Please sir, may I have some more?

Here's a legal first: I'm prepared to commit libel – against myself. I accuse myself of greed and, if I could afford it, I'd have a billboard outside my house to say so.

I state this in the interests of truth, which is the daring part. I was taught that the greater the truth the greater the libel and, accordingly, I could be up for millions which, sadly, I don't have. Dammit, that also means I can't afford to hire lawyers to sue myself.

There I was, with Hanover boss Mark Hotchin having just such a billboard, parked by Hell's Pizza, outside his house in Auckland's Paritai Drive. What with Hanover issuing cease and desist notices last week, I thought I saw an angle.

Its top chaps may have their pride about being linked with a pizza name, but in my case, it turns out, legal umbrage costs too much.

Yes, I'm greedy. Greedy, greedy, greedy. Name a pizza after me and I'd be flattered. I'm a person who all their life has asked for more and devoured it, and I have the blubber to prove it. I like my pizzas thin, crisp, thick with mozzarella, oozing with pepperoni and mushrooms, by the way, and I can knock a large one of those off quite unaided – if not Hell's variety, since they cut back on their toppings.

I'm greedy for whatever tastes good and won't break my fillings. Roast chicken skin is the best part as far as I'm concerned, lamb chops are good, and everything, as everyone knows, is improved by butter. You should see me go on a gratin of spud layered with cream and butter, baked slowly till golden with a hint of nutmeg and garlic.

Poetry in motion.

I adore cake, and whipped cream. I've been known to knock off a block of chocolate unaided and not dream of apologising. I can take whatever pavlova's going, Turkish Delight perfumed with rose petals, and all chocolates apart from the coffee flavoured.

I've never seen the point in having one of anything when two will do, especially helpings of successful pasta dishes. Try telling me that steak isn't improved by a luscious bearnaise sauce and crisp, salty chips and I'll laugh at you. Did I say two? What's wrong with three – or the whole packet?

I'll put a word in here for mayonnaise, for creamy blue cheese and crisp French bread; for pancakes with butter and maple syrup; for roasted nuts; and fresh croissants still warm from the oven; for Bluff oysters deep fried in tempura batter; for warm fruit puddings and real custard, thick with eggs and cream; for creme caramel. Dietitians, with their miserable calorie calculators and vile recipes, can park outside all they like but they're not welcome at my place. Celery is off-limits.

Trouble inevitably follows, I want to point out on Mr Hotchin's behalf, when people mistake greed for necessity. I know I don't need to eat delicious things that are bad for me, for example, but when they're in front of me I find they're a necessity, and such is surely the case with Mr Hotchin's very necessary home, the source of much misunderstanding.

We all need somewhere to live, and some people find palaces a necessity. That's the difference between them and us, and indeed between Mr Hotchin and myself. But such a need is not greedy, surely. It is the mark of the superior individual.

I drove once along Paritai Dr, scene of the Hell's Pizza outrage. It is so ugly, so relentlessly vulgar, that it must be a sacrifice to live there. I note that it's said to be declining in popularity among the seriously rich, so good on Mr Hotchin for standing up for tradition, however much it may pain him to do so.

The ostentatiousness of the houses there might be depressing for us outsiders, even funny if they were not quite so hideous, but let's be fair to the people there: it's what they need to feel good about themselves, and it's uncharitable to call that greed. I prefer to call it fiscal psychotherapy, and if spending $30 million on his palace helps Mr Hotchin to feel better, I think it's money well spent.

He owns a few other properties, of course: a $5.3m bach in Parnell, a reportedly $13.85m shack on Waiheke, and a hovel in Remuera valued at a mere $890,000. But let us draw a veil over such obvious insecurity. He's had a bad week.

There is the matter – I take your point – of 13,000 angry Hanover investors being owed more than $500m by the company, but that is distinct from either greed or need. That is what we call debt, and I feel I hardly need to go into that.

rosemary.mcleod@star-times.co.nz

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