We round up everything coming to streaming services this week, including Netflix, Prime Video, Disney+, Apple TV, ThreeNow, Neon and TVNZ+.

House of the Dragon (HBO Max, June 22)

Remaining as “engrossing and rewarding” as ever, the latest season of the opulent Game of Thrones prequel House of the Dragon begins with the infamous Battle of the Gullet, the bloodiest sea battle in all of Westeros history and the defining showpiece of the Targaryen civil war. What happens next has the “same mix of cutthroat intrigue, spectacular action, and gutting drama that made the world fall in love with Westeros.” Available to stream in Aotearoa on the recently launched HBO Max, season three of House of the Dragon will be no pale imitation of Game of Thrones.

Head Girl (ThreeNow, June 24)

Inspired by Freya Daly Sadgrove’s acclaimed poetry collection, the six-part local drama Head Girl is billed as a “mind-bending and artistically ambitious dark comedy series” centred on three estranged friends navigating the highs and lows of their early 20s in Wellington. One of The Spinoff’s most-anticipated local shows of 2026, Head Girl is brought to life by Nī Dekkers-Reihana, Liv Parker and Tatum Warren-Ngata. These three rising stars are the beating heart of this must-watch series if you’re a 20-something struggling to stay afloat.

Tralala (Neon, June 24)

From the creators of Kiri & Lou comes Tralala, Aotearoa’s answer to the hit Australian cartoon Bluey. Featuring the voices of Liv Tennet, Kura Forrester, Guy Williams, Aidee Walker, and Bailey Poching, the heartwarming TV show for pre-schoolers follows the adventures of an imaginative seven-year-old frog who lives a picture-perfect life with her pāpā in their country cottage. Also featuring music by Don McGlashan, Tralala is sure to capture the hearts of your young ones.

The Bear (Disney+, June 26)

It’s all hands on deck for the fifth and final season of The Bear. Picking up the morning after Carmy (Jeremy Allen White) has quit the food industry, Sydney (Ayo Edebiri), Richie (Ebon Moss-Bachrach) and co must band together to weather a torrential storm – and the threat of a sale – to achieve one last perfect service and earn that coveted Michelin star. Over the last two seasons the wind may have been taken out of The Bear, but if that surprise prequel episode is anything to go by, the most stressful TV show around might just have regained its mojo.

Not Only Fred Dagg But Also John Clarke (Neon, June 28)

Helmed by the iconic gumboot-wearing comedian’s eldest daughter Lorin Clarke, this revealing documentary “traces Clarke’s steadfast resistance to authority back to his childhood and offers delightful insights into his four decades in the entertainment industry.” Described as “the godfather of New Zealand comedy” by Oscar Kightley, the film isn’t just a personal insight into a legend of the antipodean screen, but also an exploration of how his deadpan wit is still reverberating in the works of countless comedians to this day. This charming and candid celebration of Clarke’s life is essential viewing.

Pick of the Flicks: Aftersun (TVNZ+, June 23)

Regarded as one of the best films of the 2020s, Charlotte Wells’s semi-autobiographical coming-of-age drama Aftersun follows 11 year-old Sophie (Frankie Corio) and her 30 year-old father, Calum (Paul Mescal). At the turn of the millennium, the two are on a sun-drenched holiday at a fading Turkish holiday resort. Labelled as a “stunning debut that develops with the gradual poignancy of a Polaroid,” this aching film probes “the way that we remember the people we’ve lost,” and “the heart-stopping act of remembering unto itself.” Cue the waterworks.

The rest

Netflix

Rhythm + Flow Italy S3 (June 22)

Another Self S3 (June 24)

The American Experiment (June 24)

In the Hand of Dante (June 24)

Avatar The Last Airbender S2 (June 25)

We Bury the Dead (June 25)

Wicked: For Good (June 25)

Five Nights at Freddy’s 2 (June 25)

Notes from the Last Row (June 26)

Little Brother (June 26)

Chris & Martina: The Final Set (June 26)

Gladiator II (June 27)

The Rest is Football (June 28)

TVNZ+

22 Jump Street (June 22)

World’s Most Dangerous Roads S6 (June 22)

Minions (June 22)

Daisy Jones and the Six (June 22)

Ghost in the Shell (June 23)

Despicable Me (June 23)

The Pillowcase Murders (June 23) 

Aftersun (June 23) 

Reality (June 23) 

Sanctuary (June 23) 

Despicable Me 2 (June 24)

Despicable Me 3 (June 24)

The Great Escapers: The Chase Special (June 24)

Minions: The Rise of Gru (June 25)

Don’t Date Brandon (June 25)

I Am Celine Dion (June 26)

The Little Mermaid (June 26)

MĀORI+

The Narrow Bridge (June 22)

The Big Trip (June 26)

The Good Boss (June 26)

Toys & Pets (June 27)

Rambo III (June 27)

Bombshell (June 28)

ThreeNow

Head Girl (June 24)

Neon

Sisters S2 (June 22)

Tralala (June 24)

Not Only Fred Dagg But Also John Clarke (June 28)

Prime Video

See You at Work Tomorrow! (June 22)

Normal (June 26)

Disney+

Avatar: Fire and Ash (June 24)

FX’s The Bear S5 (June 26)

Apple TV

Camp Snoopy S2 (June 26)

HBO Max

House of the Dragon S3 (June 22)

DocPlay

AFTRS shorts (June 22)

Put Your Soul on Your Hand and Walk (June 25)

Cutting Through Rocks (June 25)

AroVision

Moss & Freud (June 24)

Hayu

Wicked For Good (June 25)

Five Nights At Freddy’s 2 (June 25)

Next Gen NYC S2 (June 25)

Can we fix it? Yes, we can!

Parliament’s speaker revealed last week that the ageing Beehive may need to be vacated for up to 18 months for repairs and upgrades. The Spinoff obtained emails* that reveal party leaders have bombarded Gerry Brownlee with reno ideas.

Here, we publish them in full.

