Michele Hewitson Interview: Colin Craig

Colin Craig, candidate for the Super City mayoralty, is proud of his frugality. Photo / Richard Robinson

As our super mayoral candidates have so far ably demonstrated, being a bit mad is a prerequisite for standing for Super Mayor.

That makes some sort of sense. You'd have to be a bit mad to want the job.

Colin Craig may prove to be the exception. His press secretary phoned to ask if I might be interested in talking to him because "he's a bit of a dark horse". That's one way of putting it.

Another might be that he has next to no profile - beyond being the bloke who was said to have paid $450,000 (he says it ended up being a bit over $300,000) to fund the March for Democracy last year - and absolutely no political experience.

He said, valiantly, when I asked what his signature barminess was, that "it may be that I'm just not that way". Perhaps it is simply that he's standing.

"Well, you know what? Some of my friends did say to me: 'Look, who wants the job?' I mean it's going to be a nightmare of a job, and that's true."

But why would he want it? Or think that he can win? Perhaps his madness, hitherto well-hidden, is that he must be in some way deluded. He doesn't appear to be.

He is an accountant-turned-property manager who he prefers to say is a businessman. He likes books on history and economics and the occasional thriller and if he has a hobby, it is probably budgeting, which he is terribly enthusiastic about.

That last is not a disqualifying qualification for being the Super Mayor, but it's fair to say that it's not terribly exciting if you are selling a dark horse.

He doesn't really understand why people need to travel to foreign places, so he doesn't. When people get back from abroad and tell him about their travels, "my first instinct is not to get on a plane". He prefers to read books about other places.

He is not, then, given to flights of any kind, particularly ones of fantasy, or to the extravagant gesture - unless you count running for the Super City mayor.

His slogan is: For people, not politics. People, then, might like to know what strong personal views he holds. He said, "I have very strong views in terms of business and finance." That wasn't quite what I was getting at.

He said, "Some people describe me as conservative and I think that's mostly true." He's 42; he might have been born middle-aged. The closest he got to articulating why he wants to be the mayor is that he believes in duty and responsibility. He was probably born responsible.

"Oh, I sometimes wonder if I was, actually. I mean, I wake up sometimes in the morning and feel a duty to people and things. And I find that quite hard to explain. I have a serious responsibility issue. It worries me, as an example, if some person can't afford to stay in their home. That bothers me. It's hard to explain, but it does."

He is a Christian who doesn't go to church. He regards homosexuality as "not how I see the ideal relationship. In that sense, I'm kind of traditional".

He and his wife didn't live together or have sex before their marriage.

He thinks people who do are "missing out on something". He says people who live together before marriage and those in de facto relationships make "a personal choice".

He says he doesn't judge them but "if they were close to me, I would try to present an alternative to them ... I don't hesitate to give people a bit of advice".

He's unlikely to think being regarded as set in his ways is a criticism. "I like who I am and I wouldn't wish to be anybody else. I've achieved an awful lot in life and I'm pleased with what I've done." He's 42, remember.

He's often described as a self-described multimillionaire. I asked him how much money he had, and he said, "Well, I am a millionaire."

Then he said he didn't go around saying he was a millionaire. "I often find these things come out of one question: 'Are you a millionaire?' To which I said, 'Yes. I probably am.' Well, a house on the North Shore ... The reality is a home on the North Shore was going to be worth well, where we are, which is city fringe, is going to be worth a million. So the reality is, I would be a millionaire."

He is also probably a multimillionaire. "I've got to give my wife half! So, yeah, I would be. If you sat down and did the maths."

You can be assured that he has. He and his wife furnished their million-dollar house from Trade Me and family hand-me-downs and a couch he picked up from the side of some road. Now, honestly, that is taking frugality too far. "It was free to a good home!" he said.

He said, about his attitude to spending money, that "I'm Scottish and my wife's part-Scottish and half-Jewish and so most of the time we save money. That's what we do".

