Peter Bromhead: Never mind the rental-car keys, give me those house keys

Peter Bromhead

I've been trying to come to grips with my overwhelming desire to deprive tourists of their rental car keys the moment they cross the centreline.

For days, I've been patrolling the highways. I've even lurked at airport rental car locations, observing through binoculars the behaviour of visitors who appear to have no command of English, never mind a basic grasp of our highway code.

However, I've concluded that my Auckland location is a problem. Driving around the Queen City is a haphazard experience at the best of times. And I'm finding it hard to separate the Jafas glued to their cellphones from the diminutive Asian tourists cautiously seeking the bypass to Rotorua.

"Perhaps we should move to the South Island, where most of the car-key confiscations seem to be taking place?" I suggested to my wife.

"They appear to have the right sort of narrow, windy roads combined with breath-taking scenery that lures visitors to drift around a bit."

Her suggestion was more direct. "Go and see a head-shrinker and find out why you want to persecute visitors for bad road behaviour."

On the couch, I feverishly rattled out my desire to perform a public duty by policing the roads as a key-confiscating vigilante.

"This is part of a bigger problem," explained my therapist. "You are generally feeling a sense of bewilderment and helplessness as you become increasingly aware that the whole country and its assets are being slowly gobbled up by overseas investors, particularly from Asia. This is leaving you melancholy and anxious, because you do not have the means or resources to compete."

"So, are you suggesting I'm mentally aggravated because I'm being pushed out of the housing market by foreigners and the only way I can retaliate is to take their rental car keys?"

"Exactly," my psychiatrist retorted. "You have to learn you're now living in a country that is highly desirable for overseas investors who are now buying all that you once took for granted, such as that house you missed out on in the grammar school zone recently."

As my psychiatrist's suggestions sunk in, I realised I had to rehabilitate myself by changing direction.

Arriving home, I explained to my wife my change of heart.

"We're taking the wrong keys," I cried. "It's house keys we should be confiscating, the moment foreigners try to move in on local properties."

I'm now on my way to Epsom, to force those Asians who pushed me out of the auction recently to hand over their house keys, on the grounds of recklessly making me feel depressed and deprived.

"On what legal grounds will you be confiscating their property?" my wife asked, dryly.

Like the rental-car key-snatchers, I'll worry about the legal niceties later.