By Peter Calder
I would not for the world wish to cause any trouble. The area around the Aotea Centre is too thick with unsmiling men in grey suits with their hands clasped in front of them for me to even consider the idea.
But I was wondering about the manhole covers.
And the fire plugs. And the myriad other little metal lids that dot the inner-city pavements.
They are the doorways to another world, where subterranean networks of service reticulation snake beneath the streets of the city. And, to stop people putting you-know-whats inside, they're taped shut.
Well, some of them are. Over the weekend they appeared, big black butterfly-shaped patches of rubber over the manholes and fireplugs, and on the smaller lids little white flecks of tape bearing the legend "Do not remove."
To the average New Zealander, who has a healthy contempt for authority, that was bound to sound like a challenge. And it's one that plenty of people seem to be accepting. Monday, the streets were lousy with the little white stickers. Yesterday, in Albert St, within centimetres of where President Bill Clinton's limousine wheels will roll, there was scarcely one to be seen.
The rubber butterflies, which have less potential as a fashion accessory and look like they would make your fingers black if you touched them, are still there. Or rather here and there. But certainly not everywhere.
Plenty of hydrants, gas meters and other little lids remain unsealed. I know because I looked, closely, wondering all the while whether I would be asked by a cop to turn out my pockets and prove I wasn't carrying a "Do not remove" sticker.
The cops at the epicentre take their jobs (and themselves) pretty seriously. I took a wrong turning in the lobby of the Carlton yesterday and a man with very short hair seemed to expand before me, his torso swelling like the Incredible Hulk's just before the short buttons start popping.
Out on the street, the bobbies in blue are a lot more laid back, yawning and joking with passersby about how bored they are.
It all seems pretty relaxed - and that's what worries me. A workmate who finished late drove past a downtown hotel with a plod of policemen on the footpath with her headlights off. None of them turned a hair.
A friend from Nelson - an ex-Aucklander who's looking forward to going home - remarked that the police, most of them imports from points south, are bringing their casual country ways to town. Aucklanders are jaywalking and riding their bikes on the footpath with impunity while the cops stand around yawning.
If something nasty pops up from a fire hydrant, they might not be so bored. And they won't be able to say I didn't warn them.
By Peter Calder
I would not for the world wish to cause any trouble. The area around the Aotea Centre is too thick with unsmiling men in grey suits with their hands clasped in front of them for me to even consider the idea.
But I was wondering about the manhole covers.
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