An opportunity arose to solve all the world's problems. Three
of us were in the car, on the Kilmog, headed back into
Dunedin after a day planting trees at Moeraki.
We were sucked into a fog, and realised it was not just any
fog, but a magic fog-portal, on the far side of which we
would find a world exactly as we wanted.
"OK, so what will it be like?" I asked the others.
"Rainbows and grass and lollipops," said one.
A pause followed . . . Then all agreed that sounded
suspiciously like one of those be-careful-what-you wishes.
Fortunately, the silvery fog-portal was long and snaking, and
our ad hoc committee had time to revise the plans for a
perfect world.
"No violence or exploitation, thanks," committeeman L.L.
said.
"Maximum working day of nine hours," I said, seeking to
define exploitation.
"What?!" my fellow committee members cried in appalled
unison, and committeewoman K.T. added, "Six! No, five!"
"Well, I was going to say eight, but nine won't kill you,
especially if you're not working five days," I said.
Then I remembered many people do work full-time, and anyway
it was a perfect world so leisure time did not have to be
justified. I agreed to a maximum six-hour day.
I moved we have a world without plastic. "Only biodegradable
materials, please."
This was initially approved, but then K.T. raised the issue
of modern technology and its reliance on plastics and
industrial metals. "How will we live without cellphones and
internet?"
It was a good question. In the end we agreed to make do
without plastic but left open the possibility of using metal
and stone.
We agreed New Zealand would not have rabbits, stoats,
ferrets, weasels or possums.
"Will the moas be extinct yet?" I asked. "Will we have moas?"
"Yes," the others said.
"What about dinosaurs?" L.L. said.
"No, I don't want dinosaurs," I said. I was just being
selfish on behalf of the human race.
"What about that giant flying bird that could eat humans?"
K.T. said.
"Oh yeah, the one they have a sculpture of out near
Palmerston," I said.
"The Haast eagle," L.L. said.
"Yes, we'll have that. Could it really eat humans?" I said.
"It could eat a moa," L.L. said.
"Imagine that," K.T. said. "Being plucked up off the ground
and eaten."
"That would be quite funny," I said.
"Yes," she said. "In a cartoonish sort of way."
We came to the end of the portal, signified by a dazzling
golden light that turned out to be the evening sun over
Dunedin in the new and perfect world.
"Damnit," I said. "We haven't ironed everything out yet. I
should have been ready with the solutions, since I complain
about the problems all the time."
We had no choice but to proceed. We left the Northern
Motorway and headed on down to the city.
"This road looks like it's just been sealed," I said as we
turned off Pine Hill Rd into Bank St. "Why did we decide to
seal it, again? I thought we negotiated - no sealed roads in
a perfect world!"
"This is not asphalt, but a biodegradable organic moss," L.L.
said.
"Oh," I said. "Glad to hear it."
