It's Christmas - time to play agony aunt to the nation, says Fran O'Sullivan.
At this time of the year I finally get past my Christmas guilts and get down to answering the late flood of Season's Greetings (helped along by a glass or two of New Zealand's finest wines) ...
Extraordinarily enough, neither my email cache - nor the trusty postal box - are full of last-minute cards and messages. Instead, I have been inundated with what I can (at my very kindest) describe as agony-aunt requests from my "Fran Club".
The most urgent was a short note from Cabinet Minister Murray McCully. "Dear Fran," Murray asks, "what should I say to the yet-to-be-disclosed high-standing member of the Obama Administration who may have lunch with me (and several tens of members of the Auckland business community) on January 15?"
In reply: "Dear Murray, very little. I broke the 'open secret' of Hillary Clinton's visit months ago. Your quiet adoration and extreme sensitivity to the reading of all things Clinton has resulted in a major diplomatic triumph. It is unfortunate that many of New Zealand's finest womenfolk will be hanging out to see if the man who once described himself to me as potentially the 'first man to be married to the first female president of the US' will accompany your visitor.
"Your visitor will wow Kiwis (at least those of an intelligent persuasion) and you will have bested Winston (again) and cemented yourself as our most successful Foreign Minister."
Dear Fran: "I am a busy family man with a lot of home maintenance and upkeeps to worry about. I am concerned that my visual image is slipping. Yours, Bill English."
In reply: "Too late. Your extreme Chaplinesque waddle and hanging (out) shirts should have been corrected when you were a young lad. But your mother had higher ambitions for you. A good haircut will go a long way. But you would be hard pressed qualifying for disabled car parks (splayed feet notwithstanding). Stick to policy."
Dear Fran: "Yet again you have snubbed my long lunch in favour of fairer company. Aren't you a 'bloke'? What's wrong with the 'three Dicks'? Yours, Phil O'Reilly."
In reply: "Dear Phil, I have (humbly) taken notice of a recent Herald editorial which suggests 'women's choices and values may not be identical with those of men'.
"While I am having some difficulty swallowing the (male) editorial writer's wittering, that 'it may be wondered whether women's "work-life balance" is better than men's, and whether climbing a corporate ladder matters as much, and whether leading positions, once attained, are as satisfying', I am never short of an idea.
"In the spirit of good employment relations I would urge you, Phil, to simply put this notion to the test by inviting the membership of Business NZ to ask any leading males who are dissatisfied with their leading positions to simply vacate them for women. Not many takers? Surprising."
Dear Fran: "I'm a bit relaxed about (A, B, C, D ... X, Y and Z) actually - but don't worry yourself! Yours, John Key."
In reply: "That's precisely the problem, John. I thought about accepting your largesse (that bottle of the PM's finest pinot noir). But I haven't had time to reciprocate by buying you a bracing elixir to get you moving along the 'Right' direction. A card would have sufficed."
Dear Fran: "Why does the Herald on Sunday keep referring to me as 'Don Juan'? Yours, Don Brash.
In reply: "Oh, for God's sake, Don, if you will insist on displaying your abs to 'the Gluc's' photographer what do you expect? Get out of the Wharf and get a real rock star - like Jeremy Moon - to front your next 2025 report. You will be surprised at the reception."
Dear Fran: "I think I might have made a bad mistake by fronting the Hanover ads - How can I revive my career prospects? Regards, Richard Long."
In reply: "Richard, these opportunities to puff flagging companies only come along once in a lifetime - ask Ian Fraser."
Dear Fran: "Why do middle-aged women throw themselves at me? Rob Fyfe."
In reply: "Dear Rob, show more. Women will continue to be entranced or disappointed. Personally, I have always felt you made a very fetching picture when you put on your pinny to serve champers in business class - but there's no accounting for taste."
Dear Fran: "I do apologise for including you among the stable of "ranting Herald columnists" that I dissed recently. Why don't you return my calls? Regards, Simon Upton."
In reply: "Dear Simon, noted."
"Dear Fran, why do I do this? What is it about Susan Boyle and ladies' moustaches? Yours, Paul Henry."
In reply: "Dear Paul, I remember you as a pimply, pathetic young man with pretensions to be New Zealand's Michael Parkinson. You haven't changed, Fran."
