It's not Monday. I've looked into it, and fully examined the situation, and I think the majority of New Zealanders will agree with me that today's not Monday.
Yes, it's the start of the week. Yes, it's the day after Sunday. But I think what we should be focusing on is that Phil Goff broke an embargo yesterday by leaking the news that today might be Monday.
He was wrong to do that and my understanding is that he should be jailed for a very long time, as should Labour leader Andrew Little. I don't like the way he's talking to me. No one talks to me like that. I'm the Prime Minister, 24/7, including Mondays, which today isn't.
I texted Cameron Slater to check and he agrees with me.
Yesterday I misunderstood the question when I was asked what day it was.
I should have said Monday but as usual the media were up to their old tricks, and twisted my words. What I'd said to them was, "At the end of the day it's not Monday." Which is correct, because at the stroke of midnight or just after, it's Tuesday.
In any event I couldn't hear myself think what with the racket going on in an office down the corridor. It sounded like a mentally unstable person had got hold of a gun.
In fact it was Judith Collins using her Magnum .44 for target practice, so no harm done. I passed on a note to ask her to please stop shooting and a note came back from her saying that I wouldn't hear any more gunfire. And I haven't heard so much as a peep. She's good like that. Honourable.
Meanwhile, more ridiculous questions in the House today, and more shouting from Andrew Little. This can't go on. He needs taking down a peg or two. I wish I knew someone who could get some dirt on him, but unfortunately I don't have any contact with Cameron Slater.
Andrew Little shouts at me, "Cut the crap!"
Well, he'll never get anywhere with coarse language like that, and I think it's revealing that he didn't actually propose what kind of cutting instrument would do the trick. Typical Labour. They forever play fast and loose with the finer details, and the public see right through them.
Little will never know what it's like to be Prime Minister. I patiently explained to him that I receive thousands of texts every day and can't possibly be expected to remember if some of them are from Cameron Slater. Sometimes he texts and sometimes I reply but I'm fundamentally not in contact with him because sometimes he doesn't text. And I only ever reply when it's important.
Cameron texts, "Yo howzit dawg."
I reply, "All good. Sup?"
He texts, "Plot to kill meHeard a floorboard creakFollowed to the dairyBought a packet of wine gums."
I reply, "Save me the red ones!"
He texts, "Too late. Soz! Oh no spilled coffee on my shirt. Better put it in the wash."
I reply, "Hopefully it will all come out in time."
What a week! It didn't help that I slept badly. I kept waking up to find I was lying in a painful, twisted heap.
The pain was so bad last night that I got up and went to the office.
It was about 3am and the lights were out.
I heard footsteps in the corridor, and then a strange sort of whispering noise, and a window smashed right behind me.
I switched on the lights and saw Judith Collins crouching on the ground, wearing a balaclava and holding her Magnum.
I said, "I thought I told you no more shooting!"
She said, "And I told you that I'd be quiet."
She unscrewed the silencer. There was a strange glint in her eye.