Brian Rogers Rogers Rabbits www.sunlive.co.nz

Astute followers of the RR columns will know how important the royal family is to us. So let's not waste any time in getting right onto the big news of the moment…

...The boardwalk at Pilot Bay, the America's Cup, the development of the cryolipolysis slimming machine, whether Tom and Jackie from X Factor are doing the wild thing, or Patrick Lam winning another national pie making award.... Anything except more royal baby ranting.
We have been swaddled with nauseating television coverage. Cocooned in cacophony of obstetrical obfuscation. Paralysed by a pantomime of paparazzi.

Just another baby
Reality check: George is just another baby, no more or less important than any other individual in the world.
Worse, we are playing into the hands of a multi-million dollar family empire, leaching off the loyalty of the minions.
Despite my indifference, others in the household found it necessary to drool over every piece of information on the subject. News of the pending arrival of the potential king-to-be spread quickly, with my witty wife calling out: 'I wonder if it's crowning yet?”
Meanwhile, my mates and I have been musing over a present for the royal baby. Since we heard John Key was giving a shawl, we decided the royals might need some warm booties. But then we remembered, Kate's family is already well endowed with hot bootie. (Imagine here gratuitous photo of Pippa Middleton at royal wedding. You know the one.)
Those of us with Scottish and Irish heritage will be viewing, with suspicion, the news that yet another Pommy marauder has been brought into the world and we should keep our shillelagh and staff primed for whatever the feckin English might be plotting next. For those of us with a bit of Maori thrown into the mix, a taiaha would also be an excellent choice, whanau.
Yes there is a new heir to the throne, but let's not forget the mayhem the English have wracked against the Scots, Irish, Maori, Indians and Argentines, to name a few.

English mayhem
Centuries of oppressions, invasions and dodgy deals that have left many bereft of treasure, pride and identity. Generations of persecution, boundary disputes, ordering hoards into the fields of conflict to certain slaughter – and that was just the cricket.
Plus, we were saddled with a naff flag with the Union Jack thing in the corner. (Time to launch our campaign to disassociate with the silly cross: 'Jack Off, Blighty.”)
And to make matters worse, we have had to endure not only visits from misfits such as Charles the Dysfunctional, but a stream of other English afflictions ranging from the Ford Anglia to Suzanne Paul.
It's time the melting pot of Kiwi stood up against the influence of the imperial tossers.
The treaty is a classic example. This was a deal signed between the occupiers of the land at the time (some call them indigenous, others think of them as the ones with the faster boat, aka Team NZ in San Franscisco) and they got here first.

A deal made
This deal was signed between the current occupiers of the land at the time (most Maori tribes) and the relentlessly colonising English and their Queen. Most tribes signed to achieve peace among themselves, with the promise of protection of imperial forces and the opportunity to be treated equal as a British citizens under Queen Wikitoria.
This was not a deal with the collective people of NZ now paying for it.
Yet now, the onus is falling on the people of NZ, who just happen to be a mix of the original occupiers, the late arrivals in the slower boats, and anyone else who has blundered ashore at the Land of the Long White Cloud.
The deal was with the British. I don't see the British Crown paying a red cent. There was no deal with the NZ Government or its backers, its taxpayers. The NZ Government wasn't even formed when Old Blighty made deals. The payers are now us. The ones who are still here. The mix of occupiers, indigenous, nearly indigenous, partly indigenous, fast paddlers, slow sailors and those just unfortunate enough, or lucky enough, to be born here after the event, with a muddled sense of ownership, identity and some harbouring transferred historical guilt, a colonial hangover from the Crown's dereliction of duty.
Why is the reparation and apologies not coming from the British? The Monarchy?
So there. It's said. Before you go getting all goo-goo eyed about yet another boring king in the making, consider the mess this family has left and how they're quite good at turning a blind eye to it all.
Which has left middle New Zealand footing the bill, very similar to having the fat sucked out of you, like the cryolipolysis slimming machine.
Keep writing those cheques.
In the meantime, better to focus on our own version of the royals and a blossoming romance between a lonely minstrel and a songstress princess.
Remember, you heard it here first.

brian@thesun.co.nz