Wendyl Nissen: Say it isn't so

I've always always been a great one for sayings. Something pithy, controversial, thought-provoking. Food for thought. A few words that inspire an action, help you through a tough time, instruct a course of action.

My favourite one at present is "just bring the crayfish". I absolutely love saying "just bring the crayfish" to people who I find lacking in their ability to deliver.

The problem is that, for the person not delivering to understand what I'm going on about, I need to explain where I heard it from. And by the time I've finished the story they could have delivered that thing I was moaning about not getting.

"Just bring the crayfish" has its origins in Rotorua, where actor Temuera Morrison first heard it in the pub. One of his koro was talking to a young guy who promised, after a chat, that tomorrow he would come back and bring him a crayfish.

After the young guy left, Tem's koro turned to him and said: "Don't ever do that".

"Don't do what?" said Tem.

"Don't say you're going to bring the crayfish. Now we have a whole expectation and he has to get the crayfish, whether he really wants to or not, and I have to be around to receive it when he brings it to me. Don't say you're going to do something. Just bring the crayfish."

I have my husband to thank for finding me this saying because he helped Tem with his autobiography, From Haka to Hollywood, and it was one of the first stories he told me after working with Tem on their first weekend of interviews.

So, now I have taken it as my own and will simply turn around to anyone who seems unable to deliver and blurt out, "Just bring the f-ing crayfish."

The "f-ing" is my little twist.

I also like a good mantra as long is it doesn't involve making up a word such as "Garrrarrnoonda" and saying it over and over to myself 100 times a day. My favourite mantra at present is to say to myself, "What would [fill in the gap with someone I recently met who is inspirational] do?"

Not so long ago, my husband was writing a biography (again) of a man called Willie Apiata, an SAS officer. It was an assignment shrouded in secrecy. One night when he was working on the book, I became convinced the SAS had bugged our house, obviously aware that I was a fanatical pacifist.

I woke up in the middle of the night and could hear an occasional beep, like an electronic listening device registering contact with base. I woke my husband.

"If they were wanting to listen to you discussing the diet of the hens and how long it takes to roast the coffee beans I doubt they would signal that intention with a beeping sound," he grumbled. "It's 2am. Go back to sleep."

I stumbled about the house, determined to find the source, even if it meant ripping open walls. I was a journalist. I was trained in the art of covert surveillance. I would catch them out at their own game.

Twenty minutes later I found the beep generator. It was nestled behind the bookcase where it had fallen off the wall. A smoke alarm with a flat battery.

"What would Willie do?" my husband asked, as I climbed back into bed, mortified.

"I have no idea."

"He'd tell you to relax a little, sis," and with that he rolled over and began snoring louder than any smoke alarm beep could ever hope to compete with.

The next day I was out running. I used to do that in those days. I was finding it particularly hard and found myself asking myself: "What would Willie do?" And the answer came immediately. "He'd keep going, he'd make it over the next hill, he would Never Give Up!"

Months later I shared this tale of inspiration with the VC hero.

"You really helped my training, Willie," I said generously, sucking in my belly. Willie laughed.

"You know what? I would have just said you should have a rest."

"Great," I mumbled.

But what would a crayfish do?

- HERALD ON SUNDAY