First the big party, now the national hangover

In the Election Night Drinking Game, United's Peter Dunne forced a drink down our throats by whining about media coverage. Picture / Anthony Phelps

The country spoke, and it said "um". Thus, the morning after the night before, all throughout the land, the populace was suffering. And not just from election party overhangs.

Even more painful than unpeeling one's eyes to look for the Panadol packet was the realisation that we now face weeks more of politicking as coalition squabbling gets under way. Stasis. Do not pass go.

Does this qualify as torture? And isn't that against the law? Er, well, yes, except when it's called self-flagellation: we brought it upon ourselves.

Labour didn't win a resounding victory, lost some excellent people and some good seats. It also got a fright, if Prime Minister Helen Clark's grim (and exhausted) expression was any guide as she greeted the faithful at the Mt Eden War Memorial Hall.

In fact, to the six of us holding an election party in front of a Sandringham telly with pizza and Marlborough's finest, she looked ready to collapse with exhaustion.

Although National vastly improved on its 2002 performance, with 11 new MPs, you might not have thought so from Don Brash's alarming rictus as he prepared to address supporters. The Nats were hardly abject losers.

Adding to the day-after woes was the weather: grumpy and indecisive itself. Even Auckland's cafes, normally buzzing on Sunday, felt flatter than a tepid latte.

The pollies paced themselves during a remarkable campaign so they could all collapse in a relieved heap this week. Us too. There is no energy or patience left.

Election night's telly coverage was edge-of-seat stuff. At our sides the Herald's list of candidates, pens, and a piece of paper headed 2005 Election Night Drinking Game that had been doing the rounds by email.

For example, you had to take one drink if Jeanette Fitzsimons referred to the life expectancy of the bottlenose dolphin (she didn't); if Don Brash was forced to mention the Exclusive Brethren (he wasn't, but mentioned them anyway, in light-hearted fashion); or if any minor candidate complained about being overlooked by the media (Peter Dunne, most petulantly).

The game required us to "take two drinks during John Campbell or Mark Sainsbury's coverage if a technical hitch resulted in "no picture, no sound or some other hilarious cock-up" (sorry TVNZ, we drank to you twice, but only because we spent very little time on TV3).

I am left with a fuzzy head. I wonder if there will be a three-week collective hangover as an underwhelmed country waits for grumpy and understandably tired pollies to sort out the housekeeping.

At least there is little chance of having to carry out the game's final instruction: "Drink solidly for the next three years if Winston becomes Prime Minister."