A Break in the Weather

We're over the hump of winter. Not only are the days getting longer, calendar mid-winter has been and gone. So has the rain, thank Dagg. That's the thing about NZ. The weather might be pluvial, even inclement at times. But it does pass. Suck on that, Blighty Summer.

The break in the weather couldn't come soon enough. These wild swings experienced at the ends of the earth require heavy defences. A creative drug regimen only goes so far, when was is really needed is some sun and a mild breeze in the hair.

As opposed to the gales that blew my bastard goNZo flag right off the flagpole, sending it somewhere south-east one howling night, or the banshee blast that knocked the neighbour's big bastard tree onto the front lawn. The frosts that fridged my flat, forcing the cat to seek refuge in the bed next to the hot water bottle.

But back to the drugs. It's good to see Labour's drug guy, Iain Lees-Galloway, backing off minimum pricing of alcohol and considering more rational options. There's no need to infantilise the country and sterilise it of all possible harms. Especially when so many Labour activists are advertising their epicurean pursuits so wantonly on Facebook. The trivial pursuits of the middle classes more closely match those of the working classes than those of the rarefied golf, bridge and Northern Club gentry, so a ceasefire on that hypocritical front seems wise.

However, there's still a hint of naivete and puritanism in there. Take the clean zones around schools, for example. Booze is not the issue around these areas. It's the brand recognition of other, more relevant, drugs which concern kids; fat, sugar, salt. Nana's nagging the wrong niche here.

On the other side of the House, drug tzar Peter Dunne has announced the 'world first' regulated artificial cannabis market, which I presume will be as meaningful as the Schedule D component of the Misuse of Drugs Act, which currently sits with a vacant schedule, just waiting for a single legal high to be approved.

What the flying buggery Jesus does "Mostly Harmless" mean exactly? Does the artificial cannabis have to be more or less harmful than tobacco, alcohol, Prozac, Coke or Viagra before it is permitted to be sold? Ever tried a bottle of low-risk alcohol or a pill of placebo-strength paracetamol? It's rubbish.

Can't they just bring back BZP and go back to the devil they know? Of course they won't. Dunne has just announced a more creative way to just say no to substitutes of the incumbent medicine men in beer, wine and spirits.

It's enough to make you want to clutch all the wine, coffee, cigarettes and herbiage all the much closer to the chest. If the wowsers don't get them, the control freaks will.

Ode to July

Nothing
Rhymes with July.
You'd think truly
Would work.
But not
Really.
Something
About the
Stresses.

Sodding Cold

You gotta love the MetService's recommended clothing levels with the weather readings. Unless they use sleeping bags as a unit of clothing, in which case it all makes sense. New Zealand has yet to discover air conditioning, or at least my Scottish landlord has yet to be convinced of its merit. It's been too cold to blog here in the Hobbit Hole on the dark side of the valley. All spare energy has been nommed up for vital functions.

Normal service will resume once I stop shivering and tumbleweeds stop drifting across the political landscape. Thank you for your patience.

This fickle land

I spent more than my fair share of my early years living in the shadows and ridges of the Tararuas. Parking at the aptly named Clifton family's place, ensconced so high in the hills they got colour TV while Palmy languished in black and white still. We'd strike out from a base camp in a back paddock and go from there. We wandered a bit through the hills, but most of the time we sat at camp while the old man went on the hunt.

I never went near the Southern Crossing, for the same reason I shy away from the Kaimanawas. I can see why some would walk it, but I'm more content with Kaitoki or Ruapehu in summer. Maybe a hike from Otaki to Shannon through the backblocks. For one, I'm a lightweight. One freak gust of wind is all it would take to throw me off a cliff. Second, all sorts of hell can break out without warning if the weather picks a fight on that chaotic terrain. It can go from beauty to misery in no time at all.

One weekend out tramping with Mountain Goat, a couple Yanks were pulled out by helicopter only a few kms up the way. On our track, it was nothing but fine weather and clear nights, when it's just the hut and the rest of the heavens above. But this other party was cold and wet and perhaps a little stupid, like Woody Allen going on Celebrity Survivor.

All due respect to the CEO of Te Papa and his mate losing themselves on those fickle heights. Both were experienced trampers caught in unfortunate circumstances.

Meantime, I missed the jolt in the deep south last night. Facebook was alive with chatter around the shaky isles. Measuring 7.8 deep in Fiordland, the NZ equivalent of Siberia, the quake also set off Fran Wilde:

Ms Wilde said in a large quake Wellington could be cut off, creating ''virtual islands in a sea of emptiness''.

Last time Wellington got hit by a big earthquake was 1888, with the big Masterton quake raising the land which would be later used for the Petone Wellington highway, Lambton Quay and Wellington airport. Earthquakes aren't all bad.

