That Guy: Blokey bash nails the true meaning of easter

In just over two weeks to the day, on Wednesday week, I will be speaking for the first time at the annual Big Foot Conference which is to be held, somewhat controversially this year, in Ohio.

Many of you will probably be saying that I have purposely timed this announcement to steal Helen Clark's thunder as she has just been asked to take on a fairly major role in the United Nations.

But I think it is worth mentioning there are many other New Zealanders besides Helen Clark doing great things overseas.

Many New Zealanders in the past have held high positions in international organisations - Mike Moore, Jim Bolger and Terry Clark, of Mr Asia fame - to name just a few.

My point, however, is that I am literally the first New Zealander to be asked to speak at the annual BFC, and to be honest it is a little disappointing nobody else has even picked up on this fact.

What is also a little annoying is that I was asked to speak at the Big Foot conference because of my own abilities and knowledge of the subject. Let's look at facts. Helen Clark got the job at the UN because most of the country didn't vote for her at the last election.

Sure, she is capable, but if she was that capable she would have won the last election and therefore not been in a position to even apply for the job in the first place. You do the maths. It is at times like this when you have to question the democratic process.

Incidentally, I didn't even apply for my role at this year's Big Foot Conference. They approached me through various links on the internet.

Coincidentally, I also live just around the corner from Helen in Mt Eden. Obviously, for security reasons, I won't give out her exact address because clearly then you will know you are just around the corner from where I live. You have to appreciate that, in this day and age, I need my privacy; a sanctuary, if you like, where I can do and perform those things that aren't necessarily illegal but aren't necessarily mainstream.

I appreciate there will clearly be a lot of speculation about what goes on behind the brown paling fence, especially since at a recent Neighbourhood Watch meeting someone chose to bring up the fact that noisy sex parties involving most of the cast and crew from Dancing with the Stars are common.

As with all good rumours, there is always some truth to them; however, I am not at liberty to disclose who I originally told them to.

Not all of the things that go on behind the fence are of a sexual nature. Some can be quite spiritual - even religious.

Every Easter, for instance, a dozen or so of my friends re-enact the entire Easter story. It begins with a Last Supper, at which we drink a lot of Australian red wine from the cask and then it eventually culminates, after much high-jinx, with a graphic crucifixion on the back lawn, usually somewhere between the Webber and the washing line.

For my money the whole effect is very much like what it must have actually been like all those years ago in Jerusalem, and, by all accounts, last year's ceremony could be heard as far as way as St Lukes, and that was before the crucifixion part.

The most obvious difference between our version of the crucifixion and that recounted in the New Testament would probably be the fact that, for safety and hygiene reasons, we use a nail gun from Mitre 10 to attach our crucified person to the cross.

After a few beers, doing it in the more traditional manner can be a little bit too hit-and-miss.

Rest assured that the bruised and beaten volunteer is removed from the cross well before any serious harm can be done, and then rather symbolically he is left to recover in the man cave or pool room I had built so that I can have few of the fellas over without annoying my wife.

When the crucified person feels he is ready, he will usually rise up and join the rest of us, who by now are probably playing Texas hold-'em poker or talking about going into town.

I know that many readers out there will probably find this behaviour blasphemous, but they might be interested to learn that in many cultures re-enactment of the crucifixion is commonplace, and many people feel that re-living Jesus' last hours can bring them closer to the father, the son, the holy ghost or all of the above.

Personally, I find the concept of looking around the garden for chocolate eggs that have apparently been hidden by the Easter Bunny a little more blasphemous and, if nothing else, a complete and utter trivialisation of what Jesus went through so we might live.