Jim Hopkins: A word to the Intrusive Brethren - Put up or shut up

Goodness gracious! It's certainly not a good time to be out and about, that's for sure. What with rogue polls hurtling hither and yon, voters flip-flopping, numbers hip-hopping, insults and allegations flying about like roofing iron in a stiff breeze, not to mention the possibility at any moment that one might be accosted by some deranged member of the Intrusive Brethren doing the unspeakable and expressing an opinion.

And then there's Winston.

At least he's not doing anything.

Apart from sitting on the fence.

No wonder the poor chap's on the posters inspecting his bottom with a look of perplexed apprehension. He probably expects to find a renegade picket wedged in a most uncomfortable spot - the DIY equivalent of John Hopoate's finger, let's say.

Mind you, at least we know where he stands. Or sits. Which we didn't before Wednesday. Indeed, before the big announcement, many in the commentariat were saying they couldn't picket. They didn't know which way he'd jump.

In the end, as we know, he just jumped straight up - did a couple of somersaults, a backward flip, a twirl or two, a pirouette, a wee grin for the cameras - and landed precisely where he'd started.

Reaching such an inconclusive conclusion probably won't diminish the adoration of those doting dowagers who regard Winston as a "hottie" - even if most of them are of an age where they think a "hottie" is a cheap, floppy rubber thing that cools down quite quickly once you've got it in bed.

It's just the rest of us who must come to terms with the fact that "a man for a change" is actually a cross-bencher. Which will be hard because it is a tad strange. It's been that kind of week.

Starting on Sunday with the 46-38 "Poll shock drama surge" (which has since swung back the other way, incidentally) thus making the whole election uncannily similar to that final, fearful Tri-Nations test; with Don as George Gregan (mainly because they've got roughly the same amount of hair) and Helen as Piri Weepu (mainly because he's P.W. and she's P.C.).

Well, no, not always. On Monday, for instance, the great Navigator (i.e. the one who tells the pilot where to go) advised an alarmed nation that Don Brash was "Jenny Shipley with bells on".

Initially, this simply looked like a misprint. It couldn't possibly be "bells" on, surely. Switch vowels, use an "a", for example, and the criticism's more apposite. You get the point.

Of course, it could be bells. Though, with Don, you'd think they'd be alarm bells, what with his emails being leaked and him being preyed on by the Round Table and prayed for by the Brethren and all.

With regard to the emails, it might be wise for Dr D to make up a few and leak them himself, if only to muddy the waters. Putting one out alleging he was Pete Hodgson's love child and then saying "no comment" would be a good start.

But with regard to the other matter, something more assertive might be required if Dr Brational is to stifle claims he's in the pocket of the Exclusive Table or the Round Brethren.

He could possibly point out that no Presbyterian, not even a lapsed one, would be found in anyone's pocket, if only because such handy repositories tend to be located in the general vicinity of that part of the anatomy which the good Dr Knox's followers have long believed the Almighty would've been wise to omit.

The other argument, at least with the Brethren, is that there wouldn't be a lot of room in their pocket anyway. It appears that the crusading Intrusives have met with just about all the party leaders.

Other than the Greens, of course. And the PM (perhaps that's why she tried to charter a plane - to get away from them).

Be that as it may, the other leaders evidently don't share her reluctance. They've all, reportedly, popped in for a chat. And you can understand why. In a tight election, 2000 Brethren votes might make all the difference. Except they don't vote, apparently.

Which makes all the chin-wagging about as sensible as enrolling for a celibacy course in a bordello.

The issue of voting also raises an obvious question about the controversial pamphlet. It's easy to see why the Breths and the Greens are at loggerheads. They're both religions, after all, and fundamentalist ones at that. Indeed, it's arguable that eco-worship has simply filled the spiritual vacuum created when God's earthly spokespersons decided they'd go awol and turn themselves into multicultural social workers.

The battle of beliefs isn't hard to fathom. But if the blokes who've invested the price of a mid-range Auckland bungalow on the propagation of their views don't actually vote, you wonder why they're bothering to cast their pearls before us swine.

At the end of a tempestuous week, there remains a significant but unanswered question. Will these Intrusive gents actually be voting themselves? If so, roll the presses. If not, shut up, guys!