Brian Rudman: Dancing with the ghost of Muldoon

During the Muldoon years, Auckland summer holidays used to kick off with the Auckland Choral Society's traditional town hall Messiah before Christmas, and end a month later with the great leader playing his version of the same show at the Orewa Rotary Club.

It was a production that ran for 24 years with only one break, when Sir Robert was laid low by heart surgery.

Tomorrow night, his successor, four or five removed, as National Party leader, Dr Don Brash, attempts to perpetuate the tradition. Which is rather sad. You would have thought Dr Brash could have come up with a turangawaewae of his own on which to make his stand.

But even if he does need to borrow someone else's special place, why, of all venues, does he feel the need to steal Sir Robert's?

Surely Sir Robert's shadow is the last thing Dr Brash should be seeking to disturb. After all, who needs reminding that your former party leader so disliked you that he deliberately sabotaged your first bid to win a seat in Parliament.

Perhaps Dr Brash is into pain. If so, he must be counting down the minutes to tomorrow night, when he'll have to squirm through the introductory praise of his nemesis.

Sir Robert, it was, who on hearing his party's East Coast Bays electorate had selected New Right flat-taxer Don Brash to contest the 1980 byelection, snarled "You know my view of economists, it hasn't changed." To rub it in, mid-campaign Sir Robert announced a 25 per cent increase in the hated harbour bridge tolls. The result: Dr Brash lost the National seat to a Social Creditor and has never won an election since, unless you except the caucus vote that gave him his present high office.

The Muldoons' holiday retreat was a modest two-roomed, no-view-of-the-sea bach at Hatfields Beach, north of Orewa. They held court there over the media silly season. It was a time when the Prime Minister, saying he was planning to do nothing but relax, hit the front pages.

I recall the annual traipses north as an Auckland Star sleuth, trying to make my scoop of prime ministerial holiday musings more riveting than my Herald rival's.

Why Mrs Muldoon was sent to the bedroom, the only other room in the house, while the serious stuff took place, I have no idea.

We'd all heard his thoughts on the economy/unionists/communists/academics/Labour Party a hundred times before. Though admittedly, the bare legs and floral shirt were a novelty.

I rashly tried small talk once, suggesting it would be a good time for a little gardening as I scrambled past a ponga frond perilously poking through the wooden front steps. Silly boy. Luckily I had a photographer to hide behind.

Later in the month came the state-of-the-nation speech, which was Muldoon's way of summoning the world back to work. In his years of power, it was a time to announce directions. In the bitter final years, it became a time to score points. In his last, in 1992, he slagged his party's cabinet as "incompetent," predicting even safe National seats would be under threat in the next election.

Presciently, in 1987 he predicted the great stockmarket crash that struck 10 months later. Referring to the "speculative mania" sweeping the markets he advised speculators to at least cash up half their shares, so that when the downturn inevitably came, they'd have some seed money to restart their lives.

Constants were the posy of flowers for Mrs Muldoon, the oppressive heat and the ritual digs at the media, packed in behind the 200 paying diners and observers.

With Muldoon after a quarter of a century, the event became the message. It was Rob checking-in with his mob.

For Dr Brash, Orewa is just a venue to deliver a speech. Not that the Orewa Rotarians seem put out. They've sold out the 155 tickets and regained the limelight.

They should savour it while they can. With an election looming, who knows who will be leader of the National Party next January and whether he or she will want to call Orewa home.