Birds of a feather flock to elections
18th September 2010

The Electoral Commission has hit upon a brilliant strategy by aligning this year’s local body elections with the Bird of the Year poll conducted by the Forest and Bird Society. Clearly local government election organisers, whose triennial event gathers about as much interest as a share in South Canterbury Finance, hope to ride the wave of voting fever generated by the prestigious bird poll.
Forest and Bird officials, concerned Bird of the Year may be sullied by association with mere, or even mayor, politics hasten to draw distinction between the two elections.
“Bird of the Year is noble democracy,” argues spokesman Colin Finch. “Voters pick their favourite bird according to virtues like plumage, song and character, not according to where they stand on sewage treatment schemes.”
Nevertheless in some parts of the country local body elections have acquired a distinctly avarian character, with candidates accused of “ruffling feathers” and “strutting like peacocks.” Journalists scrutinise candidate lists to identify pecking orders, while the few candidates of character are dismissed as “birds of paradise.”
This commentator is much too circumspect to suggest Ashburton’s election candidates seek to align themselves with Bird of the Year. As far as we know none of our local candidates is eligible to stand in the Bird of the Year election and any resemblance to birds is merely, or mayorally, coincidental.
Despite assurances from candidates that they will not encroach on the bird poll Mid-Canterbury Forest and Bird has appointed scrutineers from the political wing of the Ashburton Fanciers’ Club to oversee the local government campaign.
Head scrutineer, Wing Commander Snowy Breast, claims there are already signs of interference.
“The mayoral candidates have been challenged more than once to get their ducks in line, although any further reference to ducks may be unkind to Mr O’Malley, as the currently sitting duck - I mean mayor.”
Wing Commander Breast admits it will be difficult for any of the mayoral candidates to burnish their reputations as birds of the bush.
“At a stretch you could imagine Mrs Tasker as a wattle-throated tui in a kowhai tree, but the noble physiques of McKay and O’Malley render them definitely flightless, and probably farmyard. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. Domestic poultry is in many ways far better suited to the rough and tumble of political life. If you’re in a scrap you could do worse than have a feisty cockerel or a bad-tempered gander as your friend.”
Colin Finch believes mayoral candidates will only fail if they try to gain popularity through Bird of the Year.
“Mr McKay should be particularly careful. He’s already had his wings clipped on Environment Canterbury and I’d have to say the dodo’s never been a big mover in Bird of the Year.”
In response to these criticisms Electoral Commission officials have hit back, arguing that some local body candidates are in fact birds seeking to leverage their popularity with Bird of the Year voters by standing for local government. They claim that an old rooster has been mayor of Invercargill for years and both leading candidates in the Auckland mayoralty race are turkeys.
And which of the two elections should voters pay the most attention to? Wing Commander Breast is in no doubt. “Y’know, local government has its uses but the real future of the country will always be shaped by Bird of the Year.”
And which bird gets his vote? “My vote for Bird of the Year? That would be the missus, same as always.”

Hubbard’s life a Shakespearian tale
4th September 2010

As I, the taxpayer, unexpectedly find myself the owner of a multitude of farms, a helicopter company and various other going concerns, along with $600 million dollars of ‘toxic’ debts courtesy of a certain finance company going belly up this week, I have resolved to take my responsibilities seriously and seek advice.
Turning to the most reputable financial advisor I know, William Shakespeare, I find Allan Hubbard has been here before me. Hubbard’s life and career are written in the words of Polonius to his son Laertes. It’s a piece of fatherly advice that establishes Polonius as a tedious advisor whose later death at the end of Hamlet’s sword is a relief to the audience. But it is a handy guide to success in business and, by the way, a window into Allan Hubbard’s rise and fall.
All that we know about Hubbard is captured in this single speech: his famous frugality (“costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, but not expressed in fancy”); his loyalty (“those friends thou hast…grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel”; his reserve (“give every man thy ear, but few thy voice”); and his graciousness in adversity (“take each man’s censure, but reserve thy judgement”).
Ah, but then we come to the nub; “neither a borrower nor a lender be,” and, let’s face it, Mr Hubbard was both. Never mind that he conducted both with extraordinary success for 50 years, Polonius would have waited that long just to savour his downfall, and even now the crows of public opinion should be feasting on Mr Hubbard’s carcase. But here’s an unfathomable thing: from the wreckage of his life’s work Mr Hubbard has salvaged two priceless articles – friendship and the means of renewal.
Friendship is the greater prize. Polonius advises against lending “for loan oft loses both itself and friend.” Mr Hubbard has lost his lendings but retains his friends. In fact they flock to the defence of his reputation and honour. You get the feeling these are not just friends whose loyalty was secured through the government’s deposit guarantee scheme, but people who genuinely care for the man.
The loyalty of his friends lies partly in the second article – the means of renewal. Polonius cautions that “borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry,” and ain’t that true. How often in recent times have we seen the flash Harries and charlatans, the ex-rugby league stars and high rollers living up large on money borrowed from guileless investors. They self-destruct when their enterprises can no longer sustain their lifestyles. Not so Mr Hubbard. A lifetime of thrift is a perfect platform on which to rebuild his fortune.
Age and ill-health may have the last say in this saga but if Mr Hubbard is to rise above his misfortunes he will need to demonstrate two further qualities promoted by Polonius. Finding himself in a fight he must bear it “so the opposed may beware of thee:” in other words, tough it out.
Finally, “this above all: to thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.” I would say Mr Hubbard understands this very well.
As for me, the new owner of South Canterbury Finance, when I reflect on the events of the past week I find Polonius’s measured advice drowned out by the more street-wise Mr Micawber. “Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure nineteen nineteen six, result happiness. Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure twenty pounds ought and six, result misery.”
There are no prizes for guessing which side of the balance sheet we’ve landed on.

