So Alan Bollard phones me, and he's like: "I'm totally ready to sort out the Briscoes lady once and for all."
And I'm like: "Too right, mate!". Then I go: "But I'll just have to phone Jennifer first. Not that I need to ask permission or anything, but just 'cause I like to treat my lady right."
Five minutes later I hear Bollard's ute in the driveway. I get in the passenger seat and he just looks at me, and asks: "Dude, why are you so totally pussy-whipped?"
He floors it, and I'm about to broach the subject of demand-driven fiscal policy, when he tells me that he's just sunk a dozen bottles of DB Brown. I'm like: "Dude, should you be running the economy when you're totally wasted?" And he's like: "Fuck off, are you my mother or something?"
So we arrive at Briscoes and Bollard gets out. He lifts the tarp on the back of the ute and takes out a softball bat. I'm like: "Dude, I don't think violence is necessary -- and I bet the Briscoes lady doesn't either." And Bollard goes: "She should've thought of that before she got on my fuckin' nerves."
He marches into Briscoes, and goes up to the counter. "Where is she?" he says. The shop-assistant guy goes: "Who?" And Bollard goes: "That fuckin' perky bitch from the telly, who else?"
And the shop-assistant guy is like: "Why do you think she'd be here?" And Bollard goes: "She's the fuckin' Briscoes lady -- where else would she fuckin' live?"
And the shop-assistant goes: "She lives at her own house. She just an actress, you dick."
And Bollard and I are totally embarrassed because, of course, that hadn't occurred to either of us.
So Bollard thinks about it for a second, and before I can stop him he gets the softball bat, and smacks the shop-assistant guy on the side of the head. I'm like: "Dude, what the fuck did you do that for?" And Bollard yells: "He shouldn't have called me a dick."
Next thing the cops turn up, and Bollard's still yelling. But now he's going: "You can't arrest me! I'm Alan Bollard! I'm the governor of the Reserve Bank!" And the cops are like: "Well govern this, you bitch." And they cuff him, and shove him in the police van.
So I catch the bus home, and as soon as I walk in Jennifer asks: "Where's Bollard?" And I'm like: "He's in jail."
And Jennifer goes: "What is it with you and people called Alan? Didn't you learn anything from that time you went to K-mart with Alan Greenspan?"
And she hardly talks to me for the rest of the night.
Note:
David Haywood is willing to sell the exclusive rights to this true story to New Idea, Investigate Magazine, or similar publications.
