Nicky No Boats
Drifting on the Interislander - waiting for Ghost Ships.
I remember you by, thunderclap in the sky
Lightning flash, tempers flare
'Round the horn if you dare
I just spent six months in a leaky boat
Lucky just to keep afloat
Songwriters: Brian Timothy Finn
Today, a tale of such ineptitude, unwarranted confidence and underplanning that you will scarcely believe it. I can hear you now…
“Whatever, Nick, you talk about this coalition pretty much every day, and it’s always along those lines. So unless this is some new level of horror, we should be just fine. What did they do this time - cancel Christmas?”
Rest assured, it is nothing like that. In fairness to Christopher Luxon, he didn’t say yes to all of David Seymour’s demands, so Santa is still coming, although he has been mighty busy since he had to cut all his back-office staff.
You might like to set expectations that St Nick has had to make all the presents for all the children himself this year, so they might look a bit homemade. Still, it’s the thought that counts.
No, I’m talking about a more specific lack of aptitude, excessive self-belief, and generally making things up as you go along. Let me take you back to the beginning…
In the beginning, the earth was void and lacked form, whereupon the new coalition arrived to shape it in their image and was somewhat surprised to find Winston Peters already there, ever-present, watching and waiting.
Through the darkness and the swirling primaeval swamp of origins, a voice rang out. It was shrill and quite demanding. At first, people tried to ignore it, but the cries became louder and impossible to ignore…
“Billions, I need billions. Now cut your budgets, slash your expenditures and return those tax dollars to me so that I might fulfil my solemn promise, the very reason for our existence, and transfer these funds back to the bank accounts of our backers. Right, who will start me off, no cut is too small, but please ensure that if your cuts are, in fact, not very big, you will have to make a lot of them.”
For a long while, there was murmuring as other voices proclaimed that tax cuts weren’t the only promise made and asked how they would deliver on all of the other things they said they would if they had to cut their budgets.
Yet they feared the one they called Nicola as she stormed about the place, stamping her feet and shrieking disconcertingly.
Gradually, the other voices began to offer up things that could be sacrificed until it became a rush, and they sought to outdo each other with ever more outlandish cuts. The Willis creature became pleased, and she implored them to do even more. “Get rid of anything that is an investment in the future”, she said, “we’ll be out of power by then, and it’ll be the other lot’s fault.”
She eyed the one that some called Simeon. Others had different names for him, but we won’t go into that as they’re not very polite. “You boy”, she said, “what cuts have you made?”
“I’ve gotten rid of everything that isn’t cars—the whole lot. Walking and cycling initiatives - gone, public transport - prices doubled. There really is nothing left to give,” said Brown.
“Well, you’re also planning to spend an astronomical amount on potholes and roads, so you’re going to have to make more cuts. What’s this line item, the one with all the zeroes on the end?”
“That’s for the ferries,” he replied. “We’ve got to have those; otherwise, how will the cars get from one island to the next?”
“What are you blathering about, man, we’re not a Labour government, I’m not Jacinda, and there is to be no magic pixie dust - now kill those fairies.”
Brown began to explain that the cost was for boats, not small winged woodland creatures, but Nicola became distracted as she thought of the long summer days of her childhood.
It had been a happy one, if somewhat lonely. She had loved the story Peter Pan, especially the part where it said “Every time a child says 'I don't believe in fairies' there is a fairy somewhere that falls down dead.”
Nicola had her own little Wendy house, and she’d go down to the bottom of the garden and spend hours sitting in it, quietly whispering to herself, “I don’t believe in fairies, I don’t believe in fairies” They were bitter memories, she had hunted and hunted for those dead fairies but never found them.
Rejoining the present, Nicola realised that they were, in fact, talking about ferries, once again, those pesky winged twerps had alluded her grasp.
“Cancel the lot; we can do it much cheaper than three billion dollars”, she said, crossing out the line item for ferries, “bottom feeders drive around in second-hand corollas; we’ll just do the same, and I’ve saved us billions.”
Simeon snivelled, “Please, dark queen. Only half a billion was for boats; the rest was for connecting them to the trains and making the necessary port improvements. We can’t just ask people to jump off the dock to get on board. Don’t get me wrong; I’d normally be delighted to cancel rail-related activities, but people seem quite keen on these boats taking rail.”
Nicola glared at him and went quiet. The clouds gathered, and everyone went silent for a long time.
