Southerly by David Haywood

Public Address would like to thank the Speaker's Office for kindly allowing us permission to reproduce Dr Smith's end-of-session speech.

Once again, we have reached the end of another parliamentary year. Despite the economic downturn, it has -- in many ways -- been the most successful year ever in parliament. Not least because of the sense of flair and excitement that I've been able to introduce as Speaker of the House.

I realize that many of the junior members will know me only from my role in cabinet, where I was arguably the greatest Minister for International Trade in New Zealand history. But before that, of course, I had an award-winning career in television, and worked with many of the great names: William Demarest, Charles Carlton Maxwell, and Bamboo Harvester -- to name but three wonderful 'small screen' actors. I need only close my eyes to feel, once again, the glamour, drama, poise, and sense of haute école in those pioneering days of television.

In fact, the very phrase haute école immediately brings to mind the marvellous James Dean, who was perhaps my closest confidante when I first arrived in Hollywood. J. Edgar Hoover had recommended me to Jimmy as someone who could help him in his transition from cinema to television. I have happy memories of accompanying Jimmy on one of his car-buying expeditions: he had his heart set on a Porsche 550 Spyder, whereas I suggested the Volvo L3314. "I don't even like the word 'Volvo'," Jimmy told me, "it just sounds like somewhere I wouldn't want to go." Oh, how different television history would have been -- not to mention Jimmy's personal life -- if only he'd heeded my advice.

Another case of haute école was a struggling young actor called Dick O'Donohue. I took an instant liking to him, but felt that his surname was too Irish-Catholic to succeed in Hollywood. At one of Frank Sinatra's

parties, I told Dick that he should drop 'O'Donohue' in favour of the stage name 'Van Dyke'. As so often happens in my life, it was an instant success, and -- solely on the basis of the new name -- former First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt was inspired to invest her personal fortune in backing his television series.

It was through the 'Dick Van Dyke Show' that I met the young Mary Tyler Moore. I instantly thought that Mary was, quite simply, haute école personified. My instincts told me that she would make a wonderful television producer, and I immediately suggested the name 'MTM' for her production company. "It's a play on 'MGM'," I told her. "You could even spoof the slogan with a little ginger kitten instead of a lion. And, if you made a television series about a cranky psychologist, you could have him saying 'meow' when the kitten opens its mouth. You could even have a siren noise if you decided to produce a police drama."

Of course, at a single stroke I had come up with the idea for 'The Bob Newhart Show' and 'Hill Street Blues'. After that, Mary simply adored me, and she insisted that I meet her friend Suzanne Pleshette. Suzanne was simply bursting with haute école. I took one look at her, and said: "I bet you're a fantastic seamstress." I designed some fabric and Suzanne sewed it together, and the next thing I knew we'd created the most successful bed-linen company in the world.

In 1962, President John Kennedy contacted us in the hope that we could manufacture some stain-resistant sheets for the White House. The Cuba Missile Crisis was in full swing, and I told him: "Jack, offer the Soviets a deal whereby you'll take your Jupiter missiles out of Turkey

in exchange for them removing their SS-4 and SS-5s from Cuba." A few weeks later, I met him again at the second season première of 'Mr Ed', and he told me that our conversation had been the turning point of the whole incident.

Sadly, not everyone I met in my Hollywood days had the haute école of Kennedy. Gene Roddenberry had perhaps the least haute école of any person I've ever met. Poor sad little Gene -- in many ways he was the spitting image of Maurice Williamson. If I told him once, I must have lectured him a dozen times: "Gene, don't split your infinitives." He simply wouldn't listen, and his subsequent 'career' has confirmed my worst fears. You simply can't help some people.

Funnily enough, it was through Gene that I met Neil Armstrong. Neil had a surprising amount of haute école for such a tiny astronaut, and he asked me write him some lines for when he landed Apollo 11 on the moon. I wrote something suitable, and we rehearsed it for weeks. Neil was a bundle of nerves about the mission. "I'm simply terrified that I'll make a mistake and ruin your wonderful words," he confided to me.

