Peter Bromhead: Being Rachel Glucina

Illustration / Peter Bromhead

I've just completed another emergency session with my personal mentors, hired to prop up and protect my eggshell-thin ego in today's fast moving commercial world.

"Have you seen the latest edition of Metro?" I wailed, throwing a copy on my over-sized boardroom table, a piece of furniture embellished with fine silver filigree fretwork, reflecting my status as a human being struggling to find nirvana.

"There's a feature called 'Who really runs this town?' Plus a number of columns naming the most influential Aucklanders."

My team of mentors stared blankly at the magazine before turning their attention back to me with questioning looks.

Scoring the inlaid rosewood veneer with my stainless steel letter opener, a practice that relieves tension at critical moments, I hissed, "I'm not mentioned in any lists, including the section on top media personalities. This is gut-wrenching!"

Sinking the letter opener's tip deeper into my board table's veneer, I wailed, "How can this be?

"It's like I've become invisible," I continued, burying my head in my hands.

At long last, one of my mentors, who monitors my anxiety levels, interrupted my sobbing with the suggestion that if I wished to join today's influential movers and shakers, I'd have to reinvent myself.

"Stop writing twaddle weekly and instead, sharpen your pen nib and become feared like your fellow correspondent Rachel Glucina, who some suggest is the most influential person in Auckland."

I didn't like to confess that not being a follower of gossip columns, until I saw the feature and caricature of the person in question in Metro, I always thought that Glucina was some sort of eye disease.

"If you want to end up being on John Key's speed dial, like Rachel, you need to start filling your column with waspish party chitchat," came another suggestion.

"But I don't get invited to parties, particularly with anyone on the A-list," I groaned despairingly.

"So, why don't you think laterally and consider a fresh approach. Commence writing a weekly column about what's going on in the retirement homes around Auckland? "Become feared and loathed by pensioners, leaving the Glucinas of this world to deal with the glitterati?" came the suggestion.

"Mmm ..." I muttered, cheering up. "You might be on to something."

I turned to my computer and started next week's column: "And whose walker was spotted during the long twilight hours outside a well-known widow's bedroom door recently?"