So, where were we? The Charlatans played the Power Station last night, as will the Headless Chickens and Spiritualized. Such delights as Gerry Brownlee, Lockwood Smith and Maurice Williamson are in power. Yes, that would be it: we're in the Nineties.
Despite the election of engergetic, vibrant Nikki Kaye as the Moppet for Auckland Central, despite The Minister for Tourism's new suit and winning smile, National cannot keep its monsters hidden in the attic (or the closets) for much longer. They are angry and they are hungry. The Minister for Tourism might be able to placate Maurice by making him Minister for Newness (with special responsibility for maintaining the Government's Bebo profile) and doubtless Lockwood will get the sought-after Hairdressing portfolio, but Gerry Brownlee (living proof that John Donne was wrong: here is one man who is an island) needs to be fed. The Tragedy of the Commons is that they are Gerry's lunch. And look what is first on the menu: the Waitakeres.
Blur:
2 comments:
I've decided I shall spend the next three years hiding behind Alex James' fringe.
Appalling table manners.
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