Gerry,

This renovation is our opportunity to buy back the original Beehive toilets. No, not the woke, communist flushing ones; the honest, makeshift ones used by the hardworking Kiwis who built this place. It was a disgrace to sell New Zealanders’ lavatories out from under them. Let’s take our toilets back.

Lavatories have become well-known hotbeds for attacks though, and the only way we can protect ourselves from this crime wave is via sensible signs. Men. Women. Not that that will help Chris Hipkins – he can’t even tell you what a woman is. Well, I can. She can kill with a smile, she can wound with her eyes. And she can ruin your faith with her casual lies. And she only reveals what she wants you to see. She hides like a child, but she’s always a woman to me.

Now, here’s a plain commonsense idea and anyone who tells you otherwise doesn’t know what they’re talking about: we’ll need a permanent carpark right out front so Shane can keep a limo on standby. We’ll also need a smoking section, a racecourse and a jail where we can incarcerate all the public servants.

Rt Hon Winston R Peters

Kia ora Gerry,

I take it there will be a huge multinational construction company involved in this upgrade? I take it their margin will be massive? I take it they will profit handsomely off the poorest New Zealanders? I take it those profits will go straight into the pockets of wealthy shareholders? Well, give them a message from me: congratulations, you’ve won capitalism. 

Any chance you could stick Mike Davidson near the door? 

Ngā mihi,
Chlöe
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Hi Champ,

Note re the reno: we’ll need room set aside for some new filing cabinets. We tend to receive things in hard copy and have had a few issues with finding papers when we need to. Probably worth checking out the filing needs of other parties – I know Casey Castello’s had real problems keeping track of her documents too. 

I’ve got a few messages here from the team to pass on. Nicola says put your cash bazooka away and scrap 8,700m² of the building. Mark heard Winston has plans for a jail on the premises and he’d like to request you set aside a cell for Rakesh Naidoo. Louise wants to know if she can buy her new office space and then claim an allowance for using it. 

Once you get to the interior design phase, let me know, buddy. Amanda is very good on that front.

Thanks mate,
Christopher

Hi Gezza,

We thought you might be after some input and ideas, so I gathered all of Labour’s MPs together and we put our heads together to brainstorm.

Here’s the full list of ideas we have:
*A capital gains tax to use on health
*Capped public transport fares 

We’ll be sharing more details, as well as further ideas, with you closer to the renovation.

Chippy

Kia ora Gerry,

I organised a hui so everyone involved in Te Pāti Māori could get together and present their reno ideas and then we’d all get to vote (except Te Tai Tokerau obvs).

Rawiri and I sent the invites out but when we showed up, the place was empty except for a faint smell of smoke, as though something had gone up in flames.

Aroha mai,
Debbie

Gerry,

We should convert the Beehive to a charter school.

We’ll need to set up a whole, elaborate office, staffed to the gills, to ensure there’s no regulation of the conversion. Make it big, flashy, expensive. You need to realise that making things simple is complicated. You need to realise that saving money is costly. You need to give this the resources it needs. In this case, it just makes sense. 

Obviously the office will need a room full of red tape and a lot of scissors. New Zealanders are all equal, with the same rights, freedoms and opportunities, so we’ll need scissors for everyone. But mostly for me. Yes, millions of pairs of snips will be expensive, but, in this case it just makes sense. 

David

*I mean, we didn’t.

The beloved painter, and subject of a new short documentary, gives her take on the state of the world.

Jacqueline Fahey was painting when very few women were. Born in Timaru in 1929, she attended the Canterbury College School of Art (now Ilam) and at the same time, befriended established artists like Rita Angus and Doris Lusk. The pair would go on to organise the first “gender-balanced” exhibition, at Centre Gallery in Wellington in 1964.

Fahey was influenced by those women, not so much in a stylistic sense, but they allowed her to “construct around my work and force the life I did lead to be part of my work”.

Fahey’s work is unmistakeable. Her paintings present the social and domestic life of New Zealand women (including herself, her mother and her three  daughters) throughout the decades, in startling colour and dizzying perspectives. And have been described as depicting “the claustrophobia of the female experience”.

Across all seven decades, both in her life but particularly her work, Fahey has been political. From the patriarchal oppressions of the 50s and 60s (and now) to her latest work, which depicts an affluent New Zealand woman turning away from a television showing the atrocities in Gaza.

In the new documentary Jacqueline Fahey: From Where I’m Looking, screening at the Doc Edge Festival this month, directer Oliver Dawe captures Fahey aged 96 and still as sharp, political and cool as ever.

One can learn a lot in nearly 100 years on earth. Here, one of New Zealand’s greatest and most celebrated artists shares her best advice and strongest thoughts on life right now.

Read Megan Dunn’s evocative fan letter to Fahey and her work here.

What bothers you most about the world right now?

Everything because we are oppressed by a brutal bourgeoisie who are inventing gods to serve their own purposes. Putting their ill-gotten gains into corporations. Corporations wallowing in stupidity and greed. Distracting us as they rob us blind. Distracting us with football, yacht races, bogus films, and painting empty of content. The Roman Empire distracted their rabble with feasts and circuses, nothing new here.

What sort of people do you avoid?

Anybody who looks away from Gaza.

What makes you want to get up in the morning?

Looking out the window to glimpse a bird, a dog, a cat going about their business in their innocence.

How do you hold onto hope in these crazy times?

Hope? I fear Voltaire’s bridge over the abyss is already beyond repair.

What is the single best quality a human can have? 

Courage.

What’s over-rated?

The electoral system, cupcakes, croissants and washing machines.

What’s under-rated?

Tarāpunga red-billed gulls.

If you could have a do-over, what would you change?

Everything.

What brings you joy?

A demonstration of compassion.

What’s the best advice you’ve ever been given?

Don’t listen to advice.

What advice do you wish you’d never followed?

Where should I begin?

Tell us about a controversial opinion you hold.

It seems what I am is controversial.

When you’re feeling low, what helps?

Painting until I couldn’t, now poetry, writing and my familiar, Alvin, the cat.

In what ways is public-facing Jacqueline different to private Jacqueline?