Not everyone shares my pragmatism. Some are quick to jump for the nearest door frame or convenient desk. One girl back in Tech used to faint at earthquakes. One evening there was a jolt. Half an hour later this chick comes through asking if anyone felt the quake. She had been asleep, woke up with the rattle, passed out, and only just come to again. She was unharmed but dizzy.

There's a house looming up above me on the hill with a large crack in the foundations. If serious things start moving, last place I'd want to be is ducking a house by standing under a door frame. I'd be running away from Chez Damocles as fast as I could, indoors or out.

It's not my first brush living with natural and man-made hazards. In the early 90's, I worked across the road from Paula Bennett's old job in Wairakei. The BP station there, the busiest in the country, sits next to the geothermal park. Wairakei is ten kilometres north of Taupo, which sits on the northern tip of Lake Taupo, the biggest caldera this side of Krakatoa. South of that, there's the three cones of Tongariro, Ngauruhoe and Tongariro. One's a casual smoker and one's a regular.

If a big earthquake hit this part of the volcanic plateau, seven shades of Michael Bay could easily occur. Wairakei would quite simply disappear, increasing the size of the existing Craters of the Moon attraction considerably. That in turn could stir up one of the three cones or even the stogie of Taupo.

If Wellington would be marooned in an earthquake, consider Auckland's predicament. If all those pimply cones popped you'd snap the isthmus in half. Christchurch and Dunedin are exposed to tsunami much more than anywhere up north, largely due to the potential of South America's flat face to reflect big waves.

But why worry? Roll with it. If you really want to wallow in existential angst on the halflife of geological time, you really can't go past the giant asteroid in the face with Pink Floyd:

Nice weather for the alcoholics

It's raining cats and dogs outside. It's raining monkeys and elephants, muppets and tigers, antelopes and zebras. Those who can find funds or reasons are buggering off overseas for a break. Those without the cash are hibernating and sedating themselves any way they can. The speedsters are stocking up on BZPs, the lushes with booze and DUI convictions.

Parliament's having a break and they've let the young ones loose in parliament. While BZPs are high on their mind, there's not much support for lowering the voting age. Advice to the Greens: Forget the sweet sixteen suffrage and concentrate your energies on Met Turei's Medpot Bill and the upcoming select committee on the BZP ban. You'll gain a crapload more votes by doing so.

John Key continues to bewilder. Wanting to revisit the Standing Orders a mere week after the party votes them in begs that immortal question. Is he real or isn't he? Whether it is the election campaign later or someone bloods him sooner, time will tell, eh. At the moment, he's still a hologram.

Oh how I wish Rodney Hide were a hologram; some mis-programmed facsimile on show while the real one is gathering evidence to play Devil's Advocate once again. Alas, the Rodney of yore is no more. We are stuck with Lovable Hugable Rodney forever, or at least 2008. I can sympathise with how the former perkbuster rose to grace. The consensus on the Beltway grapevine after Rod Donald's death was Rodney was more likely to cark it than organic Donald. So much for the balance of probabilities, eh.

Yet it is a shame to see such skills go to pasture and five laps of the pool. Chris Trotter tried to snap him out of it, pointing to the vast reasonable-sized field on the far right John Key has opened up for Act. Colin Espiner has made a similar point. It seems, however, that Rodney has confused reason for purpose. Little wonder Act has evaporated off the polls.

At least Rodney did plug the Regulatory Responsibility Bill on Agenda, which is an important piece of legislation. Unlike most of the bad law that Labour V keep passing, this is a classical piece of law. Drawn up by a genius called Dr Bryce Wilkinson, the RRB is a piece of constitutional beauty. Its importance is up there with Geoff Palmer's Bill of Rights and Ruth's Fiscal Responsibility Bill. NZ would be better off for it.

Farewell, Lisa Owen. Je t'aime.

It is still not too late for Helen Clark to pull a big fluffy bunny out for the election and win 2008. It is increasingly likely that the bunny will be accompanied with a ministerial re-shuffle. Here's hoping Hodgson loses Health to someone more competent. Shane Jones is ambitious enough, and Health would certainly keep him busy. I recant my support for TM4FM and put money on Phil Goff as Finance Minister by year's end. If Labour don't have personal tax cuts in next year's budget, they deserve to lose.

There's still no sign of the legislation on party funding, which is supposedly coming into effect at the end of the year. Judging from the absence of policy, as well as increased public funding going down like a cup of cold sick, there is no clear marker on what's/not going to be in it. The Coalition for Open Government and the Vic Uni symposium were the only opportunities for the parties to get a thermometer on the issue. I fear they got the wrong temperature. While the numbers game may be being played behind the scenes, the longer the support parties leave to put it on the table, the more damage they'll receive in 2008. I'll maybe blog more on the subject later this week, depending on how hard it rains.