KEY POINTS:
There's big trouble in little Martinborough. Families are divided; husbands and wives are no speakies, hot-tongue, cold-bum, your dinner's in the oven.
Don't mention C words at social events, I was warned.
Were the burgher meisters planning a urinal for the village square? Why not, when other country
towns succumb to cultural cringe and model themselves on European counterparts? Martinborough could be Wairarapa's equivalent of Beaujolais' Clochemerie, the village in the satirical novel Clochemerle, which erupted in anger when the mayor unveiled a pissoir in the square.
The bickering in Martinborough, population 1350, is not over a toilet, but French can be blamed. Le Cordon Bleu, in conjunction with UCOL, wants to set up a cooking school, capable of training wannabe Julia Childs. According to a 2006 announcement from then Education Minister Trevor Mallard, who rode into town with the taxpayers' cheque for nearly $2 million to kickstart the school and promote the region's wines, this institute will train up to 300 students at one time.
Mayor Adrienne Staples says it's the most important local development for 20 years.
Not everyone agrees. Fifteen submissions objected (86 supported and 19 sought conditions), and now a few opponents may fight it through the Environment Court. Patiences are becoming exhausted, tempers are fraying, and not very nice things are being said about rather pleasant people who are only exercising their democratic right to object.
I don't care either way about the school. I live miles away, so I won't be affected by an influx of garlic-breathing students, with the pasty complexions and bad language of chefs I've worked for. I was asked to put in a submission but declined. I want to sink without a trace. I buy local - groceries, petrol, farm supplies - but my days of politicking are, like Keem's marriage to Brett, "hova".
I can understand business people's support, when an economic forecast (if you believe such mumbo-jumbo) estimates it could bring in $6.3 million a year. What such forecasts ignore, however, is like any immigrants, there's give and take. There will be, as opponents state, increased pressure on infrastructure.
The Warehouse or McDonald's would provide economic boosts but I doubt a big red barn would be welcomed by the vocal locals. Maybe if renamed La Rouge Grande, or Le Mac Grand?
Any big development will benefit local retailers, but when the council contravenes its own district plan and gives state-sponsored commercialism an easy ride on land zoned rural, you have to wonder why that same council makes private developers jump through high and expensive hoops to erect, as we did, a one-bedroom house, winery and barn.
Why have a district plan to protect productive land when those in charge can flout it with impunity?
But now the debate's turned personal. Letters to the paper from supporters accuse opponents of being "witless" and "dumb". Pasted in the window of one café is a letter from a retailer taking umbrage that an opponent moved to Martinborough less than 25 years ago, the implication being he has no right to object.
Local Maori might say the same about someone opening a dairy. There are rumours, too, of ugly stuff, such as objectors being refused service in shops and told to clear out.
No wonder Andre Cointreau, the president of Le Cordon Bleu International, was reportedly "blown away" with the region. I thought it was because of our savagely vicious nor'westerlies, not our stridently vicious tongues.
About 40 years ago the town waged a similar battle over saving the Pukemanu Pub, scene of an early New Zealand soap. That battle was lost and the demolition squad moved in.
It wasn't the end of the world, and neither is a Cordon Bleu cooking school, though a project this big will change the nature of the town forever. Queenstown here we come. City folk who visit a town and declare they've found the peace they've always wanted, often set about changing it into what they've come from.
But who wants financial struggle, when 2008 looks tough, with fuel costs, interest rates, and a block of cheese blowing a week's housekeeping?
If the school goes ahead, it won't be as disastrous as opponents fear. But neither will it be the town's economic saviour. Be careful what you wish for. Clochemerle's troubles ended with a thunderstorm - it cooled everyone's tempers, but ruined the vintage.
