Dear Uncle Norm, what to do about Winston?

My sainted Uncle Norm runs a private agony aunt column for celebrities who pour their hearts out.

Auntie May, who acts as his secretary, despises politics, so she’s slipped Wit’s End the latest begging letters.

Dear UncleNorm.

Honestly, I’m not some silly dreamer, I’m a realist. I believe in a better world for the poor, the children, the puppies without kennels, the goldfish in dirty bowls. We’d have got this done if we’d all stayed relentlessly positive.

All it needed was money! Heavens, money’s everywhere, just waiting to be taxed and harvested by the Good. (NZ Labour, that is). My question is: ‘‘Why doesn’t New Zealand trust the Good to tax everyone fairly?’’

And how do I keep my ‘‘ray of sunshine’’ image when I finally offer Mr Peters Minister for Everything? — Jacinda Ardern.

I know your heart is in the right place, and so do the puppies. (You would have won with a Warm Kennels promise!) But to your question. ‘‘The Good’’ are the very last folk people trust with money. Humans have an odd obsession with hanging on to what they’ve earned. Be they fat cats or church mice, wowsers or LGBTQI (etc.), they all believe it’s the other crowd who should be taxed.

Selfishness unites! So tax more minorities — the groups with little voting punch. You’ve cottoned on to the rich buggers, but there are other minorities ripe for plucking. Why not a Christians Tax, or a Rich Widow levy?

As for Winston — I cannot recommend him to decent people. The rest of us, however . . .

The Greens are people of high principle. (As in Metiria). Therefore I’ve said we won’t be a part of any National Government. They are entirelywithout conscience, whereas Winston . .. Anyway, I’m scratching my head to think of a solitary thing we Greens can offer him? Any thoughts? — James Shaw.

A shame you narrow your partner options, so the only certain advice I can give is this: On no account offer to take Mr Peters swimming in your new clean rivers. Winston is a cigars and heated pools sort of bloke. I doubt he’s swum in a river this century. For that matter, neither have I, or any sane person I’m acquainted with. They’re best avoided by swimmers — the clean ones are particularly cold and swift.

As the leader of ACT I find myself suddenly alone. I’m a nothing back bencher without allies. The barbecue invites dry up, and I don’t have Winston’s phone number. I’m the MP for the country’s richest electorate, yet still live in a rented house that has mould problems. What do you recommend? — David Seymour.

I’d buy a kerosene heater, and perhaps open the windows more often.

I can’t wait to begin our fourth term (yippee!) and fulfil all our nifty efficiency visions. Triple bunking in hospitals, affordable tents, drier rivers, a trade agreement with Botswana — our team of experts has spent the past nine years planning them.(Did you know that by 2019 each child will own Pirelli sandals? We’re teaching Kiwi parents to cut up old tyres.)

But to achieve all this I need just one Winston bauble — a trinket that knocks the old coot’s socks off. Any ideas? — Bill English.

I suppose you’d accept anything that gets him out of your hair? I hear the Pope job went to a Catholic. Maybe All Blacks coach? Hang on, why not kick out Dame Patsy — Winston for Governor General! (The uniform’s terrific).

Hi Norm,

Help! I’m surrounded bymedia scum. Parasites are sucking. Nauseous party leaders cry down the phone. Thank God daylight saving’s started — I’ve got an extra hour a day to pull theirchains. — Cheers, Winston.

John Lapsley is an Arrowtown writer. (Special thanks to Sir Michael Hill, cartoonist, who swears by Uncle Norm’s advice.)