Time passed, and then a new voice, one that sounded like someone trying to appear in charge, boomed out - “Nicola, what I would say to you is that it’s been a whole year. We promised people ferries, now where are they? You must reassure them; they grow restless, and some of that is reflecting on me.”
Willis spoke passively; for once, it wasn’t time for the jugular yet.
“I’m going to be straight up; progress has been slower than we would like. The problem is that I’ve been busy doing everyone else’s jobs for them.
Take Dr Reti, for example. He just hasn’t got the stomach for some of these cuts. He’ll stand there and smile queasily in support of any we make, but he doesn’t like delivering the terminal news—God knows how he was ever a doctor. So we had to outsource his job to Lester. It all takes time.”
“Ok, but can you tell me when the new ferries arrive?”
“No”
“What about who will be making them?”
“Nope”
“Can you tell me what model they’ll be, or even what colours they come in?”
“No”
“Alright, how about something specific? Will trains be able to use them so we can ship products between the islands without having to unload?”
“Almost, our ones will be rail capable rather than rail enabled.”
“So what’s the difference?”
“Well, it means we can still take the rail freight; we just need to load it onto trucks to transport it on and off the ferries.”
“Winston is not going to be happy. First, he wanted us to bail out that bloody mill, and now he says he expects to see rail used for freight; he’s from another era. You know he called me ‘Rob’ the other day, and I had to remind him I wasn’t Muldoon.”
“What did he say?”
“Cheeky bugger said, ‘How come you look so much like him then?’ and then ‘I’ll take this one from here, sonny.’”
“I’m quite happy for him to take responsibility; he can join me to address the nation; misery loves company. Speaking of which, I think I will put the whole thing under a company, so that will be something to report.”
“Why on earth are you doing that? We don’t normally set up a company when the government buys something.”
“Two reasons, first it distances us from their success or failure - we just give them a budget, one that is theoretically possible - as confirmed by our experts, and if they fail to deliver, that’s on them, not us.
We’ve delivered, and no one can blame us. Plus, if we want to privatise later, it will be much easier; we can just sell the company.”
“Wonderful, so what will people do for the next five years while we, sorry, the new company, organise the replacements? Will the old boats keep going that long?’
“Sure, as long as nothing goes wrong, realistically, we were told they would become unreliable and expensive to maintain, but I’m sure it’s nothing a bit of number eight wire, kiwi ingenuity can’t fix.”
“And when is that supposed to happen?”
“Middle of the decade, they say.”
“Do you mean the 2030s?”
“No”
“Well, can we just get it sorted? I ran into the Labour crew in the corridor the other day, and Chippy asked if I’d be ‘cruising on the Interislander this summer’; he thought it was hilarious.
Then McAnutly said, ‘more like Sinking on the Interislander’, before that bloody Willie Jackson started singing ‘Drifting on the Interislander, hope we make it to the other side’”.
Now, for something completely different. On this very day 60 years ago my father, Ian Robert Rockel, married my mother, Jean Valentine Gant, in Redcliffs, Christchurch, where she grew up.
They’ve received cards in recognition of this momentous milestone from the King and Queen, the Governor General, and the Prime Minister - although they weren’t sure what to do with the last one, and it stands with its back to them. This weekend, we’ll be celebrating their 60th anniversary with family and friends, and I’m very much looking forward to it.
I’ve written a lot about privilege this year, both real and imagined. I can think of no greater privilege, no greater winning ticket in the lottery of life than to have been born to parents who have always supported, nurtured, and loved us, my sisters and I.
The world would be a much better place if everyone were so lucky. Happy Anniversary, Mum and Dad. Your love for each other has been a wonderful example my whole life, and I feel tremendously proud and grateful to have you as my parents.
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Have a great day, all of you lovely people, especially my mum and dad, on this special day. 60 years is quite an achievement. Much love.
Ngā mihi,
Nick.
Today, we have a great Kiwi song to end, but the intro and especially the last 80 seconds of voice and piano are the real magic to me.
Loved this one, perfect fairy tail, just waiting for Labour to be the white knight!
If only it wasn’t true 😣
Congrats to your parents. I, too, was privileged to have amazing parents and totally understand the depth of your feelings and pride.
Enjoy the celebrations 🎉🥳
Good read Nick. I weep with you about the incompetence and celebrate your parents anniversary.