KEY POINTS:
Here's a thought. Let's make Eric King-Turner our next Governor-General. No, sod it! Let's make him Governor-General now!
He'd be terrific! 102. Right name. Sharp as a tack. Obvious connections with the old country. Kiwi wife. And he's chosen to be here. He's not getting out, he's moving in!!!
That's gotta send a Can Do message to all those little graffitiwits in da hoodies. With Eric in da House we could say to them, "Hey, don't be a tagger. Be a Tigger!! Like the Guvna-Genral. He's cooooooooool!!!
"And you could be too - if you stay at school till you're 81!!!"
Okay, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "We've already got a Governor-General ...
" ... haven't we?"
Hey, no worries. Not a problem. It's all hunky dory. We just ring the chap who's doing the job now, you know ... ummm ... the unforgettable one, and tell him the plan. He wouldn't mind. Not if we're nice.
We could say, "Look, Mr ... ummmm ... forgettable, please don't take this the wrong way. You've been an absolutely spiffing G-G, old horse. Quite the best we've got. Great with ribbons! Fantastic on the scissors! And the gardens looking lovely too! We've got no complaints at all. [Pause]
"But we'd like you to go away ...
" ... just for a while. Have a sabbatical. Become a roving ambassador. Go and tell Kevin Rudd we're sorry too. About everything. And Hone Harawira. Tell him we didn't mean to send so many people over there. It just sort of happened.
"Alternatively, you could go to the Virgin Islands and hang out with Dickie Branson - Sir Dickie Branson. Or Brian Donnelly. You choose. It's not a punishment. You'll be like that Housing Corp joker in the slammer. The job'll still be here when you get out ... errr, back!"
Then, once we've got that sorted, we can bring Eric off the bench, give him a quick course in Vice-Regalism, perhaps down in Invercargill, at Tim's polytech now it's scored some extra dosh, and let him get on with it.
Take the helm. Steer the ship of state. Sign things. Greet overseas visitors. You can imagine him shaking hands with old Republican Johnny and saying, mischievously, "Ahhh, McCain, you've won it again!!"
Or introducing Mr Obama to the single soldier in his Guard of Honour with a quip like, "This is our Army, Barack."
Because Eric seems to be that kind of bloke. A bit Jack the Dad, shall we say. Puckish. Impish. And therefore the most perfect role model you could wish to have in the top job Downunder.
On Wednesday, when the jackals of the media were quizzing him (surprise, surprise) about the secret of his longevity, our Eric (cos he is ours now and we're both the better for it) simply smiled puckishly and said it was all down to "the good things in life". Things like "animal fats, butter, sugar and salt", not to mention regular tipples and, for all we know, a big cigar before breakfast and a bit of how's your father after Bingo.
Ahhhhh, what a splendid antidote Eric would be to the lemon-lipped wowsery that dominates our public life; the ASHen impulse - finger-wagging, tut-tutting, censorial and officious - to ban, prohibit, forbid, deny, proscribe, restrict or regulate that seems so intractably ingrained in the sanctimonious ranks of our badgering battalions.
If only as a contrast to such wittering disapproval, Eric would be a great Governor-General. A bit embarrassed, perhaps, initially, to be in Gummint House, because you sense he's a modest man - as well as brave.
But if we said it was a prototype for our new affordable housing, he'd pretty soon settle in. And start rattling the bars of a few prigs' cages.
Pretend you're a fly on the wall at Gummint House - not that they have flies on the wall at Gummint House. A few crests and the mounted heads of vanquished foes but no insects!!
Still and all, staying with the fantasy, there you are, on the wall, and there's Eric striding along the corridor, Beefeater to the core, big chop in one hand, large brandy in the other, off to do some very important Vice-Regal thing like chairing a meeting of this new, high-powered, top-level Gummint Drought Committee - boy, is that going to show the weather who's boss!!!!!
Then into the hybrid limo and off for a three-sugars cup of tea and a buttery scone with the residents at the official opening of the new, developer-built, Gummint-decreed mixed housing, Crown land subdivision in the brand new suburb of Manguera (or West Ponsonby).
What a breath of fresh air! A 102-year-old Governor-General knocking back a few beers with his new Kiwi mates - each sharing a mortgage with the rest of us taxpayers.
So welcome, Eric. Kia ora. And good luck with the job - if you get it. It's great we let you in. Or our bureaucrats did, anyway. Let's just hope you know what you've let yourself in for.
