Peter Bromhead: Special adviser

Michael Houlihan. Photo / NZPA

I've been enthusiastically lobbying officialdom to acquire a government job as a "special adviser". Naturally, my desire for such employment is driven by a compassionate urge to perform a public duty, rather than any monetary consideration.

However, I admit to being inspired by the outgoing chief executive of Te Papa, Michael Houlihan, who recently landed such a role - created at very short notice - overseeing the nation's military heritage, at a salary of somewhere between $350,000 and $359,999 a year, close to the Prime Minister's remuneration.

I don't know why Houlihan resigned from his position as chief executive at Te Papa. Possibly, the stress of coping with persistent rumours about the museum's financial problems may have accelerated his decision.

Having worked in a public art gallery, I'm aware of the frustrations of trying to motivate staff with eggshell-thin temperaments into pursuing a profitable business model.

Such institutions have a tradition of pottering along on cloud nine and are unlikely to ever change.

Anyhow, that's all behind Michael, since he slipped smoothly over to the Ministry for Culture and Heritage to take up his role as "special adviser".

In my quest for a similar position, I turned to the situations vacant columns in Trade Me. This proved fruitless. "Special adviser" vacancies tend to come only from the crypts of obscure mandarins in government.

Gaining entry to this elite world is like trying to penetrate a secret monastic society guarding the Holy Grail.

Michael's non-advertised position was created and filled within six days, in much the same way God created heaven and earth. Like our divine maker, bureaucracy proves once again that it moves in mysterious ways, its wonders to perform.

When I announced my plans to the caregiver, she replied: "To be an adviser, you have to be expert in something."

"I could come up with ... err ... something," I responded defensively.

"Name one thing you understand," she said.

"Jottings and doodling cartoons?" I meekly suggested.

"Exactly!" the caregiver concluded, adding somewhat scathingly, "who's going to pay you $350,000 to advise on that sort of frivolous occupation!"

"A government department with more money than sense?" I optimistically suggested.

"Mm ... a 'special adviser' on jottings and doodles," the caregiver pondered, before also reaching my conclusion that, as it's only taxpayers' money being thrown around, I could be in with a chance.