My Great Aunt Mary Allen would constantly declare “pretend nothing”. But, I believe I always understood that without sincerity and truthfulness, a painting could not survive.

Give us some life advice.

My advice to students? Don’t tell the painting let the painting tell you. Anybody involved in creativity discovers by constant practice their own answer.

The best recommendations for upcoming and returning shows to watch on the new streaming service.

HBO Max is streaming now in Aotearoa, which means it’s just become a lot easier to find something good to watch on the telly. HBO Max is a premium streaming service that pulls together the very best in HBO Originals, Warner Bros., Max Originals, the DC Universe and Discovery, which means subscribers can choose from an impressive variety of quality television shows and blockbuster movies, all in one place.

As well as being home to numerous award-winning favourites like The Pitt, The Last of Us, The White Lotus and Euphoria, there’s several excellent new and returning shows landing on HBO Max before the end of the year. We’ve hand-picked some of the most exciting and highly anticipated series headed our way, including the latest seasons of House of the Dragon and The Gilded Age, and Sharon Horgan’s charming new comedy-drama.

House of the Dragon

The prequel to fantasy drama Game of Thrones is back for a third epic season. Set in Westeros two centuries before the dramatic events of GOT and based on George R.R. Martin’s book Fire and Blood, House of the Dragon follows the disputes in the Targaryen dynasty that led to a devastating civil war, and ultimately, the decline of Targaryen power. Expect an increase in tension, scheming and deadly power plays, as well as a whole lot more fire-breathing dragons.

When is it coming? June 22, 2026.

How excited are we? So excited we could breathe fire.

Life, Larry and the Pursuit of Unhappiness: An Almost History of America

“Nothing has prepared me for working with Larry David,” Barack Obama warns in the trailer for Life, Larry and the Pursuit of Unhappiness. Obama and his wife Michelle are executive producers of David’s new sketch comedy show, which honours the 250th anniversary of the founding of the United States by skewering major events in American history. It’s history, but with David at the helm, you know it’ll be surreal and hilarious. Guest stars include Bill Hader, Kathryn Hahn, Jon Hamm and Sean Hayes.

When is it coming? June 27, 2026

How excited are we? Very. Just curbing our enthusiasm.

Stuart Fails to Save the Universe

The Big Bang Theory (TBBT) is one of the biggest TV franchises in the world, and has already spawned one mega-successful spinoff in Young Sheldon. Now, the universe is expanding with Stuart Fails to Save the Universe, which follows comic book store owner Stuart Bloom as he accidentally brings about the end of the universe. Bloom struggles to control a bewildering, multi-layered armageddon, and he must rely on all of his comic book knowledge to save the planet. Expect the unexpected in this quirky comedy, which will no doubt contain lots of insider callbacks for TBBT fans.

When is it coming? July 24, 2026.

How excited are we? Extremely. Who doesn’t want to have a chuckle about the end of the world?

Lanterns

Superhero fans are eagerly awaiting the launch of DC’s Lanterns, a new mystery-drama based on the DC Comics Green Lantern characters Hal Jordan and John Stewart. Kyle Chandler and Aaron Pierre star as the Lanterns, two intergalactic police officers – one experienced, the other a new recruit – who are drawn into solving an Earth-based murder deep in rural America.

When is it coming? August 17, 2026

How excited are we? Fizzing. Think True Detective, but with a superhero twist.

The Gilded Age

If you love a sumptuous historical drama filled with beautiful sets and restrained emotions, then The Gilded Age is a must-watch. Created by Julian Fellowes (Downton Abbey) and set in America in the late 19th century, The Gilded Age captures the societal tensions between families with new and old money in a rapidly-changing New York. The costumes are fabulous and with a cast that includes Christine Baranski, Cynthia Nixon, Carrie Coon and Louisa Jacobson, the quips are razor sharp.

When is it coming? Season four drops later in 2026, so plenty of time to catch up on the first three seasons.

How excited are we? So excited our corset might pop off.

Youth

The brilliantly talented Sharon Horgan is back in new comedy-drama Youth, which she writes, stars in and executive produces. Horgan plays a 50-year-old recent divorcee who’s navigating a new world of dating and romance, while also juggling the responsibilities of caring for her elderly parents and parenting her should-be-grown-up-by-now son. Expect raunchy, relatable humour from Horgan, alongside an impressive British cast that includes Rupert Friend, Harriet Walter, Anne Reid, Freddie Fox and Aran Murphy (son of Cillian).

When is it coming? Later in 2026.

How excited are we? Very. If you’ve seen any of Horgan’s other work (from Bad Sisters to Catastrophe), you’ll know how skilled a writer and actor she is.

Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone

Come all ye faithful to the first season of the new adaptation of the children’s fantasy novel series, which sees Nick Frost, Janet McTeer and John Lithgow don their capes and head off to Hogwarts. Season one of HBO’s new Harry Potter series consists of eight episodes, and as the first official teaser suggests, will feature all the characters and moments so beloved in the books.

When is it coming? Christmas, 2026.

How excited are we? Wands at the ready.

Everyone seems to use them – but should we rely on them? 

The sky was grey, the rain fell in bursts and the woman standing next to me badly needed some pep. She downed two cans of a popular energy drink, belched loudly, then hurled her empties into a bin. Five minutes later, she emerged from a bakery carrying three more cans. 

Sticking with drinks was the right idea. According to Google reviews, this West Auckland shopping centre is not the place to be hungry. “Smelled interesting… tasted bad,” said one online review for a nearby sushi store. “Tough as leather,” said another. “She’s trying to poison us!” exclaimed a third. 

Six weeks ago, once the couches were shifted and the fridge was plugged in, I did what anyone who moves house does and jumped online to research takeaway options in my new neighbourhood, Massey. A new Eden Noodles was rated 4.0 (“tastes just like the OG spot on Dominion Road”) and a fried Korean chicken joint seemed promising at 4.6 (“the meat falls off the bones”).

But a nearby sushi store had the lowest Google review rating I have ever seen. Burger King Takanini is rated 3.3 (“so slow”) and McDonald’s Manurewa is just 3.1 (“an absolute disgrace”). But this sushi shop was rated just 1.6. Were the online critics right? Could sushi truly be this bad? And can we trust what those reviews say? It was time to sample some sushi.

