. Predictably though, he finishes with that vexatious modern cliché about how its time to ‘Move On’.
Oh wonderful. Notice how prominent people love using that tired crap whenever they have been publicly shamed and want it to stop?
I found myself wondering if it had been Mike Lee or the splendid Faye Storer that had been abusing the public’s trust in this way, would Merv be airily dismissing the whole business and telling us it was time to move on?
It's possible. But then pigs might fly and the Weak Link become readable too.

FINGERS IN THE TILL

The embarrassing revelation last Saturday that Michelle Boag had the audacity to summon the Westpac Rescue Helicopter when she found that she had forgotten her passport has brought home to me once more how lucky we are to live in a country where petty corruption is still frowned upon.
There are many countries around the world where full scale bribery and graft are the norm. These are not countries where any sensible, hard working person would want to live. But there are also countries where small scale violations of trust are increasingly accepted. This strikes me as sad. Australia is one such. If the Auckland police force had been found to be taking bribes, pushing drugs, pimping prostitutes and beating suspects into comas like their Sydney counterparts were found to be a couple of years back, then the whole country would have been mortified. The Aussies however seemed to shrug the whole thing off. I was there at the time and found it disturbing. If a rich and influential person there had been found to be using a charitable organisation to which they had contributed as a personal courier service whenever it suited them, it would hardly have rated as a front page story.
Ms Boag did nothing illegal, let’s be clear about that. And I’m sure that if any of us here on the island had suffered a medical crisis at that exact time the helicopter would have diverted and Ms Boag obliged to take a later flight. But she was guilty of a severe lapse of judgement in a country where we still maintain decent standards of behavior. I for one am grateful for those standards.
The blustering from the Helicopter Trust has cut no ice with the public. They have taken their bruises and must live with them. If locals here see the rescue chopper flying in in future they may ask; “What’s Michelle forgotten this time?”
My personal favorite response was from a theatre friend who suggested that he might go and spray a large H on Ms Boag’s front lawn.
This would of course be WRONG.
Though very funny.

WELL DESERVED THRASHING


I am really starting to wish that someone would step forward and put the dismal David Benson-Pope out of his misery. Whatever he may or may not have done during his time as a provincial school teacher is of little concern to me. Considering how MY teachers behaved back in the 60’s and 70’s he sounds like he really wasn’t that bad. But his wretched flounderings in parliament over the last few weeks have been too horrible to watch.
That he resembles a decomposing walrus is bad enough, that he is clearly a cheap thug is even worse. But what really drives me into a hate frenzy every time the news comes on is the constant refusal from anyone in government to actually front up to the tv and print media and give some sort of answer to the nagging questions.

I’ve lost count of the number of people that I’ve beaten to death and buried under the house for suggesting that the media ‘Go too far’. Crap. The media in my view don’t go far enough. If I had my way, anyone elected to any public office more important than the Parish Council ought to accept having a film crew follow them EVERYWHERE. Since the bastards clearly don’t trust us, then why should we give them the benefit of the doubt?
Once you get to parliament, there should be no place to hide from the righteous fury of those who elected you and who pay your grossly inflated salaries. To refuse to answer any question from the media should constitute grounds for immediate resignation.