Te Radar: Isolation takes pain out of election campaign

Writing an accurate historical account of anything is like trying to corner a troop of drunken monkeys. Every time you think you have them all cornered, another one appears. Then, when you finally have them pinned down, someone accuses you of monkey abuse and you have to remove the pins and bandage their little paws.

It is as confusing as New Zealand First's current position in the polls.

I say this as an amateur historian days away from the opening of my show Hitori, the definitive history of Te Waipounamu, (or Te Waka a Maui, the South Island, or Terra Invercargillus, depending on whom you ask).

One of the stories I have included in the show currently has strong emotional resonance.

It concerns four men marooned on an island. After only five days of official election campaigning, I am highly envious of their predicament.

They were marooned on The Snares, an island group some distance past the middle of nowhere, not far from Act's current position in the polls.

There are almost as many versions of the events as there are accounts of Mark Blumsky's evening out.

One version says the men were convicts escaping from the Australian Penal Colony, who were discovered stowed away on a sealing ship.

As they were well out to sea, the crew initiated a "work for your stay" scheme, until it was discovered that with four extra mouths to feed there was too little food to last.

It was suggested to the men that they alight at The Snares to kill and skin seals until the ship returned. Like the humble voter, they had no choice but to accept the promise and hope for the best.

And so they stood on the shore, as forlorn and desperate as Labour Party election strategists, and watched the ship sail off to the distant blue horizon.

They were soon surrounded by the stench of dead seals, as fetid as the promises bandied about in election one-upmanship.

Their days were filled with tedium as they spent their time scanning the horizon with all the angst of the lowly ranked list candidate perusing the polls for the merest hint of salvation.

Like election campaigners, they no doubt regaled one another with amusing anecdotes about their days, all of which focused on what they considered the contemptibly stupid bounty they were harvesting, or in the sealers' case, the seals.

And there they remained for seven years, until a ship happened past. The crew were clearly surprised by three ragged and hairy men leaping from the bush like demented members of the Green caucus.

The fourth man, it seems, disappeared the way of Act; he went mad and was thrown over a cliff for the safety of everyone involved.

On the bright side, at least the castaways hadn't been stuck in Australia. A cheap shot, I know, but it is election season and it seems de rigueur.