Former Conservative Party leader Colin Craig. Photo / Michael Craig
I took a deep breath as I prepared to open the door and give my second press conference in four days, or was it my fourth press conference in two days? I used to have a good grasp on numbers but now they run away like wild horses over the hills.
"How do I look?"
"Good. Wait. Your hair needs - "
"Don't touch my hair."
I shouldn't have said that. I could see the pain her eyes. I said, "That wasn't me talking. That was the other Colin."
"I get confused which is which."
"So do I," I said. "So do I."
I looked at my notes. They told a story. In many ways what's going on at the moment is that one of my favourite stories has come to life. This is David versus Goliath. The only problem is that Goliath is a woman.
But I had to slay her. I had to walk into that room and smite Rachel's brow with the rocks I packed in the sling of my press conference kit. I would let them go, one by one, the missiles whizzing through the air, felling the giant - I don't mean to say Rachel was large, that would be inappropriate - with the rocks of truth.
I walked into the room and let them go but they didn't travel very far. There were great clouds of dust and muffled screams of agony and a mighty crash. They were my screams. The rocks landed on my foot, and appeared to bring down my political career.
When it finished, we got back in the car with the photographers and the cameramen chasing after us, and I said to Helen, "Keep smiling."
She said, "Keep driving."
I said, "Keep smiling."
She said, "Keep driving."
Our Father who art in heaven hallowed be my name. Like it used to be. I used to be the king of kings, the conservative of conservatives, the leader unto whom all the board members and loyal supporters - McVicar, Rankin, that snake in the grass Stringer - gave their love and support.
Together we had a vision. I would arrive in Parliament with a flaming sword with which I would whack small children with, or something. The details escape me. I can't remember our policies anymore. They're lost to me, gone far away into a silent land.
Six board members have now handed in their resignation. Even my own brother.
Good. I can feel my strength returning, my flair for numbers. By my calculation, that leaves four board members. Myself. Dobbs, the chairman. That snake in the grass Stringer. Plus that weird Seventh Day Adventist dude from Hamilton.
I might just be able to win a leadership vote.
In the depth of winter, there is within me an invincible summer.
Few things make me happier than finding a good bargain, so I drove to Pak'N Save Albany with an eye for promotions. I couldn't go past the size 16 hot cooked free range chicken for only $12.99, and I was quick to seize on 5kg bags of Pam's fresh express brushed potatoes for the low, low price of $4.99.
I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of cans - but then I saw her. Of all the 15 Pak'N Saves in Auckland, she had to walk into mine.
She was pondering a six-pack of Fresh 'n Fruity yoghurt for $3.99.
She'd changed since I last saw her. She looked sadder, and yet lovelier. The other Colin wanted to go over to her very much and stand close and take her in his arms but there was really only one of me, the one destined for a role in politics, the one heading for some kind of glory, and I went to the check-out counter and drove away with lines from a poem in my head: "Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood / For nothing now can ever come to any good."
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