***

Jay Zeylemaker knows how important an online review can be. As operations manager for the hospitality company Star Group, he’s in charge of 45 bars, pubs and restaurants across the North Island. He regularly surveys a range of online reviews for all of his venues. “We’re looking at these things daily,” he admits. 

That shows how important online reviews are. Those reviews can come from multiple platforms, with TripAdvisor, Yelp, Reddit and Meta’s Facebook all offering the ability to read and post reviews. But Google reviews are the most prominent, with some surveys suggesting they dominates more than 70% of the market.

Some suggest the sweet spot for hospitality businesses is a rating above 4.2. Each of Zeylemaker’s businesses aims much higher, attempting to achieve a rating of 4.8. That’s why, if he sees a negative review, he jumps on it. “We’ll try to reach out to the customer directly to find out what’s happened so we can improve,” he says. 

That’s exactly what he should be doing, says Bodo Lang. The Massey University marketing guru conducted his PhD studies in “word of mouth” marketing. Online reviews are the digital version of telling your mate how good or bad the sushi is. “They have a really big impact on consumer decision-making,” says Lang. 

That’s because we’re all trying to minimise risk, says Lang. We don’t want to waste our time, our money – or damage our health, and reviews can help with that. “There can be physical risk, because you might become sick, or have diarrhoea, or die from the rotten salmon,” he says. In tough economic times, we’re trying to protect our dollars too. “Sushi can be expensive. [You don’t want it] to be disgusting.”

But negative reviews have far more impact than positive ones, confirms Lang. This mentality dates back to the times of cave people. “If a sabre-tooth tiger is nearby, you want to know about it immediately,” he says. “We are hardwired to respond really strongly and quickly to negative information.” 

But cave people didn’t have the internet. These days, online information can be easily manipulated. Lang says he’s seen this for himself through his own research, including companies fudging positive reviews – and undertaking campaigns to besiege competitors with negative ones.

When contacted for comment, Google said reviews “must be based on real experiences”. “We take swift action against reviews that violate our policies or local laws – from removing the content, to disabling user accounts, and even pursuing litigation,” a spokesperson said. “Our advanced moderation systems detect and remove the vast majority of fraudulent content before it is ever seen.”

Either way, online reviews can make or break a business. Asked about the 1.6-star sushi, Lang says he wouldn’t buy it. Almost everyone spoken to for this story said they wouldn’t eat it, yet admitted they use Google reviews religiously. “I use it to see photos, get information and maybe a dish recommendation,” says former Metro editor (and editor of The Spinoff’s daily news briefing, The Bulletin) Henry Oliver. “But I don’t trust them.”

Jean Teng, a prominent food critic and editor of the foodie newsletter Cringe, uses online reviews regularly as a “vibe check” too. “I have certainly made decisions based on the review rating, particularly when I’m torn between two places and there’s no other way of distinguishing them,” she says. Teng’s advice is to always read the reviews, rather than just relying on the rating. “They can be quite cute and/or funny,” she says. 

One foodie was scathing about online food reviews – and those who use them. “The people I distrust the most are the most active on Google reviews,” says Leni Ma’ia’i. The Auckland-based PR rep instead suggests conducting a “pulse check” by visiting the venue, looking in the kitchen and browsing the menu. “How busy is it? How clean are the chefs? How does the food look? Those are far more telling than some Karen on a keyboard.”

He may have a point. Zeylemaker, from Star Group, points out ratings can be skewed by how many reviews a business has. More than 100 reviews feels like a good sample. Anything lower could be inaccurate. “If a family of five have walked in there and had a negative experience, and they’ve all gone and left a review, that’s a small representation of reviews,” he says.

The sushi shop I’m considering eating at has just 13 reviews. Zeylemaker firmly suggests I ignore all of them. “I would encourage you to go there and form your own opinion.” 

***

One recent Saturday lunch time, I parked my car, ran through the rain and approached the sushi shop’s front door. I stood there for 40 minutes trying to make a dining decision. Across the busiest time of day, and despite a neighbouring bakery doing a roaring trade in much more than energy drinks, no one purchased any sushi. Those Google reviews may have taken their toll.

Like Ma’ia’i suggested, I peered inside. An A-grade food safety rating was stuck to the wall. But there was barely any food available for sale – just three plastic tubs of sushi and a metal container filled with corn dogs. I couldn’t see into the kitchen, or spot any chefs. There were no customers to size up, no one to get a second opinion from.

The vibes felt bad, so I opened up the Google reviews. There were two five-star reviews, but they were from a year ago. Instead, like Lang suggested they would, it was the more recent negative reviews that stuck in my head. “Inedible,” said one. “Smelled very funky,” said another. They got the better of me. I love a decent journalistic endeavour – but potential food poisoning felt like a step too far.

Instead, I walked around the corner and into a Korean fried chicken shop, where I joined the back of a decent queue. I peered in the kitchen. It looked clean. The chef looked happy. The food on other tables looked delicious. I ordered a serving of soy garlic fried chicken. Sometimes the reviews are wrong, sometimes they’re bang-on – and sometimes you just have to go with your gut.

The gloves are off between the coalition partners as election promises heat up, writes Madeleine Chapman in today’s excerpt from The Bulletin.

To receive The Bulletin in full each weekday, sign up here.

Two policies, one vision

The National Party announced a suite of changes to Kiwisaver, if elected, at its annual party conference on Sunday. The policy would see the savings scheme made compulsory for all workers, and (as already announced) incrementally increase the default employee-employer contributions until they are 6% each in 2032. The government increased default contributions from 3% to 3.5% last year, which came into effect in April. This new policy would also instate Kiwisaver contributions by the government for new parents on paid parental leave, automatically enrol newborns from 2027, and reinstate the government kickstart at $1,500. Jenna Lynch at Stuff has a comprehensive breakdown of the policy from a party previously lukewarm on the retirement saving programme launched under Labour.

