Jim Hopkins: The Earth moved for me, too - right over the precipice

Blimey. What a fraught and frightening week. Nowhere near as bad as the chaos in Tauranga but close enough to make your heart ache even more than it would normally when you see the pictures on the news.

Because the Earth's been moving here, too. Not the whole section, mercifully, but a good part of it. Gone. Plunged. Quicker than the dollar in a foot and mouth scare.

And not because of the weather, either, although the incessant drizzle of the past 24 hours hasn't helped. On the contrary. It's sent more sodden stuff over the edge and down the precipice - seven sheer metres, give or take a bit of top soil. Which it has.

It's a work in progress is the precipice. An excavation, as they say, undertaken for the purpose of erecting a dwelling or similar complying structure. Whether said purpose was being pursued in a fully authorised fashion is now something that will be decided by the kinds of people who borrow heaps of money so they can spend four years studying arcane torts and statutes in places like Margaret Wilson's old alma mater.

It's all in the lap of the dogs, in other words.

So there's no point litigating matters here. Suffice to say, until recently, the Little Yellow Digger at the bottom of the precipice was happily chugging away, chomping great bucketfuls of soil and generally doing what Little Yellow Diggers do best, namely, excavating very quickly what 50 sullen inmates from the long-demolished jail would've excavated very slowly a mere 100 years ago.

That's progress, you see. If this was then, the collapse wouldn't have happened until next month.

But it isn't then and it has happened and that's flat. Since the moment when the destabilised retaining wall and its precious cargo of convolvulus, fathen and indigenous native soil went hurtling down the hill there's been a steady stream of geologists and engineers and building inspectors and such coming up and staring at the hole and saying, "Hmmm. Not good, is it?"

Sometimes they add encouraging things like, "I don't think the house will go ... [unfortunately, it's very close to the bit that's slipped] unless we get really heavy rain".

Then they go away and apply themselves to devising "short-term remedial measures". And, happily, things are about to start moving.

Unhappily, last night, the slip did, too. Or more of it, anyway. So there was much squelching about in the glutinous clay and the shining of feeble torches in the drizzling dark and lots of sinister slithering sounds as more soil slipped away beneath the sheets of black plastic that have been draped over the face "to keep the water off as best you can".

Anyway, it's now 3am and since sleep's impossible some distraction seemed like a good idea. Like writing a column. Great idea. Mind you, it may yet start doing

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But not so far, thank goodness. The only problem at this point is focusing on the wider issues, things like the Budget. Which won't have come a moment too soon from the Gummint's point of view. Things haven't gone very well for the Administration recently, what with all those stories about the PM kicking a man when he's Doone and Mr Bunsen-Pipe allegedly treating pupils like ball boys at Wimbledon.

Not to mention the 111 fiasco. So we won't.

Let's just say it's all gone a bit shape au pear. This week, there have been banner headlines claiming "The Government is in disarray".

"Not so," says hapless Helen. "Some ministers may have gone dis array and some ministers may have gone dat array but we are not in disarray."

(Hip, hip, hooray, cheer the nervous backbenchers.)

Who, predictably, will also have been cheering madly during the presentation of the great financial lolly scramble. Not that you'll have experienced many Budget surprises. Over recent weeks we've had more leaks than you'd expect from Dover Samuels in a hotel corridor.

Drip, drip, drip, they've gone (just like the rain). Drip, drip, drip ... $78 million over five years here, $93 million for something else there, more of this, more of that, and wasn't there something about a new retaining wall retention subsidy?

Yet, if the Harold was correct, there was one "dark secret" that the Budget's bright sparks kept up their sleeves.

That was the one about "bracket creep". Please don't be alarmed. "Bracket creep" might sound like a disciplinary measure at Bayfield High School but it's actually about people getting higher pay and, therefore, paying higher taxes. Or something like that.

Anyway, the pre-Budget word was that the creep's going to go. The 39c threshold would be raised and we'd have tax cuts for one and all. But here's a prediction, obviously made in advance of Dr Cullen's announcement.

The threshold won't be raised this year. That's the prediction. Instead, the Budget will announce that it's going to be raised (whoopee!) next year.

For the simple reason that politicians hate tax cuts. They give them less money to bribe people with. So the purpose of the exercise isn't to provide a tax cut, but rather to provide a headline saying "Tax cuts will be provided".

That way, everybody's happy. It's a win-win sitcherashun. And will be hailed as the best possible way to stop New Zillun slipping further behind.

Which would, without a doubt, be even worse than slipping below ...