Jim Hopkins: Call in 'The Plumber' to fix those nasty Beehive leaks

To be read with a Bronx accentz:
No one knew his real name. They just called him "The Plumber". Because he knew how to fix leaks. Poimanently.

There was lotsa ways The Plumber fixed leaks. Sometimes he blocked 'em. Sometimes he sealed 'em. And, sometimes, if necessary, he plugged 'em.

And when he plugged 'em, he plugged 'em good. One time, two times, three times, four. Five times, six times, seven times, wad ever.

Da woid on da street was, "When da Plumber plugs a leak, dat leak stays plugged, y'know wod I mean?"

Oh, yeah! People knew. They knew there was leaks The Plumber had, shall we say, "attended to" that were now just magnetic anomalies under da floor of the Parliamennary librerary - in da Repealed Section, of coise!

The Plumber enjoyed his anonymity. It was more than a cloak. It was his mistress and he embraced it like a lover. He caressed it. He squeezed it. He clung to it passionately in moments of wild exultation when all logic had gone and dere was only da mopping up to be done.

Darkness was his boudoir and secrecy his soul mate. It amused him to sit alone in his dim little "office" (which most people thoight was a broom closet) tinkin' about all dose people who would never find out what he really did.

And it amused him even more to tink about de udders, da ones who would find out. But was never gonna tell anybody! Not in dis woild, anyways!!

Like them guys who's tried to "assist" the Taito Phillip Field inquiry - as if things woin't bad enough already.

"Did ya fix it?" his "client" had asked.

"Is da Pope a Methodist?" The Plumber had quipped, casually wiping a bloodstained plunger. "Of coise I fixed it! Ain't none of dem guys gonna be needin' a Visa anytime soon. But," and at this point he'd allowed himself a quiet chuckle, "dey might be helpin' St Peter wid a liddle paintin' and decoratin' on da Poily Gates."

There'd been some udder leaks dat had kept The Plumber busy as well, including a whole bunch dat maybe linked sinister American foices wid the Opposition's noo broom, Dr Brush.

"I found da guy," The Plumber had triumphantly advised his "client" after two days of "discreet" investigation. "I got his head in da shredder and his feet in da blender as we speak. So ... do ya want me to, like, sweep him under da carpet?"

"Are you mad?" his "client" had shrieked. "The man's a patriot! and a godsend. Give him some Telecom shares and tell him to keep up the good work!"

Which kinda reminded The Plumber of the biggest leak he'd ever had to plug.

It had all started one quiet afftanoon about three o'clock, when most civil soivants was enjoying a well-desoived cup of tea and a gingernut.

But not all of dem, obviously.

"We've got a problem! A huge problem!" his "client" had snarled. "Honestly, it's like Sieve City round here. We're rapidly becoming the dodgy prostate of the Western World!"

"I thought prostates was legal now?" The Plumber had said, clearly misunderstanding the medical reference.

"Concentrate," his "client" had yelled. "This is disastrous. Somebody's been rattung to Gattung. And it's a very important somebody too! Only 21 Cabinet Ministers and three officials could have leaked this information.

"Your mission is to find out which official. Is that clear?"

"As an Auckland motorway," The Plumber had quipped before getting down to business.

Two hours later, the Telecom CEO was sitting, tightly bound in coils of rope on an uncomfortable wooden chair.

"Okay, little lady," The Plumber had sneered as a single bulb swung ominously over his menacing head, "tell me da name of your soice or I won't unbundle dat loop!"

"Suits me," the CEO had grinned, clearly unmoved by The Plumber's terrifying threat.

For da foist time in a long time, The Plumber had been confused, hesitant, unsure what to do next.

Which explains why he was so pleased to be in Sydney, miles away from The Leakhive and its many perforations.

It was his "client" who'd sent him across the Tasman, on another murky mission

"Forget the telcos," she'd roared down the phone, "this one's even bigger. This time it's a $45 billion leak!! Tax cuts!! Can you believe it? Our budget's ruined! Ruined!!

"Whoever's behind this, find 'em and flush 'em!!!"

We all know da woild is a strange place.

We all know dere's wheels widdin wheels. What we don't know is dat, sometimes, dere's wheels widdin wheels widdin wheels.

So when people toined on the TV Noos and hoid the announcer say, "Canberra police have mounted an extensive search for the entire Australian Government, who disappeared in mysterious circumstances early yesterday morning," it never occurred to anyone that The Plumber had struck again.