NZ First leader Winston Peters thought the policy looked familiar. Last month, he announced his party’s own Kiwisaver policy which also included enrolling every newborn citizen, increasing default contributions and giving a kickstart of $1,000. In his speech, Luxon criticised NZ First’s companion promise to buy back BNZ, to which Peters responded to Stuff: “It must be slightly embarrassing to first criticise NZ First then have to copy our policies.”

If you’re wondering how National’s policy will impact you specifically, Henry Cooke at The Post (paywalled) has a handy calculator. Spoiler: Much like now, self-employed New Zealanders will reap the fewest benefits.

Ghosts of policies past

If all of these proposals are ringing a 12-year-old bell in your brain, that’s because they are almost identical to Labour’s ill-fated 2014 election policy, which promised:

• Compulsory Kiwisaver for every employee aged 18 to 65 from 2014.
• Gradual increase of employer contributions at a rate of 0.5% a year, from 3% to 7% over nine years. 

The policy was criticised by National at the time, Labour suffered an historic defeat and three years later, both parties united in campaign promises to not make the scheme compulsory. (NZ First is the only party consistently in favour of making it compulsory.) Labour hasn’t announced a Kiwisaver policy yet, while Act has long been opposed to any Kiwisaver changes that would increase employer or government contributions.

Over on RNZ, Susan Edmunds asked economists whether all New Zealanders will be able to afford compulsory contributions. In short, no, said Simplicity chief economist Shamubeel Eaqub. “My idea always was to make the employer contributions compulsory and the employee contribution voluntary. If you unlink those two things immediately this impact on people’s incomes, on take-home pay, disappears.”

Coalition daddy issues

National used its party conference to announce its new NZ First-like policy details, but also took the opportunity to explicitly distance itself from its coalition partners. In a Freudian somersault, health minister Simeon Brown painted a familial picture of the coalition to party faithful. “There are two kids in this house. They get on fine with Mum and Dad, but not always with each other,” he said, less than an hour before both “kids” heavily criticised their parents’ Kiwisaver policy.

Winston Peters has not responded to the suggestion that Brown is his daddy, but Lyric Waiwiri-Smith was there for The Spinoff and has all the family drama.

The Greens’ tax plan

Announced formally on Sunday but accidentally posted on the party website and reported a day early, the Greens’ tax policy presented a scaled back version of its wealth tax proposed in last year’s alternative budget. Instead of 2025’s 2.5% tax on net assets over $2 million, the new policy includes a “super-rich tax” of 2.5% on net assets over $10m. At the other end of the spectrum, a $10,000 tax-free threshold has been proposed. Jamie Ensor has all the details for the Herald, and notes it is virtually impossible for the full policy to be implemented, given Labour leader Chris Hipkins has been very clear his party would only implement its own capital gains tax and would not “support other new taxes like an inheritance tax or a wealth tax”.

Unfurl the money hose and fire up the cash bazooka: it’s time for a brief history of parliament’s favourite fiscal figures of speech.

It’s election year and the polls are tight, so politicians of all stripes are ratcheting up the rhetoric in the all-important quest to discredit their opponents. 

For the centre right, that traditionally means accusing the left of profligate spending. This year is no exception, with finance minister Nicola Willis increasingly reaching for one metaphor: the magic money tree, which is sometimes but not always located “at the bottom of the garden”. Her Labour counterpart, Barbara Edmonds, appears to have put her faith in a “forest of magic money trees”, quipped Willis in March. “There is no magic money tree that can be plucked to pay for Labour’s election promises,” she warned last weekend. 

It’s not a new phrase, of course, but “magic money tree” lodged itself in the public consciousness in 2017 after an NHS nurse asked UK prime minister Theresa May why she hadn’t had a pay rise in seven years. It was, said May, due to the lack of the aforementioned analogical arboreal entity. The phrase took a while to, er, take root here though: go back to the 2017 parliamentary term and just a couple of magic money trees were mentioned. Before this the fiscal orchard was near barren, with longtime National MP (and fan of a repeated catchphrase) Nick Smith the only one game enough to use the less effective, adjectiveless “money tree”, which doesn’t quite hit the same (he could’ve been referring to the boringly unmagic pachira or crassula ovata, after all).

The “magic money tree” count began to rise during the 2020 term, but still there were just a handful of mentions, with the phrase used as frequently by members of the left-leaning parties as the right (it appears everyone can agree that the magic money tree does not, in fact, exist). This parliamentary term, however, is when things really ramped up. According to Hansard, the parliamentary debate transcripts, the phrase “magic money tree” has been uttered approximately 34 times in the House since late 2023, with Willis sharing a fondness for the metaphor with her National colleagues Chris Bishop, Simeon Brown and Simon Watts. 

Another metaphor with international roots to gain traction in Aotearoa recently is “cash bazooka”, sometimes altered to “money bazooka”. Traditionally, cash bazooka has been used to describe quantitative easing, when central banks “print money” to buy assets and stimulate economic activity, and last year became shorthand for US president Donald Trump’s spending spree. But the bazooka has found favour in recent months with Willis and prime minister Christopher Luxon as a sly dig at the opposition. While both the magic money tree and the cash bazooka imply the other side is not to be trusted with taxpayer funds, the two phrases aren’t interchangeable: the former paints a picture of a bunch of economically illiterate, almost pitiable fools, while the latter flags a more deliberate, dangerous recklessness.

In announcing a fuel relief package in March, Luxon said there would be no “untargeted, open-slather money bazooka fired around”. During the Covid pandemic, “money was sprayed around in a cash bazooka, untargeted, not timely, not temporary”, he reiterated soon after. The very first parliamentary reference to a cash bazooka was made by Luxon on April 1 this year, and he has since repeated the phrase twice more in the debating chamber. “I’m sorry that I have to explain to the member how economics works,” said the prime minister in a response to a question from Labour leader Chris Hipkins on May 19, “but when you spend more, drive up spending 84% and spray the cash bazooka around the way that it was, inflation goes through the roof to 32-year highs.” Willis, meanwhile, has had a hoon with a single reference to a “money bazooka” and her cabinet colleague Tama Potaka has joined in with a “cash bazooka” of his own.

