Dominion Post Column - 28th September
Political Groupies
There is a great deal to love about Wellington: the bars, the waterfront, the Hurricanes and Conrad Smith. I have never though really understood Wellingtonians. For the most highly sexed and desired individuals are not glamourous or beautiful like they are in every other international city. In Wellington the most desired are politicians.
Because I am attracted to men proven to be intelligent, gainfully employed, blisteringly funny and masculinely sexy I have obviously never succumbed giggling and weak at the knees to a politician. I have had a vast amount of experience watching others fall to such depths and conclude that the drug “insanity” is fed through Wellington’s water supply. There can be no other logical explanation and answers the question that many have as to why Wellington is the only New Zealand city where I drink water solely from sealed bottles.
Most politicians fly into Wellington on Monday night and leave on Thursday night. During 72 hours some get into as much trouble as I do on a good business trip. The difference of course, I have anonymity. A politician, without the right ability to be slippery or use the Diplomatic Protection Squad can cause irreparable harm.
Apart from being miles away from home which is a health hazard for most relationships, politicians work incredibly long hours but may not actually achieve a lot. That is, they sit around doing nothing of any use to the world. This increases the likelihood of laziness, weight gain and a strain of “meetingitis” to prove their importance. All politicians have a bug-eyed desire to “change the world” and when they realise they can’t as they don’t have much say in anything substantial, they naturally turn to people who make them believe once again that they can. The sycophantic political groupie.
My first experience with a groupie was a friend who had an obvious facial hair fetish. She never admitted this but it was my explanation as to why she purposivefully hunted down every bearded or moustached member of a certain political party. With some success as well as men with facial hair display a high level of appreciation for any woman interested in sleeping with them such is the physical barrier they put in place to make themselves suitably unattractive to the fairer sex.
Another time I was with a woman as she was successfully chatting up a very tidy male who would be considered a catch by the Parnell Blonde fraternity. Then a short squat politician waddled into the bar and she left Mr Auckland and spent the entire evening under the apparent charms of the politician, leaving later to spend the entire day following in bed with him. She reported dutifully that he wasn’t even that accomplished under the sheets, she just had seen him on TV and “wanted to know what it would be like”. She should have stuck with Mr Auckland as he didn’t take an entire day to make me grin.
The young political groupie can often be found working for Parliamentary Services or in political parties. Most have a toxic hero worship complex. They are the young men and women who commence their CV: “It has always been an ambition of mine to work in Parliament”, “I have wanted since age 6 to be an MP and this is a stepping stone into learning more about the parliamentary process”. There should be a scanner for key words in a CV that automatically sends such junk to an industrial shredder. These people are infatuated with politics and politicians and like alcoholics in a brewery or drug addicts in a pharmacy, are vocationally unsuitable. They spend far too long drinking from Wellington’s water coolers.
There is a renewal process every three years coinciding with the election cycle. Otherwise disinterested experienced MP’s excitedly strut through buildings that they may never do for another three years to see the new blood. The young resemble stunned possums with glazed looks in their eyes as the headlights from the reflective bald spots of these elder gents work magic. Outside of Wellington these men are not revered and in their own electorates they are treated with social worker type disdain by the general populous.
The only upside I can see to a relationship with an MP is free air travel and you only get that if you completely lose your mind drinking Wellington’s tap water and agree to marry one. The major downside to any relationship with an MP is that there is a certainty that someone in the open windy fishbowl of Wellington will know about it and embarrassingly you may end up in gossip pages or even referred to in Hansard.
I decided long ago that if I am going to be involved in a public sex scandal I would at least want the man I am connected with to be hot so there can be a large element of pride attached. And with every triennial intake of politician I can recall there is not one I would proudly put my hand up and admit “Yes, I did have sexual relations with that man Your Honour and may I say, damn he’s hot”.
No wonder there is so much denial going on from all sides of the House and all genders at present.
I wouldn’t want anyone to think I had slept with a politician either.
There is a great deal to love about Wellington: the bars, the waterfront, the Hurricanes and Conrad Smith. I have never though really understood Wellingtonians. For the most highly sexed and desired individuals are not glamourous or beautiful like they are in every other international city. In Wellington the most desired are politicians.
Because I am attracted to men proven to be intelligent, gainfully employed, blisteringly funny and masculinely sexy I have obviously never succumbed giggling and weak at the knees to a politician. I have had a vast amount of experience watching others fall to such depths and conclude that the drug “insanity” is fed through Wellington’s water supply. There can be no other logical explanation and answers the question that many have as to why Wellington is the only New Zealand city where I drink water solely from sealed bottles.
