All the best stories at Barry Soper's place

By MICHELE HEWITSON

Ooh, it is nice at Barry Soper's place. It's all rimu, and plush carpet and green leather seats and has a very fine stained-glass ceiling. "It's a lovely room isn't it," says Soper. "See, isn't it comfortable."

The political editor of Newstalk ZB, rasping away in his familiar rusty hacksaw voice and sporting his trademark bow tie, is leaning back in the chair on my left. At one point in the interview I get a bit excited and start doing that Kim Hill whirligig thing with my pen. A bit of ink ends up on the green leather. A very small amount of ink. Soper pretends to be horrified. Its usual inhabitant, he says, will not be happy.

The person who usually sits in this chair is the Prime Minister.

We're not, strictly speaking, at Barry Soper's place. We're in the debating chamber at Parliament and, for Soper's idea of a lark, we've decided to do this interview with me in Helen's seat; Soper in Jim Anderton's. "This is where Jim sits greasing up to Helen."

Soper says this was my idea: "Well you asked for it." I'm pretty sure it was his and I'll be sticking to that version of events should there be any questions asked about ink marks.

Soper's usual chair is up above us. For 22 years he has been relaying his version of events from his seat there in the press gallery. Last year he was made a life member. He says he is not sure whether this represents "a sentence or an honour. I assume it's an honour".

So, in very many ways, this is Soper's place. He marks off the significant events in his personal life against the time spent here in his professional life: "I've had two brothers die, my father's died, my 17-year-old marriage split up and I've remarried and had two kids [in addition to the three from his first marriage] since I've been in Parliament."

Note that "been in Parliament". It's a sort of shorthand, of course, but it's interesting that he doesn't say "since I've been in political journalism".

It's the sort of distinction (or lack of distinction) that gets people confused about the press gallery people above and the politician people below. Because everyone knows that the journalists and the politicians hang out at Bellamy's together getting cosy over a few gins. And not telling us stuff.

Soper laughs at that one. "I've got to say I've rarely heard anything in Bellamy's that I'm itching to come outside and report. I think they [the politicians] are probably as guarded as we are."

And in any case, "you'd always find a way of reporting it, wouldn't you?" He's got a nicely wicked grin and when he grins his mouth goes up at the corners in a perfect imitation of his multi-hued bow tie.

He is very genial for someone who should be an old cynic. For someone who claims that, as long ago as 1996, he was being described in a headline in this paper as an "old news hack".

"The Herald ran it as its front page lead. I couldn't believe it." Actually, we called him a "news hack" in a direct quote from one John Banks who had just sacked Soper on air from his slot on Radio Pacific.

Still, talk about asking for it by talking about it.

So I say, "Well, you're so famous." Then, insincerely, "Oh, and you're still alive ... " That earns a scowl, but his eyes are dancing. He enjoys a bit of a tease.

As he should. He dishes it out all right. In his column on the Xtra website he calls politicians names like Genetic Fritsimons and Head Girl Helen. He reckons they think it's funny.

Certainly when I see Clark at the airport earlier in the morning (there's no getting away from her) she laughs at the idea of Soper being what she calls my "victim" for the week. She says he's survived all those years in the gallery by keeping his sense of humour. She giggles, but doesn't comment, when I mention those bow ties.

At a business conference in Wellington I ask for Soper. "He's inside," says the doorminder. "He's the only one wearing a bow tie."

N O matter how much you tease Soper about his bow ties you don't get a rise. "The interesting thing to me is a number of politicians have come up to me over the years and said 'Oh, I wish I had the courage to wear bow ties'." Peter Dunne, Soper says mock smugly, occasionally wears one.

Of course, Soper agrees, he's just copying. "Just as Winston copied my double-breasted suits [although] that he would never acknowledge."

Soper has been a fashion-plate around Parliament for longer than any politician other than Jonathan Hunt has been in the House. Only Ian Templeton has been in the gallery for longer.

Soper talks of Templeton with affection and awe: "Ian's now in his early 70s. He knows people back to Peter Fraser's day. It's fantastic."

Soper is talking about Templeton because he's recalling the time he almost quit the gallery. He was offered a job in public relations for "magnificent" money. He ummed and aahed, then took himself off to an industrial psychologist. "I lay on the couch and talked ... And the psychologist said at the end of it 'I think you've made up your mind to go'. So for that very reason I decided to stay. Well, how would he know?"

Somebody else said to him, "You don't want to end up like Ian Templeton." He does. He is genial then, but contrary.

Soper seems to have been around for so long, growling out of our radios, doing sartorial turns on the telly, that it comes as a surprise to learn that he's a mere slip of a thing at 50.

He's a walking, talking storehouse of good stories. Like the one about the bet he had with Winston Peters over the outcome of the 1996 election. Soper won and called Peters' office to remind him where to deliver the case of the best New Zealand chardonnay. Peters called back to say that he had a case of wine for him all right. But it was sauvignon blanc and there was something about the labels. They had Peters' photograph on them. "It was Mills Reef campaign wine that I got paid with. Nevertheless, he paid up."

The day before I go to see Soper in Wellington, I hear him on the radio accusing Jim Anderton of talking too much. Now that is no new accusation but, I put to him, talk about the radio journalist calling the politician black. "At least," he says, "on radio you've got to talk to a certain timeframe and shut up and get out of there."

Back at his office I ask one of his staff whether he talks all the time - off air. "Yes he does."

Does he tell the same stories over and over? A long pause. My short answer is: yes, he does. Of course he does. But he does it so well that nobody minds a bit. That's why Barry Soper is a lifetime member of the institution that tells stories for a living.