Oh for the comfort of knitting when the car park talk starts

MY vote in the local government elections may have been compromised by my lack of attention at the candidates’ meetings I attended.

At two of them, I was consumed with envy because I was sitting near knitters.

My wrist cast prevented me from knitting comfortably — and, believe me, I had tried. Short needles, long needles, circular needles and filing off an annoying edge of the cast to improve my hand position — nothing could be tolerated for long.

My tolerance for candidates’ obsession with the need for car parking in the central business district as if it were the greatest problem being faced by the universe wore thin quickly too. I wondered if the candidate touting a ‘‘use it or lose it’’ policy on cycleways has ever actually been on a bike and tried using the disjointed bits of cycleway to traverse the city. And then there were those standing for the city council who had much to say about buses, something that council has no control over because at this point it is regional council business. If I’d been able to knit, I’d have been dropping stitches wildly.

Call me picky, but I will find it hard to vote for any candidates whose billboards make them look 20 or 30 years younger than they really are. What does this say about their attitude to reality? (I know, my column pic needs updating.)

At least, as far as I could tell, none of the candidates was imitating Donald Trump’s fake tan and blaming it on the lighting. Yes folks, Donald’s ginger tom appearance is all the fault of energysaving lightbulbs, according to him. He reckons he is not the only one who looks orange. We all do. Truly. Get your eyes tested Donald, and in the meantime for goodness’ sake don’t tell Canadian PM Justin Trudeau he’s orange. He might have to issue another apology.

(I have been checking in with the Old School Mate from Feilding about whether we need to apologise for our appearance in a Hiawatha musical production in the 1970s — a highly suspect story, probably — when we think we wore redcoloured makeup. She also remembers going on a search for chook and turkey feathers for the costume. I trust no animals were harmed. Since neither of us is standing for office, mum’s the word.)

During the meetings, my mind kept wandering off into the sorts of qualities I might like in candidates.

What about being able to readily admit you were wrong about something and being brave enough to change position or saying sorry convincingly if you stuffed up?

MP Maggie Barry demonstrated a good example of how not to apologise after she caused consternation at the end of the most recent debate on the End of Life Choice Bill.

She went before Parliament to apologise to Ruth Dyson, who had been chairing the committee stage of the Bill, for her actions during the debate and the voting.

‘‘For me it was a highly emotionallycharged situation, and I acknowledge now that I was overzealous in expressing my disappointment with the way things were progressing.’’

Hmmm. What did that mean? I can be overzealous about knitting, but have I felt the need to express my disappointment inappropriately when progress is poor?

According to an interview with Ms Dyson, her acceptance of the closure motion, to end the debate and begin the voting, was the trigger for Ms Barry’s behaviour. She said as she called for the first vote, Ms Barry came from her chair, which was about six seats away from where Ms Dyson was seated, and yelled at Ms Dyson as she came down to the table.

Ms Dyson said she accepted what she described as Ms Barry’s unreserved apology.

Unreserved? After Ms Barry read of Ms Dyson’s description of what went on, she was reported as issuing a statement saying she did not yell and that Ms Dyson had misrepresented the situation.

The clincher to this nonapology aftermath was this quote:

‘‘It is disappointing that Ruth Dyson has chosen to misrepresent what went on but of course she is a longtime supporter of euthanasia.’’

My advice to Maggie would be to go into the garden and dig up a few worms. She could train them to dance on the head of a pin.

Perhaps she could take up knitting in the House to keep her zeal under control.

Sans cast, I am now back in the knitting business. So far, so zen. Well, almost. I have only had to apologise once to the cat for my bad language when I stuffed something up. A Maggie non sequitur (or possibly non secateur) would suggest since he’s a serial killer, that doesn’t count.