The station’s not worth saving
21st August 2010

I’m being asked for money to save our railway station. I’m not immune to the request, having taken an interest in the debates that have steamed around the building for years.

I know the station. I’ve looked at it. I’ve looked at it closely. I’ve walked around it and kicked the tyres. I’ve pulled over on West Street and studied it across the rail yards. I’ve run my hands over its sagging weatherboards and whistled along the length of its platform.

And I’ve come to the conclusion it’s not worth saving.

Rather, I’ve come to the conclusion it’s not worth me giving money to save it.

This is not stinginess – I’m a soft touch for both worthy and unworthy causes. Neither is it a disregard for our heritage. There are buildings in our district I would give money and more to save.

But not the railway station - its liabilities outweigh its merits.

For a start it’s ugly. Try as I might I can see no architectural or aesthetic beauty in it. I accept that an old building should not have to be beautiful to be worth saving, but it helps. I also accept that it will look more attractive with some new cladding, unbroken windows and a coat of paint, but not much more. It will still be an old wooden shed knocked up on the cheap a hundred years ago.

And what about those hundred or so years? Don’t they make it worth saving? I’m not immune to the argument of age but, like beauty, age in itself is not sufficient argument for retention. Some buildings grow in stature with age: others diminish or simply become redundant. My house is a hundred years old and I consider it well worth saving because it is a good, hardworking building. It retains a purpose.

Sadly, the railway station does not have a purpose, which is why it has fallen so far into disrepair. It stubbornly resists the obvious functions for a building of its nature – retail, tourism or heritage chic. This is partly because it has been left high and dry as the commercial heart of town moved south, but also because it is not a building that draws people to itself. It has no vaulted ceilings or mosaic tiled floors to admire, no play of light upon stone, no intricately constructed window or colonnaded terrace, no splash of water from a fountain.

“Yes, but it has history”, its advocates cry. “It means something to us. Our sons embarked for war from this platform, lovers embraced, journeys that changed lives began and ended here.”

Now this is an argument I can just about reach into my pocket to support. The station is part of our story, it bears some of the burden of our collective memory. Except, once again, it remains a frustratingly mute witness to all that history. Standing on the platform evokes no sentiment, conjures no spirits, even for me who has been part of that history in my childhood, jogged through Ashburton in the hour before dawn on the night express from Invercargill, all steam and cinders, dashing into the buffet for a pie or an ice cream. The memory remains, but it’s not the building that calls it up.

Having a past is not sufficient argument for saving a building. It must also have a future. And here, perhaps, I lack vision. Should we save the station for a future not yet revealed? For that matter, do its supporters already possess a vision for its future that I am not aware of?

You see, I wonder how well this idea has been thought through. Let’s say we raise $400,000 to save the station from demolition. Then what? Do we raise another $400,000 to save it from collapse? Then raise some more to make it commercially viable? Or do we resign ourselves to the reality that it is not a going concern and keep raising money just to see it standing there?

Perhaps the future is in the past. In 20 years passenger trains may once more call at Ashburton. But I’m not gambling my money on it.