Jim Hopkins: Whoosy woofter wallyticians get up Uncle Norm's nose

Those of you who've met Uncle Norm will know he's a plenty blunt rooster. Brusque, you might say. Or uncouth, if you're "one of them purse-lipped, prim and proper 'pass a law against it' lemon-suckers," as Norm himself would put it.

He's basically Martin Devlin with wrinkles. Well, wrinkles and a dodgy prostate, if you get right down to it, and let's face it, who'd want to?

"Any physician who fiddles with a fellow's fandangle deserves a medal," says Norm. "Hell, if they knew where mine's been, they'd all want danger money."

Okay, it mightn't go down too well at the Taranaki Sports Awards but Norm couldn't "give a rat's rectum".

"I'm like Monty," Norm says. "I always take the direct route. Just kick'em in the panzas and that's that, mate."

And that's certainly how it was the other day. Norm and I were in his shed, sampling his new homebrew, although he clearly had other things on his mind as I discovered when we started to taste his pungent concoction.

"Y' reckon I should send some down to them in Wellington?" he inquired after I'd complimented him on the piquancy of his ambrosia. "Might stiffen their sinews a bit, assuming they have any."

"Of course they have," I replied. "And they're using them to build a new and better world."

"Sez who?" snorted Norm, warming to his theme. "It might be better for all them Doctor DoLot's rammin' PC medicine down our throats, but that's it. Strewth, now they're tellin' us y'can marry a fag but you're not allowed to smoke one."

Steady on I said, acutely conscious that Norm's neighbour not only worked for the Human Rights Commission but had excellent hearing. "You can't say that. It's a gross oversimplification of the liberal and enlightened legislation before the House. And, more to the point, they'll have you for hate speech. They might even put a bug under your vice."

Norm glanced furtively under his workbench to check that no surreptitious spook had secreted a Turiagraph there before emphatically declaring, "No point buggin' my vice, boy. They've banned every one I ever enjoyed."

"Oh, that's not true," I exclaimed. "You've still got bowls."

Norm gave me the sort of withering look you'd expect from Nandor Tanczos at a Destiny Church service. "And balls," he bellowed. "That's why I'm marchin' on Parliament. I'll give them bracket creeps sumfink t'think about."

He reached into his overalls and pulled out a large ad from a Sunday paper. "Y'seen this?" he demanded angrily.

I studied the document carefully. It was a page full of names all vigorously defending the love that dare not speak its name. Various vicars had signed and also several politicians, including the Libertarianz, Judith Tizard, Marian Hobbs, the Hon Chris Carter MP, the Hon David Cunliffe and Mr Tim Barnett (and friend).

"Be fair," I said. "They're just saying they support the Civil Union and Relationships (Statutory References) Bills because they believe, and I quote, 'that the law should reflect the diversity of relationships, treat all people fairly and equally and not discriminate against de facto and same-sex couples'."

I pointed to a inspiring statement at the bottom of the ad. "That says it all," I said. "Love doesn't discriminate - neither should the law."

Norm pointed to his faithful spaniel, snoozing in the corner of the shed. "So I can marry Lassie, can I?"

"Of course not."

"Why not? If the law shouldn't discriminate, why can't I marry me dog?"

"Informed consent," I spluttered. "We'd never know if Lassie really wanted to marry you. And the same goes for paedophiles."

"I don't want me feet done," yelled Norm. "What I want is a straight answer. They say love doesn't discriminate. Although it actually does. I didn't draw your aunty out of a hat, sonny. But they say love doesn't discriminate, so the law shouldn't, either. Correct?"

I nodded.

"Right. Then what about polygamy? If the law shouldn't discriminate, why can't I have 10 wives? Why can't your Aunty Ethel have a dozen hubbies? No problem with informed consent there, boy. So why should there be a law against that, eh?"

"Ummm ... " Much as it vexed me, I couldn't immediately answer Norm's question. "Perhaps they'll cover that next," I suggested, lamely. "But you're missing the point, Uncle. This new law is all about ending discrimination. All this law seeks to do is keep the state out of the bedroom."

"Codswallop," roared Norm. "It's actually saying y' can't go into the flamin' bedroom unless the state opens the bleedin' door. Blimey, they're unionising everybody. De factos, gays, straights, everyone except the ruddy polygamists - and Lassie and me. Doesn't matter if you're an anarchist, a free spirit, or a Seventh Day Extortionist. As far as they're concerned, you're man and ... partner."

"At least there'll be no more coercion within relationships," I muttered.

"Only because they're coercing us," raged Norm. "Well, I've had enough. I'm asserting my emotional independence. As of next week, I'm becomin' a Carmelite nun. And if those wallyticians try to stop me, I'll sue 'em. Listen here, I'll say. If love doesn't discriminate, neither should the law. I'm a gay straight de facto celibate and I demand the right to enjoy my habit without interference from youse. So put that in your act and smoke it."

Strangely enough, he didn't give me any homebrew to take home, either.