Wednesday, July 22, 2015

The Soap Box - by Barry Soper



There should be a law against rich people going into Parliament it’s just not a good look with all these ordinary kiwis queueing up to buy a house in Auckland or a holiday house on the waterfront at Omaha and then they can’t because some former Forex trader who decides he wants to be Prime Minister has thought he’d always lead the country right from when he first dated his meek and mild and ever loving little wife has already paid top dollar for them and you can bet your sweet house in Hill Street if you used to own one that he wasn’t wearing his outfit bought from Williams & Kettle.

So we now have the rich prick boy who is still wet behind his ears but the son of the Prime Minister frolicking around the sands and the rocks at their American paradise with his bimbo girlfriend in her short short shorts and some kind of ear-splitting music in the background and you can bet this didn’t get paid for out of a paper round and running errands for the neighbours because where these elite come from the neighbours don’t even step next door to admire the Goldie paintings.

The point I’m trying to make in case you’re wondering is these are no longer the children of the Prime Minister when they start wearing slices of orange and apples and strawberries instead of clothes and pink hair so they are fair game because they don’t have student loans interest free courtesy of the rest of the country which they are struggling to pay off and it’s not a good look to be living in Paris when other poor struggling artists in Auckland at Elam can’t even buy their own home because the city is over run with Chinese.

It’s all Michele Boag’s fault. The political technocolour dreamcoat, then National's anointment queen, phoned him after the millennia parties and through a Dom Perignon haze, he thought he was hearing things. The shrill voice was telling him to come back home, give up his international lifestyle, and become our Prime Minister

Don’t accuse me of the politics of envy I go to Bali on a scooter I know luxury I’ve got a devoted wife I know what fizz tastes like too and don’t tell me I don’t know how to write good grammarly either because I’ll go all red in the face and my voice will go up an octave or three.

I know what I’m talking about. I’ve been in the Press Gallery longer than anyone. I can remember back further than you, John Armstrong. I can remember when Duncan Garner and Guyon Espiner were in the Press Gallery so don’t tell me I’m going senile.

I met the new Northland MP today – he looked vaguely familiar – Mr Peters I think his name is. He smelled familiar too, sort of smokey. He called me Squeaky and said: “Nowlookheregetouttamyway” and “WhydonchagettadecentsuitSonny?”

Mumble, fffftt, errrggh. I remember a lovely Prime Minister she never mocked my voice she said she’d love to have a high-pitched voice. What was her name? Heather? Hazel? Hilary? I just called her Mummy.

Editors note - Barry Soper has been a New Zealand political journalist for longer than he can remember, and has been featured regularly on radio and television. Currently, Soper's main role is political editor at Newstalk ZB. He is easily excited, more-so now he is married to Heather du Plessis Allan, a woman of shameless self-promotional abilities. Earlier this year, in Indonesia, Barry metaphorically ‘punched the shark’ when a cop who tried to bribe him. Well done Bazza

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