We all realise trivia is a serious issue, for presidents and other personalities, writes Elspeth McLean.
I'm sorry.
Usually, I would care whether John Key or Helen Clark had pets, and be delving into the significance of that, but I just can't muster the enthusiasm.
It's a pity because I can already tell you much about the pets of American presidents.
Tricky Dicky Nixon had a French poodle called Vicky, a Yorkshire terrier called Pasha and an Irish setter dubbed King Timahoe.
Much good they did him.
George W has terriers (heck, isn't that word a bit close to terrorist?) called Barney and Miss Beazley, and his dad had a springer spaniel called Millie.
Nancy and Ronnie had a spaniel called Rex.
The Clintons had a cat called Socks who was given away to Bill's secretary after they left the White House because she hated the interloper (no, not Monica), a chocolate lab called Buddy who was killed by a car in 2002.
When Bill got the dog, a White House spokesman said it was his desire to have one loyal friend in Washington.
Hillary was accused of being heartless and dumping Socks when they moved out, one commentator suggesting it showed she was too cold and calculating to be president.
Apparently, there have been some rather odd presidential pets including silkworms, alligators, snakes, kangaroo rats, lizards, bear cubs, a raccoon, a lion, a hyena, a zebra and a pygmy hippo.
At least a couple of presidents didn't have pets.
One was the 13th president, Millard Fillmore, who served from 1850 to 1853, succeeding after another's death but never winning an election himself.
He became involved with the anti-Catholic anti-migrant Know Nothing movement, which may have had something to do with it.
The following president, Franklin Pierce, was also petless.
He had rather an unfortunate life, dying of cirrhosis of the liver at 64.
You've heard enough? Quite.
My interest in this was sparked by the rather silly poll of 1759 American adults which supposedly showed dog and cat owners favoured the presidential candidate who has rather too many pets, John McCain.
Among his menagerie are reportedly Sam the English springer spaniel, Loco the mutt, Cuff and Link the turtles, Oreo the black and white cat, a ferret, three parakeets, saltwater fish, an iguana and, I shouldn't be surprised, a partridge in a pear tree.
Barack Obama, on the other hand only has children, although he has promised his daughters a dog after the election, whatever the result.
Would it be too cruel to suggest he knows the ooooooohhhhhhh value of the dog bounding over the White House lawn to greet him as he steps from the chopper after a hard day starting or stopping wars?Normally, I would be fascinated by such material.
It is of similar importance to much of the stuff which fallen-from-grace Tony Veitch talked about in his television career, particularly on the show with those ageing larrikins stuck in a fourth form time-warp, Game of Two Halves.
Trivia was his stock in trade, and we all realise what a valuable pursuit it was now estimates of his salary are being bandied about.
Somehow though the essence and innocence of trivia has been sullied by this scandal.
No longer can those of us who admired Veitchy's ability to talk fast about nothing of importance and aspired to such greatness ourselves, hopefully accompanied by a six-figure salary, be comfortable with that desire.
Being superficial has taken on new depths.
We know we would never have tried to buy or otherwise weasel our way out of trouble.
Some of us may have attempted composing bad poetry to get out of a parking ticket, but we know that parking is a victimless crime and such behaviour would be unlikely to tarnish our public image.
If we had more money we know we would have a corresponding increase in the loftiness of our principles.
We don't mind the smiling, fast-talking beautiful people on TV doing naughty things, but we want them to be silly, funny and something we'd be happy to witness in prime time in glorious living colour.
We don't want to hear of back-room deals about things which sound serious and which would likely have resulted in a criminal charge or two if committed by a low-paid worker stressed out by working three jobs.
We don't want to ask ourselves why the various bystanders in this sorry saga seem to have stood back and let things happen around them.
Perhaps, like us, they were happiest with questions which have one or two-word answers.
We want winners and losers sorted out by a round or two of quick-fire questions, but instead of a game of two halves, this seems more akin to hanging, drawing and quartering.
Purveyors of trivia will never seem the same again.
It's treason.
Elspeth Mclean is a Dunedin writer.