The precursor to the cash bazooka was the less dramatic but still effective money hose. “The Labour government decided to put the money hose on full blast,” said Willis in parliament in response to the 2022 budget, reiterating the sentiment a few sentences later: “It’s spraying that money hose around and it’s spending more and more.” By 2023 – election year, of course – the money hose was getting a thrashing. The opposition would not be voting for a bill that gave “the minister of finance another go with the money hose, because we’ve seen what he does with that money hose”, Willis said in June. “He sprays it all around without discrimination, without targets, without accountability, without clarity for what will be achieved.” Even faced with an inferno, Willis would not abide hose usage: “Look, the house is burning. Inflation is running at record levels, and yet still you spray that money hose around.”

Speaking of fires and hoses, Willis wasn’t the first in the House to invoke a flexible tube for conveying fluids in order to criticise spending. In September 2020, National’s Paul Goldsmith reckoned the Labour government had “got the firehose out…. It’s spending as much as it possibly can”. The firehose metaphor has been repeated a couple of times since, including by Act MP Simon Court, who in 2023 invoked/invented a hybrid device: a “shotgun firehose” he reckoned was squirting out “$1.3 billion of taxpayers’ funds”. 

But Willis stuck with the money hose, uttering the phrase no fewer than six times in parliament over the course of a 12-month period between 2024 and 2025. Chris Bishop joined her once, describing said hose as “spouting” rather than using Willis’s favoured verb of “spraying”. He rolled it out again last week in a retro throwback to 2023. But for Willis, the money hose has been safely retracted into its wall-mounted reel, or perhaps left in a tangled heap on the lawn, since mid 2025, as the bazooka stepped up and blew all other metaphors to smithereens. Except, that is, for the magic money tree, which remains safe at the bottom of the garden.

Daddy’s arrived, and he’s trying to figure out a way to leave the little shits at home.

At the National Party’s annual conference over the weekend, there was only one question at the forefront: who’s your daddy? Between the octogenarian who says he’s there for you and the libertarian who tells you to be there for yourself, the nation needs a strong fiscal father figure. And that man’s name, the National Party will have you know, is Christopher Luxon. 

He’s not the kind of dad who spots you a tenner when rent is due. He’s one that reminds you that if you’d saved, you wouldn’t be in this position at all. He believes in backing you to back yourself. He’s also not one for a lavish conference when all can be said and done over tiny tasters and a short speech.

For a 90th anniversary event, National’s annual conference was a relatively lowkey affair. Maybe you could blame it on the setting: the Lower Hutt Convention Centre, on a particularly windy weekend. Or the little fanfare, with a lack of party memorabilia to wear or flags to fly. Or the anniversary bash on Saturday night, which left a few Young Nats looking weary-eyed by Sunday morning. Anyway, for an election year conference, it felt surprisingly subdued. 

A severely mojo-less Simeon Brown took the stage as the party’s campaign chair to set out the election vision. But what Brown lacks in charisma he makes up for in strong words, telling the few hundred-strong crowd that a vote for Act and NZ First would do nothing to help the National Party. “You just can’t trust them,” said Brown of NZ First, the party he’s currently in a coalition with and will likely need if his own party wants to get into power again.

A National government is like a working family, Brown explained. You’ve got Mum and Dad getting up early to make sure all the bills are paid and their kids are out the door, even when the children are warring with each other. “You know who those two kids are,” Brown said. “With Mum and Dad in the middle, finding the time in all the noise to get on and get the job done.”

The problem with families, as Brown forgot to point out, is that it’s also often hard to get rid of each other. Post-budget polls have kept National between 29% and 30%, and NZ First on 12% – a reminder that, despite the infighting, they still need to live under one roof. Brown and National just need to break their co-dependence by convincing voters that Peters can be adopted by Labour.

And to win over the public at large, the party is embracing a more paternalistic approach than it usually would. A raft of KiwiSaver changes that the party announced it will campaign on, including making the scheme compulsory for all working New Zealanders from July 2028, with progressive increases in the default contributions. National also wants to enrol every newborn from 2027, provide a government-paid parental leave contribution and make employer contributions compulsory for workers over 65.

The catch is that the policy is similar to one announced by Peters last month, but with the word “compulsory” and an extra $500 tacked on top. Peters has told Stuff that “it must be slightly embarrassing to first criticise NZ First then have to copy our policies”. On the other side of the coalition, Act Party leader David Seymour told The Post the changes are “exactly the kind of feel good, end bad policy Act exists to hold the line on”.

It’s also something the National Party once held the line on. Former prime minister Jenny Shipley, who was present at the ceremony, campaigned hard against a universal retirement scheme in the 1990s. She declined to comment on the policy. It was also a National government (Key in 2015) that got rid of the previously available $1,000 KiwiSaver kickstart in the first place.

Amid the chaos, there was a moment today to remind the National Party why they formed 90 years ago, and why the coalition makes sense together: a shared hatred of socialists. While National had its policy announcement in Wellington, the Green Party put on the table a number of tax reforms, including a 33% inheritance tax on assets or gifts over $1m (excluding the family home, farm, or Māori land transfer). 

It was “crazy,” said Luxon. It could create a “culture that opposes success”, said Seymour. And when Peters snaps out of his rage, he’ll probably be saying something something shallow self-obsessed Marxist. Nothing brings family together like a shared enemy.

Before the country re-elects National, how can it be sure it can deliver the changes it’s promising while keeping the kids in control? If Brown is warning his own party members not to trust NZ First, does that mean Luxon also doesn’t trust his own coalition partner – NZ First, specifically?

“I’ve enjoyed working with them, actually,” Luxon told reporters at a press stand-up following his speech.

But do you trust Peters, at the end of the day?

“I’ve trusted him in government, absolutely,” Luxon replied.

OK, sure. So what’s Luxon’s vibe check?

“Very good,” he replied. “It’s really good.”

The National Party may have spent the weekend distancing itself from its coalition partners, but Monday’s cabinet meeting might remind Dad that he can’t get rid of the kids just like that. Family life under MMP means learning the hard lesson that sharing is caring.