I had to be honest with him: "I think you probably will, Neil, but just do the best you can." And, of course, on the day he did muff the lines that I'd so carefully composed. But it was impossible to stay angry at little Neil. Dear sweet dowdy Neil -- I wonder what became of him?"

It some ways -- perhaps in most ways -- parliament has been a disappointment after my days in the television industry. But I'm sure that we can improve the members' posture and deportment (not to mention their haute école!) with better

timing and even more zazz. Let's get snappy with those scene changes, people! And ladies, need I say more than décolletage?

I have every hope that 2010 will be another fabulous year for parliament.

Unrelated postscript:

In response to customer feedback, Public Address Books now has an arrangement with leading independent bookshops in major cities. So now you can buy our books off-the-shelf without waiting for delivery. Click here for more information.

Even less related postscript:

In late-breaking news, a dramatization of the essay 'My First Stabbing' will play on the National Programme at 10.45 am on Friday 18th December. I'll also be interviewed by Kathryn Ryan at 9.30 am (check the Radio NZ podcasts).

Last night we had the utterly excellent Orcon Great Blend Christmas Party in Auckland -- and the week before we had the boozy Public Address book-launch in Wellington. So it would be quite reasonable for the citizens of Christchurch to feel a little deprived in the party-on-dude department.

But please don't -- because we haven't forgotten you, Christchurch! In fact, Russell Brown and Pead PR have nearly given themselves a nervous breakdown organizing an event for you. It hasn't been easy (to put it mildly), but the kind people at No. 4 have come through for us when all seemed lost.

It's another book launch -- but, of course, you don't have to buy a book. Just come along to meet the other Public Address readers, and to drink the completely free Monteith's beer and the cut-price Matawhero wine. In the interests of writerly investigation, I have extensively sampled both, and can assure you that they're extremely excellent.

To remind you of the details: the Christchurch event is at No. 4 (4 Mansfield Avenue, Merivale) this coming Monday (December 7) at 6 pm.

View the official Christchurch invitation here.

It's been an exhausting fortnight of book touring: guzzling down beer and wine, eating in restaurants every night, and -- in Emma's case -- being propositioned by people of both sexes. Talk about arduous.

One of the highlights for me was the interview with Glenn 'Wammo' Williams on Kiwi FM. Not only is Glenn a lovely bloke and a top-notch interviewer (so much so that we stayed yarning to him for nearly an hour after the show), but he is also a genuine radio innovator. His studio is wired for multi-camera video as well as the usual audio -- meaning that you can watch the video mix over a live stream while you listen.

I'm officially predicting that Glenn's radio show is going to be an even bigger deal (on Kiwi FM or elsewhere) in the future. You can watch his interview with Emma and me in the YouTube box below:

For years I have suffered nightmares in which I am giving a speech to a large crowd of onlookers. The sequence of events is always the same: I forget what I am supposed to say, fall into a complete panic, and then begin to talk utter rubbish.

In an interesting case of life-imitating-nightmare, this is actually exactly what happened to me at the joint parliamentary launch for 'The Reserve Bank Annual 2010' and 'Not Safe For Work'. After my reading from Emma's book, the audience fell into an expectant silence, and -- to my horror -- words began to spill forth uncontrollably from my mouth.

Happily I have blanked out most of it, but I vaguely recall talking (at some length) about my phobia of line-dancing. It speaks much for the success of the event (superbly organized by Russell Brown, Jen Toogood, Dianna Vezich; and kindly supported by the lovely Grant Robertson, MP) that despite such a colossal faux pas, I still managed to have a very enjoyable evening.

