Dear Winston Peters

Well, well, well, well, well. You sly old fox, you.

If I lived in Wellington, I would be waiting on a street corner close to your favourite establishment, The Green Parrot, ready to 'slow clap' you into the building. What a week of mystery and intrigue, and of course… suspense, it has been.

You really kept the nation guessing.

I would just like to go on the record and say I thought the amount of time that you and the NZ First team—and the two major parties—negotiated for, was entirely reasonable. And anyone complaining about having to wait, could have just kept their yap shut for a few more days. 26 days from the election, and 11 days after all votes were counted. In the scheme of things, to pull together a government that is going to govern a country for three years that's pretty impressive actually, but boy oh boy did the media get up in your grill.

There were a couple of times when you arrived at Wellington airport on your way to parliament where the look in your eye suggested you were fantasising about pulling a Japanese Stranglehold on esteemed Newshub journalist Paddy Gower. Especially when he said you wanted to extract utu from Steven Joyce, the National Party's finance mastermind, and conspirer to your downfall in Northland. After that dramatic announcement on Paddy's part, I would not have been surprised to see you taking a running jump across parliament later that day to fly-kick him in the stomach.

Don't get me wrong, I love Paddy Gower, but he was all over you like a lampshade.

But by the sounds of it, you have your own wily ways of avoiding journalists like Paddy when you need to. As the rumour goes, you have various entries in and out of the Beehive in the same way that Bruce Wayne does with the Batcave. Which is impressive, and necessary. I would also go so far as to say you held your cards as close to your chest on the government decision as Bruce Wayne did with his identity as Batman. He, only telling his faithful allies Alfred The Butler and his sidekick Robin, and you, perhaps only telling your significant other Jan Trotman, and/or NZ First deputy leader Ron Mark, although we both know it is hard to trust a man with two first names as a last name. (And that isn't a dig at you. The 'S' in Peters let's you off that particular hook).

I tell you what, there are a lot of happy people on my Facebook feed today, a lot.
Happy Labour weekend indeed. SWIDT? (See what I did there?)
There will also, naturally, be a lot of unhappy people mincing around New Zealand today too, cursing the communist nation that we are to become under the rule of Labour.
Billy English and Paulsie Bennett will probably be giving you the stink eye around The Hive for a good couple of weeks too, before things simmer down. Would you agree?

I would dare to suggest, you would be able to take that in your stride without too much turbulence to your daily plight though. Given that you are a true Kiwi Battler.

I suppose I should cut to the chase for the real reason why I am writing to you:
Next Saturday night we are holding an annual Halloween party at our house, which is always dressup. There are already 26 people attending on the Facebook event invite, so suffice to say, it's going to be a big one. My three top costume options this year are:

Mrs. Doubtfire

Aldous Harding and, yes, you f'ing guessed it,

Winston Raymond Peters.

All I need for that is a pinstripe suit, an impressive haircut, a packet of Winny Reds, and a whole lot of cajones. That's Spanish for balls, Mr. Peters in case you didn't already know. And I have to say, it is the costume I am leaning towards.

Mr. Peters, I would cordially like to invite you (and Jan Trotman) to my Halloween party if you are in Auckland at this time (8pm, Saturday October 28).

This is under one condition, you MUST come in dress-up.

Because if I go down the costume route my gut instinct is telling me to, I do not want you turning up in your usual attire and there to be a double up of Winston Peters's at the Halloween party.
It would be a repeat of last year when I dressed up as Pablo Escobar, as did my friend Simon, and there was an underlying tension to the party as people tried to judge who was the better Pablo.

And this year, I would have to admit defeat, because there would be no out-Winston Peters-ing Winston Peters on Halloween, I would put money on that.

If it is the too hard basket, but you do want to attend in business attire, perhaps let me know in advance and I could revert back to dressing as Aldous Harding, which would be still impressive.

As a side note, one year I went to a Halloween party dressed as dry cleaning. It was a piece of cake! I just dressed normally and then put a large plastic bag over me. It was a real hit.

Winston, I should sign off and leave you to getting to the business of governing.
I hope it will be duly noted that this is the first time that I—as a respected columnist, and political media aficionado—am getting up in your grill, and will most likely leave you to it from here on in. Unless you come to my Halloween party as Winston Peters. Then we have a problem.

Ngā mihi nui, Winston, and viva la Aotearoa New Zealand
Nāku iti noa, nā
Reuben P. Bonner (Amateur Halloween event planner, and eternal optimist for the hope of our great nation)

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