I asked, as a joke, whether he buys budget-brand baked beans and washing powder. "I know it's terrible, but we do." He said, perhaps hoping to avoid sounding a complete Scrooge, "We entertain a lot."

I was imagining what you'd get for dinner at his house. "Well, you know, we do put something on!" If you are invited to their house for dinner, his wife will ring and ask what you like to eat. "Then we organise that. Even if it means a special trip to get something." What if somebody said they'd like French champagne and caviar?

"No one has ever said that. Ha, ha. But, you know, if they wanted that, we would probably get that because that's the way we are." I do believe him, but I fancy he went a little pale at the thought of such profligacy.

He said, "We are miserly!" If he wasn't so politically naive, he might have made some political mileage about now. The "Miserly Mayor" wouldn't be a bad slogan. You wouldn't want a mayor to go flinging your ratepayer money about.

Still, what's the point of having a lot of money if you're not going to splash it about a bit? He does - although he wouldn't put it that way. He gives to charity, although he won't say who because it would be showing off. He and his wife also "find out somehow" about people and "let's say someone is having difficulty with the budget and they can't afford to go and buy their groceries for the week", they'll help them out.

He has no profile other than from that march. He might be known as the pro-smacking mayoral candidate (he says that march was about democracy, and that if anything he is pro governments taking notice of the people), which might or might not be a worry to him, or to potential voters.

"It's not a worry for me." He is not personally against smacking a kid. "No, provided that it's sensible." He would give his 5-year-old daughter a little smack. "Yes, occasionally ... John Key says that it's okay ..."

He hasn't kissed any babies on the campaign trail yet. I didn't seriously think he would have but he gave the matter serious consideration. He said he was a bit cynical about politicians kissing babies.

"I think it's a bit presumptuous, just to pick up people's kids and give them a kiss. I always thought it would be pretty intimidating for the child. So I haven't done that yet." Perhaps he could give them a little smack instead. "No, that's the parents' job!"

Rather desperately, I asked if he had any pets and he said, no, not at the moment.

"Our latest pet just died." It was a butterfly. A butterfly is not a pet. "Ha, ha, no. We've had the builders at our place and my daughter has taken a liking to their dog. There's going to be a push for a pet shortly."

I was thinking about how much a dog would cost, even if you fed it budget dog biscuits. He had a plan. "I was thinking about doing the Obama thing where you promise that you'll get your daughter a pet dog if you get elected!"

I didn't want to be rude, but that seemed a pretty good way of not getting a dog. "Ha, ha. Well, I recognise that there are some prime contenders in this race." In any other race it wouldn't be wise to put yourself and Obama in the same sentence, but we've already had Len Brown compare the suffering of his scrutiny to Jesus', so it can't hurt his chances.

It's hard to know what could help them. I gave him the chance to put a knife into his opponents. He declined the opportunity beyond saying, redundantly, about John Banks, "Well, I'm not going to vote for him." What he thinks about Andrew Williams is that, "I'd like to get more votes than him. I think I'd make a better mayor."

I left not much the wiser as to why he wants the job. I did ask, of course, and he sighed and said, "Well, it's the duty thing, really."

That duty thing obviously includes sharing his views, if asked, even if they have the potential to alienate voters. You can't fault him for honesty. When I pointed this out he said, cheerfully, "Yeah, I know! But to me it is presenting someone with an alternative point of view and discussing it I don't see as a bad thing, actually."

In the space of an hour-long interview he's probably managed to lose the votes of the following: homosexuals, anyone who has had sex before marriage, anyone who lives with anyone before marriage, anyone in a de facto relationship. I should point out that even if you are living in sin, he'll still help you out with your grocery bill. So there might be a vote or two there.

I'm not sure how he'll go with voters of Scottish descent, or Jews. But other than that lot, you could - if you shared at least one of the defining characteristics of those standing for the Super Mayoralty - predict that he'll romp in. I don't know how much he'll mind if he's not the mayor. Think of the savings on the dog biscuits.