Pavlova Diplomacy
Christopher Luxon seeks his happy place in Brisvegas.
Women in SUV Porsches always look miserable
Or is it only the Botox
They stick in their face to keep their looks from slipping
They’re kicking the can down the road
And men in mansions on cul-de-sacs
Having their midlife affairs
With the wife of a banker
While the banker is banging Bianca
But sadly they’re still gonna die
Song: Tim Minchin.
Warning: This article may contain nonsense, and any resemblance to actual people, however lifelike, is intended for comic effect.
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Prologue: Christopher Luxon woke early, feeling ill at ease; he knew he’d forgotten something, but he couldn’t think what it was.
He thought about child poverty and a voice began to nag at him; was it, god?
No, it was an echo of Nicola Willis explaining the need to be cruel to be kind. He remembered making a sad face, but she had stared him straight in the eye and said, “hungry children don’t vote”, before adding, even more coldly, “and neither do their parents”.
He thought about Fonterra and Z Energy and how they’d thrown him under a bus.
Were more revelations to come, or would it all blow over while he was away? The thing was, he genuinely couldn’t remember it, except that he’d been instructed to say he’d always wanted to clear up that particular legislation, regardless of any meetings.
Christopher wondered whether it would lend weight to his claim if he said he’d felt that way about the legislation since he was a boy watching the Crusaders, but he decided against it.
During the night he’d dreamt of a wise old man who said he knew all the answers. The figure had turned to him and said, “Christopher, I am your father, you know it to be true,” before revealing itself as a cackling Winston Peters, leaving him in a cold sweat.
Mostly, his mind kept coming back to Nicola Willis and Chris Bishop. This is when they would come, he thought; while I’m out of the country, he could almost feel the point of the blade between his ribs. Opening his eyes, he found that Amanda was digging him in his side with her elbow and telling him to stop saying “woe”.
On the face of it, this is not an unusual story: a man leaves New Zealand for Queensland; the twist here is he comes back, unfortunately.
Kiwis travel to Oz for higher pay, a better-funded medical system, and decent weather; some go to see whanau, but this man had gone because going was what he did best.
When it all got too much at home, Mr Frequent Flyer found that departing the scene was the best course of action. Placing himself in a different context where he could be confident and happy, shaking hands and making jokes. His natural habitat as a salesman, doing deals and winking for the folks back home as they lived their dull little lives in their poorly insulated houses in rainy Aotearoa.
Sometimes he wondered why he even went back; he imagined the sort of package a CEO of his calibre could attract in the lucky country.
During the trip over, he couldn’t help himself from saying to the young flight attendant, “You might not know this, but I used to be in charge.”
“Before Nicola took over,” a voice replied, which Christopher worked out was his own thoughts, as the attendant stood before him, blank-faced and quite mystified. After a moment of uncertainty, she smiled, recognising him and said, “Of course I know you, you’re the guy from TikTok, I love that one where they threw a bucket of water over you in slow motion.”
Christopher felt good; it was nice to be appreciated, and he felt great about the day ahead. He had his japes about how well the Warriors were doing ready, and he’d been trying to think of some new pavlova jokes ahead of his meeting with his Aussie counterpart Anthony Albanese in Noosa today.
He did some media, and he was in his element: good weather, hands comfortably in his pockets, just answering questions like a boss. Sunshine poured from the sky, and he thought of Wellington, with the streets running with sewage, and shuddered; boy, they were lucky to have him.
Watching 1 News, I wrote:
Christopher Luxon always looks so much happier when he is not in New Zealand.
I hope he can find his happy place, somewhere other than here.
Blanche kindly suggested, “We can all help make that happen for him on 7 November!” while Susan generously added, “I’m happy to take up a collection for a card and a farewell present, Nick.”
Fiona thought it reciprocal and wrote, “New Zealanders always look so much happier when Chris Luxon isn’t in New Zealand.” Perhaps not considering that in his place, he who shall not be named is our temporary overlord.
Alex commented, “He’s happier because he doesn’t have to answer the hard questions when he is overseas.”
Certainly the questions he was offered were pretty lightweight; based on listening to them, you’d think the biggest thing Luxon had to worry about was the four MPs who’ve been told they can’t return to China for a year after visiting Taiwan.
It was typical of Maureen Pugh to be a lightning rod for trouble as the MPs affirmed their allegiance to America by visiting the island, a red flag to China at such a sensitive time, with ACT Barbie even pretending it was about indigenous ties.
Mostly, Christopher wondered where Albanese would take him to enjoy their symbolic pavlova.
A chopper to a mountaintop might not be possible; maybe they’d head out to the Great Barrier Reef for a pav in the sun, just like Christmas time. He’d brought his Speedos just in case, though little did he know that Amanda had swapped them at the last minute for a large pair of board shorts and a rash shirt, muttering that some things should not be shared with the public.
And so as we wake to our cold, damp islands, let us spare a thought for Mr Luxon, salesman abroad, and an even larger one for his counterpart, Mr Albanese.
Have a good weekend, folks; the two PMs should hold a press conference later today after they’ve had a catch-up. Let’s just hope that Mr Luxon remembers to put sunscreen on his head, he’s quite pink enough as it is.
Ngā mihi,
Nick.
To end today, here’s Tim Minchin with Airport Piano. Please note that I’m not suggesting the PM has any musical talent, but if you listen to the lyrics, it could’ve been written about him and his voters.
Ngā mihi Nick. Perfectly written, but I couldn’t find the satire… I bet Luxon has Nicola locked up in the cattery while he’s away, lest she takes an opportunity to…
We could do a swap with Aussie, Keep "The Bald Ego" and return Jacinda.