KEY POINTS:
It all started when the voting papers arrived.
"These aren't mine," I said to Irihapeti. "They're Uncle Norm's!!!" And they were. It was his name on them. So, in addition to all their other blunders - papers going to the wrong area, papers with smudged photos (you'd think that would help most candidates) and even double sets of papers for some - the clever folk at election HQ had made the ultimate ballot box bungle!
"Blast!" I said, spilling my Fair Trade Chai latte on the flokati rug, "I'll have to drop these off!"
"You could fill them out for him," said Irihapeti, who's been running an ethics course for the police lately and therefore understands such matters. "You know he'll make the wrong choice - from a progressive perspective"
"Yes, but if he finds out, he'll change the will and we'll never get the bach," I replied. "No. I'd better go - and get another three-hour lecture from that reactionary old "mono-cultural, chauvinist patriarch?" said Irihapeti, helpfully finishing my sentence, as she often did.
"Something like that, "I grumbled, heading out the door."
Norm was in the shed, of course, as he always is (much to Aunty Edith's relief) fiddling with an old kerosene lamp "for me air raid shelter - when that b@%&y volcano blows up again!"
Needless to say, he wasn't pleased to see me. "Hullo, Keystone!" he sniffed as I entered his dusty empire. "I didn't know you'd joined the police force."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, it's taken you long enough to find me!"
Honestly, the man is utterly insensitive! "Be fair, Norm," I insisted. "You can't expect highly-trained detectives to think of everything"
"You can't expect them to think of anything!!!" he hooted. "Pity that martial arts joker didn't leave Clint Rickard in Melbourne. He'd have done us all a favour."
Norm gave me a look that would have curdled milk - which Irihapeti says we're not drinking any more "now the corporate conspiracy to conceal its health risks has been exposed". I didn't tell him that. It would only have provoked further derision. "Look, Norm," I said, changing the subject, "there's been a mix-up with the council elections. Somehow, I got your voting papers."
"Keep the b@$&y things!" he protested. "I'd rather vote for John Howard than any of that lot!!!"
"Rubbish!" I snapped, "There may very well be a record number of New Zealanders leaving for Australia but that racist... what Hone said... isn't the reason!"
"No," he roared. "Lower wages, higher taxes and more b@$&y regulations than you could shake a stick at - they're the reasons! Hell, I'd go myself if I was 10 years younger." Whack! He delivered a ferocious blow with his hammer. "Especially now they're puttin' extra tax on m'petrol and power."
"But that's to stop global warming," I interrupted."We're all desperately worried about it. Everyone in Grey Lynn's absolutely terrified The Herald will come and ask them to reveal their biggest environmental sin! (see The Green Pages Mondays). You can't argue about global warming, Uncle Norm," I continued, suddenly emboldened. "The science is incontrovertible."
"Oh, really?" he scoffed, pointing to some fruit in a box. "Waddaya call them?"
"They're apples," I said.
"Well, next time you go to Oz, take some with you!"
"You know I can't do that, Uncle Norm. The Australians have imposed a totally unwarranted ban upon our magnificent Granny Smiths arguing, without justification I might add, that our fruit may carry fireblight."
"And you don't believe that?"
"Of course not. There's no scientific basis whatsoever for their ridiculous claim"
"Ah ha!!!" the old curmudgeon roared, "so science can be wrong? Maybe even crooked?"
"Not our science."
"Oh, I see. So we only believe the science that suits. Not their science. Our) science. Waddaya think about those French scientists who've proved food miles are a huuuuge problem? Pretty handy for the French farmers, wouldn't you say? Strewth, if we were really smart we'd get a few tame boffins of our own and start fighting fireblight with fireblight, if you get m'drift."
"Look, Norm," I said firmly. "We should all be driving electric cars - like the people in Hollywood. But if we don't, then four cents a litre on petrol is a small price to pay for saving the planet."
"The planet's been saving itself for four billion years, son." he snapped. "It doesn't need us!"
"But it does need our carbon credits," I insisted.
"You're joking," he bellowed. "Carbon credits are just the papal indulgences of a new religion. A way to keep sinning and still feel virtuous. They're not worth a Kyoto rat's ar ... "
"Who told you about papal indulgences?" I demanded, convinced Norm knew nothing about this corrupt feature of medieval theocracy.
"The extinguished poet laureate, Mr Jam Hipkins, told me all about them last time he was here," Norm replied.
"Well, that's it," I snapped. "If you're going waste time with the imaginary creations of deranged minds, then I'm leaving! Now!!!" And I did.