The money or the bag? Don’t be silly – we’re indigenous and accordingly want both

Alf has already recorded his huge admiration for the way our indigenous people can sniff out a trough and get their snouts into the swill.

Another of their admirable traits is their gall.

Alf has known some Pakeha oinkers who would be embarrassed if they thought he knew of the extent of their troughing.

Our indigenous oinkers feel no shame.

To the contrary, they regard it as their right under the Treaty to have we Pakeha fill their growing array of troughs.

And if we don’t fill the troughs deeply enough or quickly enough, they will holler about the bloody injustice of it.

They are volunteers, right? So why should Maori wardens in Oz expect funds from NZ taxpayers?

Our indigenous people have wonderful olfactory senses, when it comes to sniffing out a funding opportunity. Or a public handout.

They put this sense to good use wherever they might be, including Australia, where they are by no means the indigenous people.

Sniffing a trough which NZ taxpayers will fill with a rich swill is one thing.

Finding someone to turn the tap to ensure it is filled is another.

But our indigenous people have another great skill. They know how to sniff out the right Pakeha politicians who will be sufficiently craven to oblige them with the money they seek.

Greenpeace protesters won’t have to walk the plank but hooliganism charges are no light matter

Can’t say for sure if a charge of hooliganism can be laid in this country. The cops round up hooligans, sure enough (although not often enough) and there are all sorts of things to charge the buggers with.

A broad range of penalties can be imposed, too, including crushing their cars.

But Alf has become very attracted to the specific offence of hooliganism since the Russians decided the Greenpeace bunch should face such charges.

He saw nothing wrong with charging them with piracy, as it happens, and was going to offer his services if any of them needed prodding with a cutlass to make them walk the plank, preferably into shark-infested waters.

But being banged up for being a hooligan has a nice ring to it.

Ah – now we know (and so does Len Brown) what happens when a mistress’s world falls apart

Gotta say it’s fascinating to learn what impulses kick in, when you lose an election.

This has never happened to your hard-working member for Eketahuna North, of course. It is a measure of his popularity and the voting public’s huge regard for him that he has galloped home by the proverbial country mile every time his name has been on a ballot paper.

The Labour sheila who stood against him at the last election perhaps had no expectation of winning. Hence her world did not fall apart when the inevitable happened and she was soundly defeated.

Not so in the case of the sheila at the centre of the Len Brown sex scandal.

Our chauffeur-driven Cabinet Ministers will be House-bound if we don’t shift the capital

Your hard-working MP has always sensed there were good reasons for shifting the country’s capital from Wellington. Now he is certain about it and is ready to promote Eketahuna as a possibility.

But wherever it finishes up, it should no longer be Wellington.

Not now that Wellington has re-elected its pedal-pushing mayor, Celia Wade-Brown, and fortified her greenie agenda by electing other Greens to the council.

So you can’t stand the sight of greens? There’s a word for it (other than “wise” and “discerning”)

Luncheon options…

Dunno what Russel Norman and his muesli-munching mates will make of this.

But news has reached your hard-working MP of a vegetarian who can’t stomach … ha! … greens.

This is a condition which afflicts all right-thinking Nats.

But whoa. In this case, Alf was mistaken.

This involves a British sheila who hasn’t eaten any greens for 21 years (and now all she eats is sweets and crisps)

A Barbados posting would be a bit rum, but it sounds more attractive than Nigeria or Colombia

Mrs Grumble has become disconcertingly fascinated with the Caribbean.

This has happened since The Boss announced the Government’s intention of opening a diplomatic post in Barbados.

She fancies Alf’s chances of being rewarded for his years of service to the National Party by being landed with the job of High Commissioner.

She has phoned Mrs Key – with whom she has more than a nodding acquaintance – to ask for the right words to be whispered into The Boss’s ear.

Alf is not so sure it’s a good idea. He isn’t quite ready to take the next step towards being put out to pasture, as Lockwood Smith was when he landed the London post earlier this year.