Jim Hopkins: Why Uncle Norm is taking this election seriously

What with all the argy-bargy and how's your father on the campaign trail this week, it seemed like a good time to have a yarn with Uncle Norm, who's never short of a word - even if most of them are thoroughly objectionable.

To the enlightened, anyway, let's put it that way.

Still and all, he's a feisty old codger and there's always the thought in my mind that Norm does own a bach up in Keri Keri which Petronella's desperate to turn into an Aromatherapy and Physic Massage Centre. "And I can't do that if you're not in the will, my life-enhancing co-nurturer." (Gosh, she says the nicest things to me!)
So a visit certainly wouldn't do any harm and might even score a few Brownie points, Testament-wise.

Normally, Norm is out in the shed and, sure enough, that's where I found him, merrily battering some luckless object in the vice with his hammer.

"Don't worry," he said, cheerfully whacking his inanimate victim. "It's not a truck driver! Strewth! I'd be out on bail if it was."

"Now be fair, Uncle," I protested vigorously. "The judge clearly thought there were extenuating circumstances in this tragic case."

"Yeah," snorted Norm derisively. "He probably thought wee M.C. Hammer might be corrupted by Donna Huata. Problem if the poor chap was stuck in the slammer."

Before I could counter this preposterous assertion, Norm was off on a new tangent. "I suppose y'reckon she's a victim of the tall-pipi syndrome too?"

"On the contrary, Uncle Norm," I replied, relieved we'd finally found some common ground. "I regard white-collar crime as a shameful abuse of position and privilege. Particularly when it involves the mis-use of public funds."

"In that case we should shove most of the b@*&* politicians in jail," bellowed Norm, face reddening as he contemplated the profligacy of his betters. "Look at the way they're chuckin' money around. They're like the b@*&* tooth fairy on steroids! And they've got the gall to act like they're doin' us a favour. Hell's bells! It's not their money they're givin' away. It's ours!"

Not for the first time I found myself wondering why I'd bothered engaging Uncle Norm in political discourse. It's so tiresome discussing complex socio-political hypotheses with those who haven't studied political science at one of our more reputable tertiary institutions.

Nevertheless, I decided to give it a go.

"Such policies are entirely consistent with the redistributive philosophy that imbues all genuinely liberal, contemporary political thought, Uncle Norm," I said, secretly wishing my old tutor could've heard my word-perfect recitation .

"Bollocks!" roared Norm. "Until they've worked out how to redistribute IQ and attitudes too, they're wasting their time, boy. Look, I can remember when social welfare started. 'Applied Christianity', Mickey Savage called it. And you had to be 'of decent character' to get it. Well, it's not 'applied Christianity' any more, son, it's applied b@*&* lunacy.

"Besides," he said, warming to his theme, "two months ago they didn't have a cent to their name. Now it's raining money. I reckon they've got some ace counterfeiter out there on home detention!"

"Nonsense, Uncle," I replied peevishly. "It's merely an unanticipated disjunct between the estimates and the actuals, that's all. In accountancy terms, it's what we call an oversight. Nothing more. The good news is that this fortuitous windfall avails the Government of several billion dollars they didn't know we had. I think we should be grateful for that."

"Huh," sniffed Norm. "I'd be a lot more grateful if they hadn't taken it off us in the first place."

Bach or no bach, at this point I completely lost my rag.

"What a greedy, grasping, self-centred attitude," I snapped. "You've obviously got an altruism bypass, like all the other wealthy ... umm ... superannuitants." (Er, not a particularly smart thing to say, I thought.) "And the Business Round Table!" I hastily added, congratulating myself on a smart recovery.

"Don't mention those plonkers," sniffed Norm. "They can't even keep their emails private ... "

"Exactly," I interrupted, "what a scandal that is!"

"Scandal?" bellowed Norm. "You call some lobbyist moaning about the fact that no one will listen to him a scandal? That's not a scandal, sonny Jim! That's pathetic! I'll tell you what a scandal is. This secret 15-year plan John Tamihere told us about. The one that'll mean we're all living in Lesbiland!"

"Oh, Norman," I snarled. "You can't seriously believe that homophobic nonsense. Especially when Mr Tamihere's rabid outburst was a disgraceful betrayal of his own colleagues ... "

"Well, no one's denied it," quipped Norm. "And he's still in the party! Not bad for a traitor, eh?"

"There are sound pragmatic reasons for that, Uncle," I interrupted testily. "He could very easily win one of the Maori seats ... although I suppose you want them abolished too?"

"No way," said Norm, grinning ear to ear. "I'd put everyone on the Maori roll. That way we'd only have seven b@*&*

politicians to put up with. And we'd all get a treaty settlement!"

"I don't think you're taking this election very seriously at all," I retorted, thoroughly vexed.

"Oh yes I am, boy," he replied, aiming a meaty blow at his vice. "You bet I am."