So much responsibility, so much to remember

by Jake Quinn

NZ Herald gallary journalist Claire Trevett provides a bitingly satirical “Acting Prime Minister’s diary” of Tony Ryals blistering week in John’s hot seat.
Wednesday:
I do some preparatory work for my gig as Acting Prime Minister tomorrow by watching a 60 Minutes programme on John Key to see what is expected of me. So much responsibility, so much to remember.
I write up a guide to being a good Prime Minister: Say “fantastic” and “way cool” a lot, ring Australian Prime Minister Kevin Rudd regularly, be nice about Bill English, pretend I go running regularly.
Friday:
Wake up and check the papers for coverage of my stellar performance. Nothing, other than in the local rag. The real Prime Minister keeps stealing my thunder by making announcements and taking media calls from overseas. He even gets the photo-op shot in some silly tie-swapping schoolboy bet with Rudd over the rugby. I’m wasting my time.
Saturday:
Watch the rugby on telly at home with the Acting First Lady. They show the Prime Minister in the audience, sitting next to the Aussie Prime Minister. Explains why Rudd hasn’t returned my calls yet. Just before midnight I’m woken by the screech of tyres in the driveway. It’s the Diplomatic Protection Squad leaving. Bill must be back. I feel a great weight lift from my shoulders.

NZ Herald gallery journalist Claire Trevett provides a bitingly satirical Acting Prime Minister’s diary of Tony Ryall’s blistering week in the hot seat.

Some highlights:

Wednesday:  I do some preparatory work for my gig as Acting Prime Minister tomorrow by watching a 60 Minutes programme on John Key to see what is expected of me. So much responsibility, so much to remember.  I write up a guide to being a good Prime Minister: Say “fantastic” and “way cool” a lot, ring Australian Prime Minister Kevin Rudd regularly, be nice about Bill English, pretend I go running regularly.

Friday:  Wake up and check the papers for coverage of my stellar performance. Nothing, other than in the local rag. The real Prime Minister keeps stealing my thunder by making announcements and taking media calls from overseas. He even gets the photo-op shot in some silly tie-swapping schoolboy bet with Rudd over the rugby. I’m wasting my time.

Saturday:  Watch the rugby on telly at home with the Acting First Lady. They show the Prime Minister in the audience, sitting next to the Aussie Prime Minister. Explains why Rudd hasn’t returned my calls yet. Just before midnight I’m woken by the screech of tyres in the driveway. It’s the Diplomatic Protection Squad leaving. Bill must be back. I feel a great weight lift from my shoulders.

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