Do I? Don’t I?
They’ll never find out if I do. Nobody will think to suspect me.
Attended a business breakfast held by one of the local accountancy firms. I played with the idea once of being an accountant, but decided against it. Those guys are all too flashy for my tastes.
Winston was there too, seated right next to me. I asked him what he was doing there. He just smiled.
I don’t like the way he keeps looking at me. Why does he look so smug?
She seems to want to play this professionally, even though I have so much to give her. No, she tells me, I only want to know about the report. Doesn’t she understand that beneath this grey suit beats the heart of a wild beast?
I could teach her so much. I could show her things about taxation she never knew even existed. I have insights into the dark and steamy world of depreciation, deductions and financial arrangements that I long to share with her.
But all she wants is the report. I feel as if I am being used, and it makes me feel dirty.
Some people think I’m dull and grey. They make judgements about me because I talk a lot about finding common-sense solutions to difficult problems.
It’s true that I sit firmly in the centre on most matters, but that’s because I’m not bound by fixed rules. I’ll consider anything with anyone.
It’s also true that my party has been falling to pieces lately, and we’re struggling to get the numbers to re-register United Future as a political party. But even if the machinery of my party is failing badly, I can assure the ladies out there that there is still at least one party machine within United Future.
Sometimes I yearn to tear off all my clothes, run down Lambton Quay, and just sing! That’s the kind of crazy guy I am. Not many people know that. I wonder if I should tell her that when we meet for coffee this morning.
Her eyes, how they shine
Like wine biscuits dipped in tea
And sprinkled with gold
What is Winston doing in the hallway outside my office?
Time to go and meet her. She wants the report. If I get caught it could be the end of me.
Do I take the report? Do I leave it here?
Hey, what happened? Where did that last hour go? I feel as if someone has stolen a piece of my life. Have I been drugged? This could be a dastardly trick by my enemies in the party pill industry.
Or was it the tea? Note to self: investigate the practicalities of having tea classified as a psychoactive substance under my new bill.
The report is sitting on my desk, open at page thirteen. I’m sure it wasn’t there before. It was in my briefcase when I last saw it.
Oh God, my mind must be playing tricks on me. It has to be the tea!
Went to a meeting at the IRD and bumped into Winston on the way.
“Where are you going?” he asked me.
I explained that I was off to see the Commissioner. I started walking, but I had the strangest feeling that I was being followed.
I turned around, and there was Winston, only a few metres behind me. I picked up the pace, determined to get rid of him, but he just increased his own speed.
When I got to the IRD building I ran inside the lobby and dashed towards an open lift. I made it just as the lift doors were closing, leaving Winston stranded in the lobby.
Except that when the doors opened again at the floor I wanted to go to, there he was waiting for me. He winked.
I fear he has information about that missing hour of my life. How much does he know? What did he see?
Awoke in a sweat. Can’t sleep. Worried about what could happen to my career. Got up to have a glass of milk. Walked to the kitchen.
“I always picked you for a blue-top man,” said Winston, handing me a full glass.
Woke up screaming. Except it wasn’t a dream.