The Beehive
A few days ago, I was involved in tramping the pavements of the capital city on behalf of the retirement village residents whose national interests I serve. It mainly involved visiting government-related organisations but there was also some media input.
Usually, these perambulations also include a visit to the Beehive. First you go through the mandatory security search which is in fact less debilitating that the average airport travellers’ check. Then I am ushered into the lift and transported vertically to the seat of power for the department that holds my interest.
It is interesting sitting in the pre-lift journey security area observing the to and fro between The House and the Beehive. MPs are engaged on the hot topics of the day as they either walk through or dally with someone they had not anticipated would be loitering on their pathway. Here the earnest play goes back and forth only interrupted by the division bells if there is a debate underway.
Outside the real world spins on by. One of the delights of Wellington are the opportunities for supping well made coffee – it is the very seat of this country’s love of the brown bean. One of the very good cafes there is at Midland Park on Lambton Quay. I recall it was originally named after (ex-city councillor) Keith Spry and it hosted a running water fountain that cascaded down a wide sloping wall – earning itself the nomenclature as the largest urinal in the world. Keith and I served together on the Wellington Harbour Board. He was a man of deep left-wing principle which I admired in him, though did not have to agree with most of his utterances. One of our other colleagues, ex-mayor Sir Frank Kitts, used to arrive just in time for the (always) 8pm meetings in the magnificent board room. The late hour of the meeting quickly sent him into a somnolent posture while appearing to still be following the debate. Clearly an art for a long-standing politician.
Peter Carr
Towards the end of my 12-year attendance at the green baize covered moon-shaped table the question of visits of allegedly nuclear-powered American warships was debated several times. The elected board always showed courtesy by visiting such ships – anchored at a ‘safe’ distance in the middle of the harbour. These visits were derided by crowds of wharf-side protesters. It is a given that all harbours should be treated as safe havens for shipping and the Americans manned their ships with very politically aware and professional senior officers well trained in the ethos of ‘neither confirm nor deny’ (the presence of nuclear rods in the bowels of the ships).
Much has been spoken over recent weeks of the need to reduce a dependence on carbon – the government announcing only last week that the Glenbrook steel mill will replace coal-fired steel melting with some form of electricity.
But at what cost? The saving of carbon excess in the atmosphere against the loss of jobs in the Huntly area coal mines perhaps? I can well imagine if a nuclear option were to be proposed by our politicians the furore would throw the upcoming election into a tailspin of fury, demonstrations and hate-filled speech. C’est la vie.
