A helping hand for a troubled leader — poor old Charlie

I didn't recognise him at first. Only when he removed the fiery red toupee did the shining dome give the game away.

"Good grief! It’s Charlie Luxton, isn’t it?"

"Christopher, actually."

"Oh, sorry. Somehow, I always think of you as a Charlie. But what brings you to Patearoa? And why the crazy wig?"

"I’m here because I need your help. And the disguise? I’m a famous person, you know, and I don’t want to be mobbed every time I walk down the street."

"I don’t think the locals would give you a second glance. They prefer to avoid politicians and, anyway, no-one’s been mobbed here since 1897."

"1897? What happened then?"

"Well, the whole town turned up to chuck Barney O’Brien in the river after he was caught cheating at cards. I presume you’re not here to play cards."

"No. I want your advice. John Key, Jacinda and all that crowd say you’ve helped them."

"That’s true. Told Key to drop the flag business. He didn’t and look at him now. A forgotten man. I advised Jacinda to have a child and look at how she topped the polls after that. I’ll have a go for you as well. After all, helping lame dogs over stiles is what we do in the country. What’s your specific problem?"

"I want to be more that just a common prime minister. Anyone can do that. Look at Hopkins."

"Hipkins, I think."

"Is it? I can never remember. No, the thing is I want to be a statesman on the world stage. Not like that buffoon Peters, but more the Winston Churchill type."

"Not sure that I can help there. Not much to work with, really."

"You don’t know that. It’s actually getting on the world stage that’s the problem. The air force haven’t got planes that are able to get me anywhere on time, if ever. And, of course, when we’re sacking half the civil service is not a good time to be buying a flash new prime ministerial aircraft. Even a small one could set us back $500million."

"Good point. Especially when the new Dunedin hospital would be a better spend and might even get you a few Dunedin votes in 2026."

"Exactly. Just imagine the Luxton Wing for urgent hip replacements. Thousands of votes in that."

"Spoken like a true statesman."

"Not really. It’s international recognition I need. Not gratitude from oldies in South Dunedin. I need to be at conferences, summits, high level meetings, one-on-ones with the great leaders. But, damn it, there is no way of getting there unless I fly Air New Zealand. I get ex-staff cheap fares, you know. It would have to be Qantas to some places and arriving on Qantas would be worse than not turning up at all. What am I to do? Can you help me, Jim? There’s a gong in it for you."

"You misjudge me, prime minister. Gongs mean nothing. I want to serve my country and putting your mind at rest is how I best can do it."

"How?"

"By explaining that those international symposia you want to speak at and all the groaning troughs at which you want to feed mean nothing. The presence of New Zealand’s prime minister at any overseas function is a non-event. So, you get a picture taken shaking hands with Biden, but ten minutes later he’s asking his aide, ‘who was that bald guy?’. Maybe Peter Fraser and Norman Kirk raised a blip on the statesmanship radar but that’s long ago. They were Labour men, you may recall?"

"Before my time, but I suppose you know what you’re talking about. But what about Jacinda? On the cover of Time, in Fortune’s list of the 50 most powerful leaders and even has insects named after her. Why not me?’

"Well, I’m pretty sure we could find an insect needing a name. There’s a beetle just been discovered. How does Mecodema luxtonia sound to you?"

"It’s a start, I guess."

"Those other accolades would need a bit of work. Having a child while prime minister? I’m not sure you’re up to it."

"Just get me airborne and I’ll show you."

"No, prime minister. Your job is solving the problems facing New Zealand. How about, ‘The Man Who Sorted Out The Treaty Claims’?"

"Too hard."

"Then here’s my advice. Only a couple of years to go and you can ease out of politics. Need to spend more time with the family, that sort of stuff."

"Well, the family never sees me and they haven’t complained."

"Perhaps you could clean up the health, housing and education shambles, grab a knighthood and retire to a modest mansion in Hawaii or somewhere similar."

"Gee, you think I could?"

"Not really, apart from the retiring to Hawaii bit. Anyway, good luck, Charlie!"

■ Jim Sullivan is a Patearoa writer.