I can say that, you see, because it is a fact and we all know it. We are all quietly thinking to ourselves, ‘Lockwood Smith is right,' but these days of political correct claptrap, politicians are not allowed to say what they think.

I was having a yarn with a Tongan mate (who likes to be called 'Cheeky Darky” but we call him CD because it's more politically correct) over Smith's comments, including notions that some Pacific Island seasonal workers have to be trained to use bathroom facilities, and my Tongan friend agreed.
He points out that Helen is trying to direct all New Zealanders how to use the bathroom, including dictating what sort of shower flow thou shalt have, and the sort of lightbulb thou shalt shine in order to check the cleanliness levels of our multicultural skins.
He also thought it quite a good idea if Asians did all the orchard work, picking fruit with their little hands, while he and his fellow islanders sat under a shady tree and used their big hands to give directions.
CD added that his big hands were better for slapping, but that had been outlawed, too.
Cheeky reckons it's much more racist to have politicians elected to parliament on the basis of their race: That is, specific seats for Maori. Surely, he reckons, if we are indeed a politically-correct nation, Maori would be elected on their merits, not their skin colour. But hey, you can't say that!
The world has gone nuts. If the people of New Zealand don't like Lockwood Smith's attitudes, they have every right to vote him out. If they like what Turia says, she would be elected by all New Zealanders, not just a racially-select group.
We have this insane process now, where most people are quietly thinking one thing, but are too scared to say it. PCness has crept into every facet of our lives, an insidious disease that is turning us into gutless, conformist drones of Helen's draconian, sexless, homogenised, nanny state, mind-controlled world.

Twilight zone
There's a perplexing phenomena developing along our beloved main street, Cameron Rd, that all motorists should be concerned about.
That is the increasing occurrence of people dressed in silly outfits, trying to entice customers into their stores and places of business. We all know business has been tough along there, especially in the Perpetual Roadworks Zone, which is sort of like the Twilight Zone, but with more dust.
I can understand that the endless roadworks might have driven some business owners to bizarre lengths, but dressing staff in animal suits is really taking it to extremes.
I blame the chicken. It all started with the chicken. Whether it was the chicken burger or the chicken pizza (is there such a thing?) or simply the chicken crossing the road – who exactly knows. But the first silly suit, as I recall – if you don't count the Mayor in his chains and the odd golfer in chequered pants – was the chicken waving arms frantically in the air. This was supposed to cause normal thinking motorists to swerve into the establishment in some sort of irrational, spur-of-the-moment buying spree, and buy rubbish food.
Normal thinking motorists, however, mostly thought; 'Is it open season on giant chickens yet?”
Now the rot has spread. It's not just chickens and pizzas – its the big-ticket items that have a furry/feathered roadside representative touting for business. Such as car sales yards. I'm not sure what the particular animal is supposed to represent, some say it's the Holden emblem lion. Others see a rather large piece of roadkill that miraculously survived and is not actually trying to get you into the caryard, but attempting to thumb a ride to the hospital.
What I don't understand, is why would anyone buy a car on the basis of an idiot in an animal suit waving from the kerb? I can see that it might work for fast food joints, but a $40,000 motor vehicle?
Does the conversation in the household go something like this:
Husband: 'Darling, I think we should buy that new ute this week.”
Wife: 'Sure honey, which one?”
Husband: 'I really like Ford's revolutionary intelligent safety system, the pyrotechnic seatbelt buckle pretensioner, the crash severity sensor, the ABS and the electronic brakeforce distribution system.
But Holden have a cool guy in front of the yard wearing a cat suit.”
Wife: 'Oooh, that's one for us, then!”
Or, another scenario, does the unsuspecting driver, progressing along Cameron Rd, see the idiot in the Garfield suit, drive in and sign up for a new stationwagon, thinking he was actually getting a megaburger with double cheese, hold the mayo?
Does the enormity of his purchase only dawn when he realises, there are no fries with the Calais V-Series?
Must go now, and climb into my monkey suit and hang around the bar.

No.1
Which leads us neatly into this commercial message: This week we've opened the best bar under the Sun, No.1 The Strand.
Nestled in the downstairs area of the historic old Bonded Store, under Sun Media's new offices, No.1 The Strand offers 'simple food served well” consisting of platters and snacks with a difference, along with fine wines, a great selection of beer and ultra-premium spirits.
Drop in and check out the great atmosphere and quiet ambience, handy to town with great parking in the cul-de-sac – and a world away from the madness on the rest of the Strand!
We're open after work on Thursdays and Fridays from 5pm; Saturday afternoons from 2pm till late and for Sunday brunch, 10am-3pm. See you soon.

Over the edge
This week Green Party Co-Leader Jeanette Fitzsimons fulfilled a 20-year dream to hurl herself from a bridge attached to a thin rubber band. Ms Fitzsimons, who is visiting Queenstown, has taken up an offer from AJ Hackett Bungy to jump from the 43-metre Kawarau Bridge bungy. 'It's a dream I have had for the last 20 years…”
Odd, that, because here at RR, we've had the same dream, only with Fitzsimons taking Bradford down with her. Our version of the dream, however, didn't involve any rubber band, just a brass band playing a jaunty, celebratory send off.