KEY POINTS:
Enough already. Have the villagers of the Beehive no idea how ridiculous their outrage over a spin doctor's short-lived stay at the Environment Ministry appears to the real world? They should all get out more.
Indeed, if one wise old political observer I spoke to yesterday had his
way, they'd all be out of incestuous little Wellington for good.
The problem, he says, is that Wellington is so small that journalists, politicians and bureaucrats are endlessly leaping in and out of, shall we say, each other's pockets.
His solution: move the capital to Auckland and give the cloistered Beehiveans a chance to mix a little. Preferably with people they don't work alongside.
It's a daunting thought, welcoming that lot to Auckland, but I guess if they brought the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra and Te Papa and all the public dosh that gets showered on the capital, I could learn to live with the invasion. And think of the money to be made selling them houses.
But getting back to the moral frenzy stirred up by Opposition leader John Key over the truncated PR career of Madeleine Setchell, love partner to his own chief press secretary, Kevin Taylor.
In my industry, few tears are normally shed over the misfortunes of our overpaid sparring partners in the "spin" business.
Their job is to confound, confuse and if possible, suborn us. And judging by Nicky Hager's wonderful exposé of the machinations among the courtiers of Mr Key's predecessor, this is particularly true of anyone working in the Leader of the Opposition's office.
Many years ago I ever-so-briefly worked in the trade. I have the odd mate who still does.
I know what the job is. It's to serve and protect your master as best you can. And if you can score one over your opposition by using the media, so much the better.
The problem is, Wellington is so small that love partners often end up working for competing - and sometimes opposing - masters. Then there are the journalists who fall between the sheets of passing politicians - but let's not go there.
Beehiveans try to convince the rest of us that they erect Chinese walls down the middle of the bed so that no pillow talk is exchanged.
In our small, easy-going country we tend to go along with this conceit.
The high-minded crocodile tears being shed in the present kerfuffle are enough to make me feel sorry for poor old David Benson-Pope.
The Environment Minister seems to be getting it in the neck mainly because the hounds of the press gallery love the smell of blood and are hoping Mr Key will pick off the lame dog once pack leader Helen Clark tires of the hunt.
In a theoretical world, private and public lives can be compartmentalised, but in the real world gossip reigns.
It took only one call about the present furore before one of those being precious about it all couldn't resist letting slip the latest bed-swerving story about a senior politician and a journalist.
Latest to me, anyway, but obviously not to the Beehive gossip mill.
In recent days, the political commentators have been falling over one another to claim prior knowledge of Ms Setchell's departure from her job. Which makes you wonder, if it was so widely known among the insiders, why wasn't it considered outrageous and newsworthy until Mr Key started yelling about it from the rooftops?
Of course there was a potential conflict of interest, as Ms Setchell acknowledged by being up-front about her relationship when applying for the job.
If there was any cock-up, it was at that stage of the proceedings. In the real world, the potential for conflict was obvious. She should not have been hired. Even if Ms Setchell and Mr Taylor could return home after a tough day, week after week, and restrict their bitching to the state of the weather, who would have believed them?
If I was in the position of the minister's political adviser, Steve Hurring, and heard the new communications manager for my boss's ministry was living with the devil's PR man, I'd have been on the blower too.
