A Triumvirate Quest.
And get that man a steak.
As you might recall from my last newsletter yesterday was a family celebration in the Rockel household, with our youngest lad Matty turning 16. He’s an enthusiastic cook, especially of steak, with plenty of garlic, rosemary, and far too much butter. So when asked what he’d like to do he suggested a steakhouse.
When I worked in the CBD I spent about a decade in one city block, between Victoria, Queen, Durham, and Albert, in four different offices for three companies. Midway up the Victoria St side is an institution - Tony’s Lord Nelson, long regarded as a place for a good steak. Somewhere I used to go often but haven’t been to for years. I was a little apprehensive about taking them somewhere so dated but they all liked the place and the food was as good as ever.
A lovely evening with family together, which happens less and less as everyone’s so busy. So it was nice they were all there, including Matty’s partner Lis, and Thea’s partner Trent.
Parents aren’t always thrilled with the partners their kids choose, but we’re delighted. They’re both kind, smart, loving people and a pleasure to be around.
That fellow at the bottom left is my Johnny, you’ll have read about him if you’ve been here a while. He’s somewhat nocturnal at present, on account of the football. I heard him in the early hours watching the England game but decided to stay in bed.
When I woke I was glad I had. Slovakia ahead most of the match, England equalising in injury time with their first shot on goal, then winning it in extra time. Great scenes of delight in the UK, but after a long period of real anguish. My commiserations to those who suffered through it, still that goal was worth the price of admission when it came. Absolute scenes, with Gary Neville screaming “we’re not going home!”
Anyway the long and the short of it is that I got up today with no idea what to write about. Then I remembered someone had sent me a rhyme. A reader who prefers to remain anonymous emailed this, which I’ve changed a bit, but not so much.
Over to Anon…
Soapie, Senior, and See-less
On a triumvirate quest
To reverse all signs of progress
It's what they do best
No votes for the young, they don't vote right
Cancel SmokeFree, and strike a light
No special treatment for Maori, poor in money and health
But lots for their donors, to further increase their wealth
High unemployment, tax cuts are needed
But out of a job, you’re a bottom feeder
Index down benefits, sanction them hard
Forget tax evasion, that’s your own back yard
Talk about tax breaks to divert attention
So kickbacks to landlords get barely a mention
The public sector must be totally gutted
Experience unvalued, dismissed, restructured
But here’s a joke Monty Python could make
For the only department they think’ll be great
Is one to regulate both red and green tape
Cancel the speed limits, let teenagers vape
Regulating regulations a circular farce
They’ll disappear right up their very own arse
Those road cones must go, get rid of the lot
Replace them with blue ones, bright yellow on top
Gang patches in public must be banned and decried
Stoke up the fear, then put them inside
Perhaps the same law could be equally applied
To the gang in blue suits, no patches, just ties
Lets rebrand gangs, make them friendly and cute
Family few, the Mongrels’ Union, the Power Institute
The muppets in charge pulling the strings
Giving false hope, but not changing things
The PM excels in corporate speak
Like a used car dealer, full of deceit
Childish phrases and self aggrandisement
Vacuous corporate-speak, one long advertisement
See-less peddles neoliberal twaddle
But at least lacks the PM's look at me waddle
Te Reo expresses our place and care for the land
So these morons want it degraded and banned
Senior to be fair can vary his tune
To please whoever he finds in the room
As long as you are close to his age
There’s a chance you’ll find him incredibly sage
Doctor Cigaretti took the hippocratic oath
Or was it hypocritical? You cannot take both
You cannot work for the people with more
And also help disadvantaged and poor
Simeon’s vision - you have to question
He’s going flat out, in the wrong direction
No place in his world for cycle, ferry, or train
Just cars and more roads in his blue tinted brain.
Nicotine Casey hides behind her smokes screen
Who’s pulling the strings cannot be easily seen
So we’re not really sure who’s doing the bidding
But one thing’s for sure, it stinks like a midden.
In charge of the money is Nick it all Witless
Whose approach to finance is less hit and more miss
Take from the poor to give to the wealthy
If you’re not on her team best hope that you’re healthy
The party of competence don't make me laugh
Even the IMF says their books are a farce
I pity comedians they must truly despair
There’s nothing to parody, they’re already there
You may think me unkind, my words untrue
Then read it again, I hope that you do
If it makes you smile or moves you to laugh
Then grains may be buried, not so deep in the chaff.
Today’s song has nothing to do with the rhyme above. I’ve been watching Glastonbury videos this weekend with that taking place, and this clip just seemed so joyous I thought some might enjoy it. Warning it does contain a bit of swearing:
Some of our cartoonists are mitigating some of the mischief the journos make. God bless Sharon Murdoch in particular.
An interesting tidbit I heard over the weekend.
Last Thursday a friend’s daughter was having an after work drink with colleagues. Slithering into their group of pretty young things a local MP offered to buy one of them a drink. None of them recognised him until he was named as Chris Bishop. Once a creep, always a creep 🤢
Superb. Congrats to the author. Glad the birthday was such a happy event Nick.