KEY POINTS:
Bill Hohepa texted my husband: "Interesting photo of Deborah in Truth this week."
I admitted to concern. As I age, I find myself forgetting things, like my handbag in restaurants or, when filling in medical questionnaires, how many glasses of wine I drink each week.
Was I really the police officer who'd shot Stephen Bellingham in Christchurch? If so, I hoped I'd also shot the English referee, Wayne Barnes, who's still defending the indefensible, plus all motorists who don't use their indicators.
Or maybe, given Truth's predilection with scantily-clad women, Richard Griffin had finally sold that photo he keeps threatening to blackmail me with, the one I reckon doesn't exist, but which Peter Bush says he snapped early one morning 30 years ago when I emerged from my children's bedroom in Martinborough. "Stark naked with the light behind you, waist-length hair, and nipper on the hip," as Bushy so mischievously describes it. What, I wondered, have Truth readers done to deserve such punishment?
So I sent husband off to buy a copy. Sure enough, yours truly featured as "public hypocrisy" on the gossip pages; with photo occupying more than my fair share of column inches, perhaps because I'm marginally more attractive than National MP Wayne Mapp. To warrant such attention, surely I've committed a hanging offence?
Truth's reporter, too shy to give his real name so I'll call him Jock, accused me of nepotism and incest. A few weeks back I "really took the biscuit" in this very column for praising a Close Up item without - shock horror - admitting "her daughter is one of the senior producers on the show". As far as media ethics go, Truth thundered, Coddington had "completely thrown the rule book out the window".
This is pretty amusing, coming from a publication that, in the very same issue, published the name of the police officer who shot Bellingham because, as reporter Jock Anderson said on radio, "we could". Rule books out the window? Hey Mr Pot, Mr Kettle called and he wants his double standards back.
But being called a hypocrite and a rule breaker by Truth is a bit like being accused of lacking parenting skills by Britney Spears. The reason I didn't disclose my genetic connection to Close Up was because my daughter wasn't responsible for the particular item I praised - Nicky Grant, whom I did name, was the star. But hey, I'm happy to skite about my children, if that's what Truth, the arbiter of good journalism, demands. In a country where child abuse is rampant, where parents don't care about their children's health and fill them up with junk food, I think we should encourage parental boast-a-thons.
I cringe when I hear parents hurl words like "stupid" and "piece of shit" or even worse, "I wish you'd never been born" at their kids.
So let me say, I think my children are smarter, better looking, more loveable, and cleverer than anyone else in the world. My eldest is indeed a senior producer on Close Up, works like a navvy and looks like a supermodel. My son's a copywriter for Leo Burnett agency in Sydney, creating terrific ads and earning more than anyone else in the family. My second daughter's clambering over buildings, riding the Paris Metro and the London Underground, filming and editing videos for a London production company. My baby's a talented artist and musician, in her final year at Elam, has just joined a group signed to Lil' Chief Records, playing at the Big Day Out and touring America next year.
And if that's not enough, I also have four fabulous stepsons, and five gorgeous little step grandchildren.
Barfing yet? In this country it's just not done to speak of our offspring's merits. We pore over the Rich List every year; prostrate ourselves before sportspeople, captains of industry and celebrities, but we hide our best lights - our beautiful children - under the nearest bushel because mothers, especially, are considered lightweight.
If it's domestic stuff, then it's boring. If our younger generation make the news it's usually because they drink too much, commit crimes, have no manners or terrorise neighbourhoods in modified cars.
I'm guilty as charged by Truth in that I didn't state my daughter works for Close Up, but not because I misled my readers, as "Jock" implies. I'm no hypocrite and I'm certainly not incestuous, but I suggest whoever writes the gossip columns in Truth looks up the meaning of those words. And while he's got the dictionary in his hand, look up the meanings of nepotism, conflict of interest, and truth. Just like hotels which call themselves "The Grand", Truth, of course, is anything but, and I'm reliably informed it's published out of a glasshouse somewhere in Auckland.
