I really am not happy about being dragged into any of this.
There I was, trying to have one of my thousand year sleeps, when next minute all these jokers from the news media are banging on my door demanding an interview.
I had a mind to devour them all there and then, but my wife said to me, “Horotiu, don’t you just leave those poor reporters on the doorstep. It’s dark and cold out there.” We do live underground, after all.
So now I’m having to answer all sorts of personal questions about who I am, how old I am, and whether I plan to eat all of Auckland.
I wish. If it was my decision I’d have risen up from the pits of Hell and obliterated the entire place years ago. I don’t have anything against you people personally, but my God you’ve made a mess of things. Ugly apartment buildings blighting the skyline, cars everywhere, and politicians squabbling over whose fault it is.
But my wife says my destroying things and people upsets the cat. As fun as it would be to squash Rodney Hide’s fat bald head between my fiery fingers and watch his brains ooze out, it just wouldn’t be worth the grief I would get at home.
Now the reporters are asking whether I am happy about the Mayor’s plans to run a trainline though my house. Well what do you think? Would you be pleased if someone put a tunnel through your living room? I’m gutted that after all the work we’ve done to get the house just as we wanted it we now have to move. But my wife just shrugs her shoulders, because she’s been at me to move for years. She says its time to get out of the CBD and move into a nice hole somewhere in the leafy inner suburbs. I think she’s been eyeing Epsom or Remuera. She has some taniwha friends over that way, though I can’t stand them for all the airs and graces they put on. I suppose I’ll just go along with her plans, just as I always go along with everything, even though I’d rather stay in the city. The underground culture here is more vibrant.
And, as usual, I won’t complain, because to even raise my voice slightly would invite her to give me that cold stare. It gets to me every time.
So don’t believe a thing you read about me. I’m completely harmless.