Carroll du Chateau: Down-to-earth Don's vulnerabilities drag him down

Eight years ago, long before Don Brash was leader of the National Party, I trailed him on an economic roadshow for the Reserve Bank.

Then-Herald Business editor, Rod Oram, was amazed our Reserve Bank governor made his own arrangements, drove his own rental car, did his own sound checks.

He was more incredulous when he heard Brash also washed his socks in the motel handbasin, gleefully presented the "free glass of wine" voucher at dinner and drove two blocks back to the motel to retrieve a bag of cherries which we lunched on (with a packet of ginger gems and a pie) while driving through Arthurs Pass to Christchurch.

Brash also threw himself into every one of the 23 addresses he gave to the people of the south.

That is what Brash is like. Down to earth, bordering on mean with money, trusting to the point of recklessness, and with a passion to turn New Zealand into the prosperous, classy country it once was.

Whenever possible he tells the truth rather than taking the pragmatic line. He was brought up a dutiful son. As soon as we arrived in Christchurch he took off to visit his widowed father Alan, a moderator of the Presbyterian Church who, with his wife, Eljean, is undoubtedly responsible for his son's appetite for truth, hard work - and probably his hang-ups.

On the last night I was there Brash, his press secretary Lisa Weekes and I had dinner together. Brash proved excellent company.

Over the steak we talked about his brushes with politics, his shock when then-Prime Minister, Rob Muldoon, raised the harbour bridge toll by 25 per cent during his run-up to the 1980 East Coast Bays by-election. He lost to Social Credit's Gary Knapp and lost the possibility of a third attempt.

He was fun to talk with, listened carefully to my theories (more in line with Jim Anderton's) on reviving the provinces, laughed a lot, flirted enough to make it interesting.

Mostly we talked about our lives, loves and disappointments.

Brash was breathtakingly revealing. He talked about the pain caused by the breakup of his marriage to Erica - "the toughest thing in my life" - the hurt of his older children, how seriously he took the responsibility of his second marriage to Je Lan and their son Thomas, then 5.

As we both said, we would never put ourselves, or our families, through that sort of thing again.

I came away from that evening with a fondness for this clever, slightly geeky man - and a deep sense of his vulnerabilities.

The thirst for integrity, that goes back to his Presbyterian roots, makes him vulnerable in the political arena. His yearning for excitement and understanding puts him at risk in affairs of the heart, and his naivety and weakness for a pretty face could make him vulnerable to women.

He likes attention, enjoys being teased. When I wrote later that his suit trousers were slightly too short he responded with a warm phone call - and a trip to the tailor.

In answer to the jibe he was seriously mingy with the Reserve Bank expense account, justifying the cost of our dinner by referring to the free wine, he (as distinct from the Reserve Bank) took me to lunch at Harbourside in Auckland - and hardly winced at the cost. But that's Brash.

Four years later, after Brash has moved up, then down, then up again in the political polls, those same vulnerabilities keep dragging him down.

Every six months we meet for coffee and I admire his drive to head back into the bear pit of Parliament and remind him to watch his back.

As someone who admires his passion for this country, his deep belief in being good, and his so-human inability to stick to his own rules, I hope he chooses his confidantes wisely.