Steve Braunias’ Secret Diary of ... Simon Bridges

MONDAY

I’m not racist, but M¯aori are lazy. Not all of them. I mean I only have to look in the mirror. But some of them are very, very lazy, in particular the poor ones. They’re going to get a shock when I’m made Prime Minister because National has a policy directed at making life pretty difficult for proor M¯aori. It’s a well thought-out policy which we brainstormed this morning over a cup of tea.

I said, “How about we get tough on those poor M¯aori that no one likes?”

Paula said, “It’s always worked for me.”

There was one biscuit left on the plate. It was a Shrewsbury. I’m very partial to Shrewsbury biscuits. I mean who can resist that cheerful little red spot of jam in the middle of it?

Plus the biscuit itself is sweet and crumbly. But I didn’t just want to reach out and take it, because that might be a bit rude. On the other hand, I didn’t want to offer it to Paula, because that might mean a sign of weakness. I thought that the best thing to do was gamble that she wouldn’t take it and then leave, allowing me to pretend to take a phone call while I lingered in the room before taking the biscuit.

But just then Judith came in and ate it.

TUESDAY

I’m not against bludgers, the dregs of society, the lowest of the low, the uneducated, the children of the poor, the seized from Oranga Tamariki, or the generally dispossessed who never really stood an even chance, but they certainly are annoying to many people.

And that’s why it’s best for everyone if

I punish the hell out of them when I’m made Prime Minister.

“Good one,” Paula said.

“It’s about showing leadership,” I said.

“Yes,” she said, and took the last Shrewsbury.

WEDNESDAY

I’m not insane, but I don’t see climate change as an emergency. I think that kind of response is unhelpful and worrying, and also a little bit hysterical, and hysteria never did anyone any good.

“How’s that anti-gang stuff going?” Paula said.

“Good,” I said.

THURSDAY

I’m not desperate to appeal to the lowest bitter Kiwi denominator by making a series of announcements which position me as the champion of rednecks and creeps, but every vote counts. Politics is a long game and I’m in it for the long haul which is to say this time next year.

“Ew, hate effing Jacinda,” said Paula. “Same,” I said, and watched the pot of tea stew.

FRIDAY

I’m not sure just who I’m looking at sometimes when I look in the mirror.

Sometimes I think, “Is that what I’ve come to? Someone so desperate to win an election that I’ll dog-whistle and bash beneficiaries and all that crap?”

But then I snap out of it, and go to work and get the job done.

Christopher Luxon popped in today for morning tea.

“Oooh,” he said. “My favourite! Who can resist that cheerful little red spot of jam in the middle of it? Praise the Lord.”

I stared at the empty plate while he rabbited on.