Willy Trolove: Same old bed but some strange new bedfellows

We are living next door to Helen. My fiancee and I have moved to Thorndon in Wellington. Thorndon hosts the Government, or whatever it is you call the present arrangement of political parties that purports to represent our interests.

And, like the Government, Thorndon is split in two. The urban motorway scythes through its heart.

To the east of the motorway, Thorndon is bordered by the port. There is a railway station, the central Post Office, a fistful of high commissions and embassies, and the greatest concentration of bureaucrats and politicians in the land.

To the west, Thorndon nestles under the hill. It is a throng of wooden cottages and villas, jammed against each other like kitchen utensils in a bench-top jar. All except, that is, for Helen's place, Premier House, a shambling, rambling spread in a leafy garden as green as envy.

Our flat is next door, between Helen and the shops on Tinakori Rd, a thrown stone from the botanical gardens and the protesters of the Falun Gong, relentlessly meditating outside the Chinese Embassy in search of truthfulness, benevolence and something called forbearance.

We've been forbearing lately. When we moved in we bought a new bed, and like all things - good and bad - our bed had to come from Auckland.

While we waited for it to arrive, we lay bedless on cushions and foam things that claim to be mattresses.

And while we lay, fitfully, next door to Helen, I got to thinking about beds and the Government she was forming.

In a sleep-deprived delirium, with an aching back, a stiff neck, and limbs numbed by the unfeeling proximity of the floor, it struck me that beds and governments have much in common.

We don't notice a good bed. Like a good government, it does its job quietly, competently and without fanfare.

It is there when you are sick. It provides comfort and support, but it is not so comfortable that it discourages you from getting up and doing a good day's work when you are well.

A good bed, like a good government, doesn't keep you awake at night. We never give it credit for the healthy lifestyle it helps us to live. We never acknowledge its role in getting us to where we are today.

We're happy to live with a good bed, just as we're happy with a good government. We overlook its occasional faults.

We stick with it even when it's a bit tired and tatty. We prefer an old bed, the springs of which are bent into a familiar shape, than a shiny new bed whose promises are untested.

But once the bed goes bad, we grumble. A bad bed, like a bad government, affects our every waking moment. We complain to friends. We whinge to colleagues. We make dark comments over pints of beer and glasses of wine.

We blame our bad bed for all sorts of things that it can't possibly be responsible for.

And a bad bed, like a bad government, disturbs our sleep. It wears us down and tires us out. It prevents us from achieving all we would like to achieve.

I've known several governments. The Muldoon Government was a waterbed. It was designed to cocoon the nation and protect it from the discomforts of the world.

It was good for a while, but as it aged it swelled beyond its proper size, and when it ruptured, the nation nearly drowned.

The Governments that followed were drier. They were futons, hard and austere. The nation had to get out of bed early in the morning to earn a living, and there was no point providing more comfort than was absolutely necessary.

Then, in 1999, the nation threw out the futon and got an innerspring bed. It was a bed for MMP, a bed designed to reduce partner disturbance, a bed fit for Goldilocks - not too hard and not too soft.

Six years on, the nation has the same bed. The base has lasted well but we've been through a couple of mattresses.

Helen has just thrown out the last mattress and put a new one on the old base. She needs it to accommodate her strange new bedfellows and, thankfully, it's designed to prevent partner roll-together.

Winston will sleep on the right hand side of the bed. Jim will take the left. Peter will snuggle up to whoever has the most bedclothes. And, as he has done for the past six years, Michael will keep stuffing money under the mattress.

Helen won't sleep very well, but as the old saying goes, those who make their beds get to lie in them. And, as we all know, some of our politicians are better at lying than others.

Oh yes. We're living next door to Helen, and it's going to be fun.