I must say that it was wonderful to finally put faces to names that I've known for years: Stephen Judd, Rob Hosking, Robyn Gallagher, Giovanni Tiso, Lyndon Hood, and Graeme Edgeler -- to name but six of the most drunken attendees. And, oh, how different they were from my expectations! Edgeler a mere babe in arms; and Tiso clearly putting on a fake Italian accent (it is now quite obvious to me that he is a born and bred New Zealander, probably from Stokes Valley or Naenae).

And, of course, maximum respect to Dr Don Abel (Assistant Governor and Head of Operations of the Reserve Bank of New Zealand) -- who gave a superbly funny speech that quite put my own attempts at humour to shame. There's such a thing as being too clever, you know, Don. He also passed on a private message from Dr Alan Bollard, which involved a threat of violence to my person.

But without doubt, my vote for the most bodacious act of the evening goes to Ms. Gemma 'Anarchy Now!' Gracewood. Despite warnings that persons not on the invitation list would be locked up in the parliamentary cells (possibly to face torture by Lockwood Smith), Gemma blatantly 'stuck it to the man' by rocking up to security without so much as txting in a RSVP. Amazingly, the hardened security-dude wilted before Gemma's winning combination of youth and beauty (and possibly also the fearsome reputation of Gemma's eldest sibling) and let her through without a murmur of protest. So disappointing that we didn't get to see an arrest.

For those Public Address readers now feeling despondent at missing out on all this excitement and free alcohol, I say unto you: Fear not! There are still two more book-launches to come -- in both Auckland and Christchurch!

And you don't even have to buy a book. Just come along to introduce yourself and then guzzle up the free booze.

The Auckland event is at 'The Velvet Room', Sale Street (7 Sale Street, Auckland) this coming Wednesday (December 2) at 6 pm.

View the official Auckland invitation here.

The Christchurch event is at No. 4 (4 Mansfield Avenue, Merivale) this coming Monday (December 7) at 6 pm.

View the official Christchurch invitation here.

Emma and I would love to see you all there...

Not all 'World Firsts' are as impressive as they sound. I like to think of them as falling into two distinct 'kinds'. There's the important 'first kind', such as: First Man on the Moon (Neil Armstrong), First Trans-Atlantic Wireless Message (Guglielmo Marconi), and First Computer Programmer (Ada Lovelace).

And then there's the somewhat less important 'second kind', such as: First Man to Stuff 50 Marshmallows Up His Nose (Carl Crowley), First Resident of Kentucky to Rebuild a BMW Car in Their Sitting Room (Gerald Stanley), and The New Zealand Reserve Bank Annual 2010 (David Haywood).
 

 

Yes, that's right, folks -- today we can announce our very own World First here on Public Address: the very first children's annual devoted to the subject of central banking.

It's actually a surprise to discover that no-one has thought of publishing such a book before. As I say in the blurb: "From xylophones to your favourite type of sausages, the theory of economics affects everything you do. And yet how much, if anything, have you told to your children?" To me, at any rate, it's an obvious best-seller.

Mind you, following on from the mild success of My First Stabbing hasn't been straightforward. It's not easy to produce a children's annual that conforms to my rigorous quality-control checklist:

• Completely unsuitable for children
  
Alienates my entire support base of previous readers

• Offends almost everyone -- thus resulting in sales of practically zero books
  
Special 'no stain' cover that's fully wipeable.

But, y'know, somehow I think I've managed to do it.

The book features the four short 'Alan Bollard' stories that have already appeared on Public Address -- plus two additional feature-length 'Bollard' stories that have never appeared before. But that's not all: there's a board game, a history section, songs, a play, children's corner, crossword puzzle, celebrity news, DIY, and even sex advice. Everything that you could possibly want in a children's annual about central banking. You can see a preview here.

Oh, and I forgot to mention the illustrations... the marvellous illustrations. They nearly gave me a nervous breakdown.
 

 
Of course, some people employ the term 'nervous breakdown' in a casual and careless sense. But I have an actual medical diagnosis from one of the people who took early delivery of the book (via the pre-purchase option):

Hello, just reading your new book. I work in the mental heath sector. Are you bipolar? Would be interested to know.

