Spare a thought for Michael John Cullen this fine evening.
There’s Uncle Helen, whom you loyally served as deputy for the last decade or so, a time so long you that you cannot care to remember.
She’s all excited and is preparing her valedictory speech before she heads off to the world stage and the bright lights of New York.
So what hope is there for her number 2, you, always the bridesmaid but never the bride.
All those loyal years of service to Liarbour and for what? What have you got to look forward to?
That rich prick John Key has 50 million tucked away, the sign of a successful career, and he and his wife, and the kids will never want for anything ever again.
True, a former minister’s pension ain’t that bad, but you want to live well in your closing years, so what’s a man to do?
You were respected, but never loved by your colleagues, so they won’t miss you fleeing the nest. In fact you’re damaged goods now, ’dead wood’ when the party seeks ‘fresh faces’ for ‘rejuvenation.’
But your party is not in power now. You played a great role in ensuring that, with your management of the economy as well as how you and your boss behaved.
Indeed, no self-respecting private business will touch you with a bargepole. No chance of any exciting directorships like Jenny Shipley or Ruth Richardson have , and you’re not bright enough to create your own business.
You made no impact in global affairs, so following on from Mike Moore is a non-starter too.
Academia no longer holds any interest either, so what’s a man to do?
You go cap in hand to that Rich Prick and grovel for a job, pointing out that while you might not have business acumen, at least removing your political skills from the bearpit will make life easier for some of his weaker members in the house. Your departure might cause some difficulties for your party as well!
You would prefer a chairmanship, but the prick says that would cause him too much trouble with his party, so a deputy-ship will have to do. ‘But I was finance minister and deputy PM’, you tell him.
And you remind him, when the boot is eventually on the other foot, that Liarbour, whoever is leading it by then, will take care of him and his ministers.
But realising your party seems out of office for a decade or so, your party’s new leader is making no headway at all, you accept what is offered, with a promise you might be considered for promotion.
Still, at least you can take heart that even the lowly role you have been offered is winding up his party supporters terribly, particularly those nasty bloggers.
Of course, you will have a price to pay. You will be deputy to an old opponent. But since you won him over with top jobs when you were in power; being his understudy, his lackey, his 'bitch' as one nasty blogger described you, won’t be that bad.
Of course, you will face some sort of exile and banishment from your ungrateful party for sucking up to your new bosses, just as your new boss faced from his when you helped him. But needs must and all that. There is a recession on after all, even if it is one you helped create and deepen.
And so you look again at your former Dear Leader. A fresh start for her, and she’s leaving with the best wishes of the house, bar one or two, a new peak beckons for her to conquer. As for you, all you have, is a new office just down the road.
You sigh, but realise that’s the best you can do and you should be eternally grateful to your new masters. But you cannot help but mutter to yourself: ‘Lambton Quay is no Manhattan.’