Most politicians fly into Wellington on Monday night and leave on Thursday night. During 72 hours some get into as much trouble as I do on a good business trip. The difference of course, I have anonymity. A politician, without the right ability to be slippery or use the Diplomatic Protection Squad can cause irreparable harm.
Apart from being miles away from home which is a health hazard for most relationships, politicians work incredibly long hours but may not actually achieve a lot. That is, they sit around doing nothing of any use to the world. This increases the likelihood of laziness, weight gain and a strain of “meetingitis” to prove their importance. All politicians have a bug-eyed desire to “change the world” and when they realise they can’t as they don’t have much say in anything substantial, they naturally turn to people who make them believe once again that they can. The sycophantic political groupie.
My first experience with a groupie was a friend who had an obvious facial hair fetish. She never admitted this but it was my explanation as to why she purposivefully hunted down every bearded or moustached member of a certain political party. With some success as well as men with facial hair display a high level of appreciation for any woman interested in sleeping with them such is the physical barrier they put in place to make themselves suitably unattractive to the fairer sex.
Another time I was with a woman as she was successfully chatting up a very tidy male who would be considered a catch by the Parnell Blonde fraternity. Then a short squat politician waddled into the bar and she left Mr Auckland and spent the entire evening under the apparent charms of the politician, leaving later to spend the entire day following in bed with him. She reported dutifully that he wasn’t even that accomplished under the sheets, she just had seen him on TV and “wanted to know what it would be like”. She should have stuck with Mr Auckland as he didn’t take an entire day to make me grin.
The young political groupie can often be found working for Parliamentary Services or in political parties. Most have a toxic hero worship complex. They are the young men and women who commence their CV: “It has always been an ambition of mine to work in Parliament”, “I have wanted since age 6 to be an MP and this is a stepping stone into learning more about the parliamentary process”. There should be a scanner for key words in a CV that automatically sends such junk to an industrial shredder. These people are infatuated with politics and politicians and like alcoholics in a brewery or drug addicts in a pharmacy, are vocationally unsuitable. They spend far too long drinking from Wellington’s water coolers.
There is a renewal process every three years coinciding with the election cycle. Otherwise disinterested experienced MP’s excitedly strut through buildings that they may never do for another three years to see the new blood. The young resemble stunned possums with glazed looks in their eyes as the headlights from the reflective bald spots of these elder gents work magic. Outside of Wellington these men are not revered and in their own electorates they are treated with social worker type disdain by the general populous.
The only upside I can see to a relationship with an MP is free air travel and you only get that if you completely lose your mind drinking Wellington’s tap water and agree to marry one. The major downside to any relationship with an MP is that there is a certainty that someone in the open windy fishbowl of Wellington will know about it and embarrassingly you may end up in gossip pages or even referred to in Hansard.
I decided long ago that if I am going to be involved in a public sex scandal I would at least want the man I am connected with to be hot so there can be a large element of pride attached. And with every triennial intake of politician I can recall there is not one I would proudly put my hand up and admit “Yes, I did have sexual relations with that man Your Honour and may I say, damn he’s hot”.
No wonder there is so much denial going on from all sides of the House and all genders at present.
I wouldn’t want anyone to think I had slept with a politician either.
posted by Cactus Kate at 2:02 AM
9 Comments:
Great column! You should have gone for Mr Auckland!
i thought you are/were an Act political groupie. Well that's the impression your blog gives.
Anonymous
Only in an intellectual way.
I have been known to give them a good thrashing when they have deserved it as well. Unlike that greasy sycophant Jordan Carter who is so far up Labour's arse he needs a snorkel to navigate his way out.
I think its just great that you've finally dedicated a whole column to Murray McCully.
Yes, and what would Jane Clifton say....
I unequivocally deny any linkages in this column to Murray McCully
I would though state for the record that I think Jane can do a lot better.
In the same way that a straight man over 6 foot need not drive around in a Mazda MX-5, Jane need not keep driving her current vehicle.
It is fact that Jane Clifton biffed Murray McCully out months ago. He is now shacked up with another groupie.
That would be great news. If it were true I would be very happy for her.
And condolences to the idiot groupie.
The priors speak for itself really.
If that's true, are we to expect the first mention of him ever in one of her columns?
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