Meet James Henry Pomeroy: inventor, fishmonger, and the man responsible for deep fried blue cod on a southern beach.

The best fish and chips I’ve ever had were all in the south: Port Fish Supply, Port Chalmers, Kai Kart, Oban, and Bluff Kitchen, Bluff. There’s one thing they all have in common: fresh blue cod. 

Because blue cod (rāwaru) lives in the cold waters around Stewart Island and the lower South Island, it develops very lean, tight muscle fibres. In eating terms, that gives it firm, flaky flesh which is exceptionally well-suited to deep-frying. That same leanness is also a limitation. There isn’t enough fat to protect the cell structure, so it goes mushy when frozen. Which means one of the world’s great fish and chips experiences can only be found in New Zealand’s deep south. 

That’s not to say the other fish on that familiar New Zealand Commercial Fish Species poster aren’t great eating too, they’re just different. Snapper is for a sheltered cove with a pink sunset on a warm evening. Kahawai is for a rugged surf beach with seagulls swarming and friends laughing. Tarakihi is for a busy public beach while young children run and splash. Blue cod is a quiet moment of contemplation under a starry sky.

Eating fish and chips on the beach is a quintessential New Zealand experience. And yet it occupies an awkward place in the national culture. It isn’t ours. Fish and chips are a famously British dish. 

So how did it get here? It’s easy to imagine the early British settlers hopping off the boat in 1840 and celebrating with a feast of potatoes and freshly caught fried fish. But they didn’t, because the dish didn’t exist yet – not in Britain, anyway.

The first fish and chip shop in London was opened in 1860 by Joseph Malin, one of a wave of Jewish immigrants who introduced the dish to the UK in the latter half of the 19th century. Early English sources often referred to battered fried fish as “Jewish fried fish” or “fish the Jews’ way”. 

The earliest newspaper mention of fish ’n’ chips on a New Zealand menu is from 1894, when the Ship Hotel at 115 Princes St, Dunedin advertised “fried fish and potatoes” for three pence. It’s hard to know for sure whether this was fish and chips as we would recognise it today. The Ship Hotel was a sit-down restaurant that mostly served roasts and stews. There was no other fried food on the menu, so it’s unlikely they had a deep fryer for just one dish. It’s possible the fish could have been pan-fried, and the potatoes could have been roasted or mashed.

The first dedicated fish and chip shop in New Zealand appears to be Invercargill’s London Fried Fish Shop, opened by James Henry Pomeroy in May 1903. A short newspaper article about the opening referenced the imported deep fryer, saying the shop had been “fitted up with a special stove and other appliances for the rapid and thorough cooking of fried fish and chipped potatoes. The combination makes a tasty dish”. 

An advertisement described the store as being “opposite Council Chambers”.  The historic Provincial Council Building, constructed in 1864, is still standing today. Directly opposite, at 31 Kelvin Street, is the holy site where fish and chips were bestowed upon New Zealand.

A reporter euphemistically referred to the man behind the shop, James Henry Pomeroy, as “our energetic fishmonger”. Born in Cornwall, England, he moved to Invercargill, New Zealand in 1872, where he founded Pomeroy & Sons fish merchants. The company grew from a small wooden shop on Esk Street to a network of fishmongers and a fleet of ships. 

Aside from his fishing empire, Pomeroy was a prolific inventor. He held patents for frozen crates for transporting meat, improvements in single-use bottles, a joining mechanism for railway tracks, and the “Pomeroy patent hat fastener”, which was claimed to be “the prettiest and most comfortable, as well as the most effective attachment for ladies’ hats ever invented”. 

His son and collaborator John Pomeroy was even more inventive, patenting  a self-refilling fountain pen, a painless rabbit trap, a new kind of sheep shears, a hair curler, some “menstruation appliances”, and inflatable cricket pads (he later admitted the pads were a failure because “more runs were scored as a result of the ball hitting that pad than could have been obtained in any other way”).

Pomeroy Jr’s most significant invention was the Pomeroy bullet, a type of ammunition that exploded on impact. It was incredibly effective against German zeppelins in the first world war because the detonation would ignite the airships’ flammable hydrogen gas. 

His wife and co-inventor Amy Amelia Pomeroy was awarded a Membership of the Order of the British Empire in a ceremony at Buckingham Palace. John refused a knighthood but accepted a £25,000 royalty payment from the Crown.

He later sold armour-piercing bullets to the US military prior to WWII and was rumoured to have developed a “death ray” for the Chinese government during the second Sino-Japanese war. He later made a fortune selling an “elixir of life” in the United States. He died penniless in Melbourne, running a pie cart, having spent everything trying to invent a cure for his cancer.

The elder Pomeroy was combative and would often wade in on public debates via newspaper letters to the editor. In one argument about blue cod migratory patterns he called his opponent an “unscrupulous middleman to whom a competent inspector would be a source of terror”. In early 1897 his wife was fined £20 for selling intoxicating liquor without license. He launched a long and expensive legal challenge. When that failed, he refused to pay the fine until he was threatened with debtor’s prison. In 1908, he was one of a group of Invercargill businessmen who publicly campaigned against the prohibition of alcohol.

In 1905, one of his shops was caught selling illegally-caught trout. The following year, his son Charles was caught red-handed fishing during closed season. In 1909 his grandson Robert was sentenced to a year at Boys Training Farm, a juvenile delinquent facility, and when the boy wasn’t released on time Pomeroy sued for a writ of habeas corpus and won. He retired from business sometime after that and moved to Melbourne with John. He died in 1930, aged 77. 

Pomeroy was, in his way, the personification of kiwi ingenuity; an innovator who studied new technologies and found ways to apply them to local industries. He was also, it seems, a cantankerous, lawbreaking bully who used the courts as a personal weapon. These two things were probably not unrelated.

