MONDAY Are the cameras rolling? Yes? OK.
Life ain't nothing but a funny, funny riddle. But the sun's coming up, I got cakes on the griddle, and I drank so much beer last night that what I need most right now is a great big piddle.
That feels better! Well, I think I'll sit a while and have some hot cakes for breakfast.
With golden syrup. Bacon. Sausages. Liver. The works.
But I go into the kitchen and there's a skinny white fullah eating all my kai.
It's Guyon Espiner from the TV show 3rd Degree. Kia ora, Guyon! He's trailing me around on the Labour leadership campaign trail. He came over to my whare in the weekend and lit up the barbecue and put on heaps of steak, and sausages, and chops, burnt everything to a crisp, and then sat down and scoffed the lot.
I don't know where he puts it.
But that's the thing about middle-class intellectuals. You can't trust them. You never know where you are with them. Look at my leadership rivals David Cunliffe and Grant Robertson. They're capable of anything.
Me, I'm a country boy. Straight-up. No messing about. Nothing middle-class about me, and there sure as hell ain't nothing intellectual, either.
TUESDAY Still rolling? Good.
Oh man, Guyon's just about eaten me out of house and home! It's got so bad that here I am sneaking out to the nearest KFC for a feed. But that's alright. It means I can spend time with the people.
I wind down the window, and say, "Hail to thee, blithe spirit! Greeting O surly bro, whose interests I wish to represent!"
He says, "What?"
I say, "I'll have a 12-pack of Fiery Wings and a Deluxe Quarter Pack."
He says, "Anything else?"
"Yes, there is something else, now you mention it," I tell him. "Something on my mind. Listen. It's like this. When I go round the regions of New Zealand, I struggle to find people at marae, workplaces, hotels, and RSAs, who say, 'Jonesy, the first vote of choice for us is Labour'. Yet their economic circumstances mean they should be Labour. Their dreams for their kids mean they should be Labour. So I ask, why are those people not naturally choosing the red waka?"
The youth says, "What?"
I say, "A BBQ Bacon Zinger, please."
Man, you guys must be making a movie! It's all good.
Well, so Cunliffe and Robertson have taken their campaign to Auckland. Typical. City slickers, blind to the ways of ordinary Kiwis in the backblocks.
Not me. I know my way around the smoko rooms of New Zealand. I'm going to one right now. I can tell it's a smoko room because even though it's outside, there's a lot of smoke.
It's so thick that I can only just make out someone's there.
I say, "Excuse me dropping in on you like this, but I can tell that you're a humble peasant, a working person, an ordinary Kiwi. We're cut from the same cloth, except I'm probably more of a dangerous proposition. Listen. Let me tell you something about myself. I'm the Jones boy. I'm Shane 'Country' Jones. I'm a streetfighter.
"But I'm also a lover man. I'm a hoochie coochie man. I'm a man.
"Furthermore, I'm a king bee buzzing around your hive, and I can buzz all night long. All day, too. D'you have a minute? I hope I'm not disturbing you? Because I need to tell you exactly who I am. I'm very interesting. I'm..."
"...Where was I? Oh, yes. Well, I'm a wildman. I'm the barbarian at the gate. I'm your worst nightmare. I'm...."
The smoke clears. It's Duncan Garner from the TV show 3rd Degree. He's on my front porch. He's barbecuing all of my kai, burning it to a crisp, and scoffing the lot.
I say to him, "Where's the cameras?"
He says, "What cameras?"
- © Fairfax NZ News