A perfect day in Aotearoa.
Seven, he thought, is a good number. A lucky number and a spiritual number. The number of days it had taken the good Lord to build the earth and still have time to rest.
It was a number that said success.
He looked in the mirror as he shaved away the last of the foam. Smooth, very smooth indeed he thought as he looked at his slick hairless reflection.
One or two properties meant security, a very well feathered nest egg with Capital Gains. It meant a comfortable retirement, a couple of overseas trips a year, some nice toys to show off on the summer holiday. Heck with a couple of properties someone could even get divorced without being wiped out if trophies weren’t enough.
He grinned at the thought, he didn’t want to do that any time soon. Right now people commented that he was punching above his weight. He liked that feeling of success. But one day, perhaps a decade from now, the tide will have turned. He will be distinguished, more wrinkles sure but a knighthood and a few terms as Prime Minister would make him a compelling catch.
It’s amazing what they can do polishing trophies these days he thought, but over time they end up being less front and centre on display as greater accomplishments take the forefront. Besides, he thought, he didn’t only have one or two properties.
Three of four now that was a good number. In the context of the new eastern suburbs with a faux mansion a pool boy and the right sort of names on your CV, it yelled success. Sure the older money in East Auckland might think it all a bit tacky, but they could think what they liked as long as they voted for him.
Three or four properties meant you were set, provided no one did anything stupid like taxing those well deserved gains, or worse yet interfering in the market so prices went down. That was why he was running to make sure the Kiwi way of life continued as it had for decades with nothing threatening it. Sure there were losers in the game but really would it be as much fun winning if there weren’t?
Five properties or more - now that was what most people would call rich, not the actual rich he thought but the people that aspire to be so, the people that will make him the leader of the country.
That many properties gave real options. If he wanted he could retire and play golf somewhere warm. But who wants to chase a small ball around a golf course when there is no one to watch? Yes of course the staff would treat you like a god, but there were only a few of them. No, save the Kiwi dream so that anyone can aspire to owning seven propeties and you’ll be loved forever.
Love he thought was a funny word but he wasn’t really sure where he was going with that. Would he be more loved if he had eight or nine properties? Ten - now there was a good round number to aspire to and it’d be quite something to reach double figures.
He shook the thought from his head, as his humility tutor had explained he had much to be grateful for, and soon as leader of the country he’d have even more.
No, you reached a point of wealth where rather than be seen to be hungry and driven for more you need to wear a persona of humble modesty. An “oh shucks how did this happen to little old me, could have been any one of you” persona. John was a hard act to follow and he’d looked humble in an actual mansion in Parnell.
Time for breakfast, a black coffee, he didn’t really like it but he thought it made him look hard and the man in control. Would people have admired John McClane from diehard or Collin Meads from that game if they sat around on a Saturday morning drinking lattes?
He raised his mug at his wife and said “good cup of Joe, keep em coming, a lot of pressing the flesh to do today”. He buttered his croissant and thought how nice a really milky coffee would be with it. Perhaps he could fit in a fundraising photo op with Fonterra late morning - surely no one could mock a frothy delicious latte there, but he definitely shouldn’t ask for caramel on top.
The Greens were on the radio taking about the poor and rental caps. He had a chuckle thinking of Scott Morrison explaining that the solution for those without a home was to buy a house.
That takes some balls he thought, a giant finger in the air at those who hadn’t chosen to have a good portfolio and now wanted to blame someone else. Good grief some of them sounded like they wanted to start the game over with all the property cards back in the box. He shuddered.
But there was something about the naivety of the Greens and their desire to help the portfolio-less that he found charming. It reminded him of Sunday school when he was a kid. There were people from all sorts of backgrounds, some rich some less rich, good stories and songs, and a feeling of togetherness that felt wealthy.
He did like the new church, it was very shiny and they used the same phrases he’d used when addressing the masses as a CEO. It sure was nice to hear how blessed are the successful every week, but he knew that already and he kind of missed the old feeling.
His wife asked if he was ok, whether he had something on his mind. He laughed, no just thinking it was time for another coffee and what a nice job you did with these imported pastries - it’s like being in Roma, she said wistfully.
