Jim Hopkins: Rum spell of vexing and perplexacious matters

Egad, sir, it's been a damnably strange week! Weird, in fact. Crammed full of the most vexing and perplexacious matters, such as might persuade a chap to call for a firkin of ale and a bracing cigar, always assuming the former was affordable and the latter legal.

It will be no surprise to discover this state of bewilderment is largely the handiwork of our clamouring coven of candidates, for whom weirdness and strangeness might be regarded as perfectly normal - although, even by their normally low standards, the last seven days have been a particularly rum spell.

One that has raised many questions, few of which have been satisfactorily resolved. The answers lurk in the darkness, dangling elusive, like bats in a belfry, unable to be grasped.

We still don't know, for instance, if Mr Winston Peters is paranoid or prescient.

We do know he honoured the promise of his new campaign slogan, "A man for a change" by aiming a few meaty blows at "the militant underbelly" of Islam.

Predictably, this flagrant attempt to karate al Qaeda stirred a sirocco of condemnation.

Anxious to ensure we didn't stray from the path of sweetness and light, Helenvision New Zealand had, within hours, kindly interviewed no fewer than four different people, all of whom indignantly concluded that Winston was engaging in an opportunistic and disgraceful search for Reds under the Bedouin.

Trouble is, we don't know if he found any. To this day, we don't know exactly who Mr Peters' terrorist is - or terrorists are. And neither do we know when Mr John Campbell will endeavour to re-unite them with their family - or families, as the case may be.

We did see Mr Campbell, whose demeanour is uncannily reminiscent of a particularly virtuous Sunday School teacher, reunite a person who may or may not be a terrorist with his family this week, and that was really lovely, although Mr Campbell's enlightened action did attract a deal of criticism.

Responding to viewers who intemperately pointed out that his reunitee had arrived here with false documents, Mr Campbell earnestly advised his audience that the United Nations, no less, had declared that bearing false documents shouldn't prevent folk from being accepted as refugees.

And fair enough. Few would disagree with this noble decree, provided Mr Annan put his mercy where his mouth was and let the false document bearers bunk down at his place.

That way, we could all rest easy and stop worrying about those chaps in Auckland who allegedly conspired to blow up power stations during the Sydney Olympics. And the fine fellow who tried to get Boeing flight manuals from a Waikato flying school in the days prior to September 11.

Which is not to say Mr Peters is right. We just don't know if he's wrong.

Mind you, he hasn't been the only architect of confusion in recent days. We also don't know if Lockwood cosied up or Phil made it up. Phil says he's got documents which prove Lockwood wondered "whether it would be worthwhile" getting some Yankee doodle dandies to mosey on over an' give us some speechifyin' about the (not inconsiderable) benefits of nuclear power.

Lockwood, on the other hand, says he's got documents which prove he wondered no such thing, but neither he nor Phil will release their documents because that would "infringe the senators' privacy".

So at least we know they're both being nice to the Americans. Beyond that, the whole matter's more unclear than nuclear, and all we can say for certain is there's likely to be power cuts in the reasonably near future.

Which might be the only thing that will save those hapless bobbies down south. It is very sad to see five blue uniforms arrayed so sombrely in the dock. Particularly since their crime may actually be that they obeyed (un)lawful instructions.

It's certainly hard to imagine an entire motorcade going into "get me to the Test on time" hyperdrive just for the hell of it, but we don't know.

And we don't know if any of the V. I. Passengers will appear in court to clarify the matter. We don't know if one of them will suddenly and heroically arrive and declare: "Don't blame them, your Honour. It's not their fault. They were just obeying orders. My orders!" It's all a mystery, really.

A great big high-speed, back-seat enigma best summed up in the extinguished poet laureate Mr Jam Hipkins' new version of the great Kiwi classic, 10 Guitars that, for all we know, might even now be the land's No 1 song:

I have a band of men and all they do is drive for me
We raced around the countryside
Escaping Wai-ma-teee
The speed was quite by chance, of course
No order given there
The drivers went like madmen but
I was un-aware
I just worked, worked, worked in my police c-a-a-a-rs
And I never knew when we were goin' f-a-a-a-st
While they all stand trial, I'll never show my f-a-a-a-a-ce
Cos I'm busy, busy, busy with another r-a-a-ace