Once upon a time, there were three people who needed to form a government. And we are talking here about a government to guide and lead 5.27 million people, using the straightforward electoral system called MMP.
The trouble is, the three people didn’t like each other. One openly admitted that he could not be in the same room as one of the others, a pretty vital requirement when you want to be part of a trio in charge of governing a country.
“This is very serious,” said Mr Plod.
“Parp parp,” said the little red and yellow BMW.
“I live in a toadstool,” said Big Ears.
So the three tried to reach a compromise by holding meetings and they settled on a convenient, centrally-located sandpit as their neutral meeting place.
“She’s a pretty big job!” said Noddy.
One of the men claimed to have very solid experience in the art of negotiating, so he took a very robust arsenal of tools – buckets, spades, toy diggers, sarcasm, invective and litotes – into the sandpit with him.
Another, best described as a professional troublemaker, relied only on his double-breasted suit and his media interview truculence. He was, it has to be said in his favour, never short of a clean hankie.
The third relied simply on a magenta-coloured background and unpleasantness.
“I still live in a toadstool,” interrupted Big Ears, but the three seemed quite uninterested in a bearded gnome living in the spore-bearing fruiting body of a fungus.
In the sandpit, talks were proceeding well. In the early stages, not many toys had been thrown from the sandy milieu out into the wider world.
But there were sticking points and the double-breasted suit was intractable on his conditions. So was the magenta one. In fact, so was the skilful negotiator.
So things reached a number of stalemates.
“This is very serious,” echoed Mr Plod.
“I still live in a toadstool,” repeated Big Ears.
The magenta one spoke. “Red tape is costing the country $5 billion a year and parliament has passed 60,000 pages of poor quality red tape in the past 20 years.”
“Enough of the governmental gobbledygook,” said Noddy. “Don’t you realize this is a children’s book?”
“Parp parp,” said the Beemer.
“We are making good progress,” said the skilful negotiator to the waiting media. The waiting media had grown quite used to waiting.
In fact, they continued to wait for some time. Wait, wait, wait, they went. The people waiting to be governed also waited. And waited and waited.
Tessie Bear spoke up for the first time. “I am Noddy’s ‘friend’ and I also have a pet dog.”
“I am a mischievous tomboy,” put in Martha Monkey. “I was written into the script when Gilbert Golly was written out because, I believe, they thought he was too naughty.”
“I’ll only answer sensible questions,” said the double-breasted one.
“You weren’t being asked any,” replied the magenta one.
“You suck!” said the skilled negotiator and threw a plastic spade out of the sandpit. He followed it with a well-directed toy bulldozer.
“We need to eliminate waste,” said the magenta one.
“The lavatory is in that free-standing, corrugated iron shed behind the swings,” said the double-breasted one.
“Shut up and listen! We need some agreement,” shouted the skilled negotiator.
So, of course, as happens in all good children’s stories, they all shook hands and disappeared into a large beehive.
It goes without saying that someone is bound to get stung. Unfortunately, it might be us, the innocent electors.
“Parp parp,” said the Beemer.
“I still live in a toadstool,” said Big Ears.
“She’s a pretty big job,” Noddy astutely opined.
And we hope we all live happily ever after.
Wyn Drabble is a teacher of English, a writer, musician and public speaker.
