I gave Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern a lesson she won't easily forget when she appeared as a guest this week at my current affairs programme Breakfast.
"Welcome to the show," I said, and narrowed my eyes into meaningful slits.
"Thank you," she said.
I got down to business. I smacked the desk with my palm, and roared at her, "How are you?"
"Well," she said, "I – "
"Now, now," I said. "No equivocations. Tell it to me straight. How are you?"
"I'm – "
"You're what?"
"If you could just – "
"No, don't turn it around on me, thank you very much, Prime Minister. This about you. How are you?"
"I – "
"How are you?"
"I – "
"How are you?"
"Could I – "
"No, you can't, whatever it is," I said. "Don't you play that game. Don't you dare. Not on my watch. Got it?"
She stared at me.
"Cat got your tongue, eh?", I said. "That wasn't a reference to Paddles, by the way. I'm not heartless. I'll tell you what I am, though. Are you ready? Are you listening?"
"Yes," she said.
I rose to my full height, looked down at her, and hissed: "I'm a journalist. And it's my job to ask questions."
I narrowed my eyes a bit further. She looked afraid.
"You're not in Morrinsville now, Prime Minister," I said.
I sat down again. I leaned way back in my chair, and folded my arms. I dropped my voice to a whisper, and said, "Okay. How are you? I know that that seems like a trifling matter, but what I'm suggesting is that now that you're a world leader, you need to be absolutely straight with all your answers, because there are consequences, serious consequences to the fragility of our planet, and also, if you're giving something that's not the entire truth, it can confuse people. Right now, for instance, I'm confused. Disoriented."
She leaned forward, and said, "What? I can't hear you."
I smiled a thin smile. I felt the spirit of the great journalist John Pilger. And Robert Fisk. Woodward, too, and that other journo who broke Watergate. They were with me. But so was Hilary Barry, and I could feel her holding me back.
"You're like a dog with a bone," she said, and laughed to lighten the mood.
I wasn't having any of it.
I narrowed my eyes even further. I could barely see in front of me. All I could make out was a vague, blurry shape, which seemed like it might be someone sitting down. I said, "Who are you?"
I heard a chair being pushed back, and then footsteps walking away.
I closed my eyes fully shut. I sat in darkness – much like the world itself. Only journalism can shine a torch to reveal what's really going on.
Then I heard footsteps coming towards me, and anxious whispers.
Suddenly I felt aware of a bright light. Someone was shining a torch into my eye. They switched it off, and stepped back. It was a man wearing a white coat.
He said, "How are you?"