Ah yes, the famous mental "heath" sector -- not to be confused with the more medically-recognized mental health sector. I suspect this person is trying to insinuate something about my personality, although I'm not quite sure what it is.

Other pre-purchasers have queried whether I am on drugs, and as a follow-up question, whether I can get my "dealer" to send them some.

The answers to these questions are: no, no, and no. I'm just high on the thrill of central banking, baby.

Financial journalist, Bernard Hickey, has already previewed the book on interest.co.nz, saying it's:

The funniest version of an annual report from the Reserve Bank of New Zealand I have ever seen.

Of course, those of you who have experienced the humour in the regular Reserve Bank Annual Reports will appreciate that this is very high praise indeed.

If you're interested, you can purchase the The New Zealand Reserve Bank Annual 2010 directly through the Public Address Books website. Or, if you live in the Wellington area, you can buy one without delay from the new books section of Arty Bees fabulous shop. In either an insightful prediction of market response, or simple recklessness, they have laid in a large stock -- so there should be plenty to go around.

I like a happy ending. In fact, a visitor perusing my bookshelves can easily identify the books that end well. A Room with a View and High Fidelity and A Patchwork Planet and all of Austen are dog-eared and sellotaped-up from being read so often. Jude the Obscure, on the other hand, sits in near-virgin condition in the 'H' section, read exactly once, when I was 19.

I do realize, of course, that happy endings usually occur only in fiction. In the real world, Stalin and Franco died in their beds, and the New Zealand Herald still employs Garth George as a columnist. Unfortunately, as a general rule, the bad end happily in life, and the good unhappily. That, as Oscar Wilde nearly said, is what non-fiction means.

The ending of one of my own bits of non-fiction seems to have frustrated a few people. The essay 'The Beautiful Berton Sisters' in My First Stabbing describes how my friend Jonathan -- a humble wood-cutter's son from Totara North -- ended up with the beautiful Sarah Berton, a goddess with astoundingly excellent hair.

I've counted more than a dozen emails complaining about the ending to this piece. And even one actual physical letter from an 84-year-old, no less. In indignant-looking copperplate, she writes:

Come, come, Dr Haywood. You can hardly leave us hanging like that. Did Jonathan and Sarah get married and produce beautiful children? Your audience demands an answer!

Well, I hate to bring my audience down. I'd really prefer not to say. Although, for people who simply must know, I can provide a slight clue: the answer is an anagram of the word 'on'.

You see? Non-fiction really does suck when it comes to endings. Even my friend Gschwendtner, a normally optimistic guy, became sorrowful when I broke the news to him. "Oh, this reminds me of entropy," he said. "How we will all die. Even the universe."

But then, a week or so ago -- entirely unexpectedly -- I received a communique from Sarah's sister, Susan Berton. Not, I'm pleased to report, a letter from her lawyer (as I'd often feared might happen); but instead, a rather nice email, saying that she'd read the piece and enjoyed it, and providing a brief update on the lives of her beautiful sisters.

Susan, as some of you may remember, had also been mentioned in my essay:

Susan was the youngest of the Berton sisters... she was not only extremely cute, but she also had copious quantities of X-factor. Men used to fall for her like they'd been pole-axed. She worked in a pizza shop, and -- on one single day -- she once had three different men profess their love for her: a delivery boy, a co-worker, and a guy in Wellington who phoned about a yeast order. That's right, she had so much X-factor that it could travel down telephone lines as far as the lower North Island.

In her missive to me, Susan finished up by giving a few details of her post-essay life (as it were). One particular passage leapt from the page:

It so happens that I am still in love with the guy in Wellington who phoned about the yeast order -- and we have created [a daughter], who is about to go to Intermediate School.

And with that, ladies and gentlemen, I present the rarest jewel of real life -- a genuine happy ending.