He glanced out the window over houses with their columns, people were washing double cab utes or boats in their driveways happily, and wondered if Rome was a nice as this. He also wondered why there were no trees on the street but then remembered at a seminar being told that for this area gardens did not increase the price of a property, so were of no value.
You know, he said, these croissants are really... He tried to think what that word was she’d used when he suggested putting a fountain on the front lawn after she’d come back from her Italian class. It must have meant classy and authentic, ah that was it - these croissants are so ostentatious.
She looked a bit overwhelmed, if you didn’t know her you might think upset, but he knew that face - she always pulled it when he put in a lot of effort to be romantic.
He’d seen that same face from young Mrs Willis when he’d had some ideas for his speech she was writing. Women sure do appreciate it when you make a little effort he thought.
Nicola and he had agreed afterwards that she would write the speeches unaided and he would give them, delivery being, as she said his, real strength. This was fine by him some liked to rehearse their speeches but as he’d found at Air New Zealand he was most authentic when delivering content he hadn’t read beforehand, it brought out his honest feelings.
It did occasionally cause an issue like when he’d read out that he supported safe spaces outside abortion clinics at the last reading because a woman had the right to choose. He’d gagged a bit and his eyes had gotten very wide, they sure weren’t going to like this down at the church. But Nikki had given him the thumbs up and encouraged him to carry on. The church would just have to be happy with a large donation, they usually were.
He looked at his diary; a car would be here shortly to take him to the Tamaki Rotary Club. There was a note suggesting he lose the gold cuff links and tie clasp, roll the sleeves up and chuckle a lot - they’ll think you’re Muldoon.
That was a bit of a change, normally they were telling him to act like Sir John.
His speech was entitled “One New Zealand” and had been written by another of his predecessors Don Brash. Sounds like a nice positive thing for New Zealand he thought on such a lovely autumn morning.
The Greens were finishing up on the radio, apparently there was going to be some sort of occupation with people squatting in vacant housing NZ properties. He wondered if sending over some imported pastries to the new home dwellers, as a house-warming gift might be a thoughtful thing to do. His wife had bought dozens of the things.
He smiled at his wife, never too early to start limbering up he thought. And asked what she would be up to today. Apparently she was going to yoga with Roberto. He was their pool boy and also had a sideline giving Italian lessons and importing continental foods. Nice chap although he did wonder just why they needed a pool boy considering they didn’t have a pool.
She said it was about keeping up with the Jonses. She looked a bit flushed, he asked “you feeling alright darling? Not sure if you’ve been watching the news but there is a bit of a virus about”.
He quite liked Roger Jones next door; nice chap, he’d owned his own business, which he’d sold for quite a bit of money. Still he knew Roger only had the house, a bach at Omaha, and a block of apartments so he was hardly in the same league as someone with seven properties.
The car was here, he kissed his wife on the cheek and grabbed the Herald to read on the way. He always enjoyed reading that; it was like having his own fanzine. As he sat in the back of the car reading about himself he thought this must be what it was like to be in the Beatles, then he had a thought of Audrey Young and Claire Trevett throwing their underwear at him as he sang Yesterday. For some reason they were screaming, “we won’t forget you John, we love you John” must have been their favourite Beatle he thought.
He glanced at the freshly printed speech “One New Zealand” it said, he looked out the window and thought yes, there is no other place like it. The subtitle said “We are all Tangata Whenua”, he was a bit surprised that Don was using Maori phrases but what a lovely sentiment of all belonging.
He sat back and closed his eyes and thought of opportunities. He wondered if any of those HNZ places were for sale, they seemed to be in hot demand.
Yes seven was a good number, but ten was an even better one. Perhaps after his speech they’d pop by that protest. He could check out the situation, the properties available. Maybe he could give them a bit of his “we’re all Tangata Whenua” speech and show he was going to be the leader for all New Zealanders whether you already had a large portfolio or were just starting out with property ownership.
It really was a perfect day here in Aotearoa. He made a mental note to change all mentions of New Zealand in Don’s speech to Aotearoa, he texted Don telling him that and saying maybe we should have a referendum on the name of the country? Then he put his phone on silent and started humming that tune by Lou Reed to himself.
“Oh, it's such a perfect day, I'm glad I spent it with you”, he smiled in the warmth of the autumn sun.