Alf was bemused by a post at Imperator Fish, where the privilege of a guest post has been extended to one Norman Wildebeest.
This Wildebeest bloke is described as a respectable town planner, although Alf has never encountered such a creature in his many years in politics. He is also described as a wine judge (a much more admirable calling) and a serial arsonist (which could be countenanced provided he could be relied on to torch appropriate targets, such as Labour Party headquarters in Eketahuna North).
The guest post deals with Andrew Little’s widely publicised failure to pay a contractor’s bill – a failure that doesn’t surprise Wildebeest in the least.
The guest columnist proceeds to regale his readers with a troubling account of his growing up with the Labour leader in New Plymouth
… and I saw for myself his true character. It was a character formed very early on, as I saw to my great dismay one day back in the early 1970s.
Obviously, the fragility of Little’s integrity was apparent to his school pals a long time ago.
On this one particular occasion we were walking home from school with a few other boys. We had decided as a group to play that game where you try to walk along the pavement without stepping on any of the cracks in the concrete. It was a game I was especially adept at, but Andrew lacked my talent for avoiding trouble, and he soon trod on a crack between two sections of the footpath.
Well, the lads had all agreed the consequences of stepping on a crack before commencing the game.
We had all agreed that anyone who stepped on a crack would have to marry a rat. And yet despite giving his word that he would do so, Andrew Little has to this day failed to keep his side of the bargain. Not only has he failed to marry a rat, but to my knowledge he has never even dated one.
Alf was inclined to agree absolutely with Wildebeest and to regard this failure to marry a rat as a serious indictment of Little’s integrity.
But Mrs Grumble has a great skill at putting things in perspective. She pointed out that signing up to the Labour Party was much the same as marrying a rat.
A dying rat, as it happens, if not a dead one.
And a rat that is bound to be riddled with fleas as a consequence of its flirting with the Green Party.
Mrs Grumble thinks Wildebeest has been ungenerous in dragging up this pettiness.
Alf always goes along with her judgements on these matters.