Think about what it actually took to open New Zealand’s first fish and chip shop in 1903. You had to learn that commercial deep fryers existed, find a manufacturer in the UK willing to deal with you, arrange shipping to one of the most remote cities on earth and put it together in a wooden shop in Invercargill. It took someone who was stubborn, intelligent, creative, and a bit unreasonable. But some things, like blue cod on a southern beach, are worth being unreasonable about. 

Behold. A new invention: the Barbara.

I have always envied men their barbers, and have long had on my list of things to do “invent the barber for women”. Obviously, this invention would be called the Barbara. 

But what’s wrong with a hairdresser, you say. I’m glad you asked. My list of issues is long and unhinged, and once you’re across them, I trust you will promptly diagnose me with some disorder/neurodiversity/personality flaw.

I do not want someone to wash my hair, with my neck angled in some unnatural position and wedged up against cold porcelain. I do not want to sit in a chair in a salon for a long time when I could be doing the 73 other things I need to do, or like to do. I do not want to make extended small talk with a person I know only because I have hair and they know how to cut hair. I do not want to listen to other clients who have hair make small talk with other stylists who know how to cut hair. I do not enjoy breathing hairspray and ammonia. I do not want to be upsold detangler and heat protector and leave-in conditioner and volumising shampoo, regardless of whether it contains keratin or active botanicals.

I do not want to book in again now for four weeks’ time, because I don’t know what I’ll feel like doing in four weeks’ time and if I went to the hairdresser every four weeks, it would make me quite a lot poorer, both in terms of time and money. My preference is to leave it until I look as though I have fallen upon hard times (~14 weeks) and then make an appointment. I do not like it when I walk in after ~14 weeks with dry ends and drooping layers, and see the despair in the hairdresser’s eyes. I’m happy being dishevelled, OK? Can you just try to mask that contempt?

I think by now you can probably guess how I felt when David Seymour decided ensuring hairdressers could serve alcohol should be one of his new Ministry of Regulation’s first priorities. What? Am I now socialising at the salon too? 

Now, before you @ me (although do let me know what you’ve diagnosed me with – extra info: this is not limited to hairdressers. I do not go and get my nails done or voluntarily attend any sort of grooming appointment, and I hate committing to anything weeks in advance), many people love going to the hairdresser. It’s a treat for them to sit and chat and read magazines and walk out with a beautiful new do. Great. The Barbara is not for them. 

The Barbara is for women who want the simplicity men enjoy. I have it on good authority the male of the species can rock up to a barber when they feel like it, no appointment needed, and just wait their turn. The barber does not wash their hair. The barber does not try to hem them into a four-week cutting cycle. The barber does not have shelf upon shelf of things that contain keratin and active botanicals and does not try to upsell them. 

Don’t even try to tell me I’ve invented Just Cuts. I’m well aware of the mall salons, and if you think Just Cuts is a Barbara, you need to do your research. Barbers are not, for the most part, located inside shopping malls, and while they don’t tend to upsell hard, they are not cut-price/the equivalent of fast food. 

During the research phase of inventing the Barbara, I have discovered that some hair salons invite “no talking” appointments, and some barbers don’t care what your gender is and will cut whoever’s hair. Excellent, but the Barbara will take this stuff out of niche mode and into the mainstream. See you at the salon.

This was first published in Veronica’s free Saturday email newsletter: The Weekend. If you don’t already receive it, sign up here:

In our series looking at relationships in New Zealand, a 25-year-old in her first relationship is in it for life.

Want to be part of Love, actually? Fill out the questionnaire here.

Age: 25

Gender: Female, she/her

Sexuality: Straight

Ethnicity: Pākehā

Religion: Agnostic

Occupation: Marketing

Length of relationship: Two years

Children: None, we both want them one day but no plans for a while.

How we met: I’d like to make up a big romantic story, but the reality is it was through Hinge. For all of the flaws of dating apps, we do say “God bless Hinge” to each other often for letting us meet each other.

The best thing about my relationship: My partner is my absolute best friend. We just have so much fun anytime we’re together. Even the idea of catching a long haul flight with him is exciting to me, because I’m never bored when he’s around.

A problem we can’t seem to resolve: Balancing my obsession with cleaning things the way I think is “right” vs. making sure we have an even split in household chores. It’s a bit of needing to let go from me, oopsie.

This is how we share/separate our finances: Rent is split evenly, we share grocery costs and take turns cooking in our flat. Everything else is for us to work out, I’d say we’re pretty even when it comes to buying each other little treats.

This is how we split chores and childcare: See above. I always do the bathroom since it’s one of my main focuses, then other chores get split amongst my flatmates. My partner is great at doing the bigger cleaning tasks I tend to procrastinate, like cleaning our rangehood filters on the weekend.

Our sex life in three words: All about connection. Love is what makes it amazing for us.

The thing that makes me a good partner: I’d like to think I’m quite thoughtful, whether that’s picking up on a bad day and doing something to cheer him up, or proactively doing things that’ll help us both.

The thing I need to work on to be a better partner: Not giving silent treatment. I come from a family who never talks about disagreements or fights, and it’s a pattern of behaviour I’m actively working against.

What I most appreciate in my partner: How kind he is. He’s always thinking about the people he loves and how he can make them happy, especially through his sense of humour. He makes me laugh more than anyone I’ve ever met!

What I most resent in my relationship: How bad I am at being alone now. I used to love my quiet time, but being with my partner is better at recharging me than solitude. I think that might be a good thing, actually?

The thing that has changed the most about my relationship over time: The comfort of growing with someone. This is my first relationship ever, and I’m so glad we met each other when we did. Your early twenties are for growing and learning, we support each other to do exactly that.

It would surprise people to know this about my relationship: Despite both being working professionals who are nerds, most of our convos are doing silly, unintelligible comedy bits to each other.

Our last big fight was about: We never really have big fights, mostly small riffs about those little things that don’t matter when you look back (like taking the rubbish out).

If I hadn’t met my partner: I’d be pretty lost. Meeting someone you want to spend the rest of your life with gives you a certainty. Even if I don’t know where I’ll be living or where I’ll be working down the line, I know I’ll have him. That makes me worry a lot less about what’s to come, and instead I feel excited!

I expect my relationship to last until: Forever. We were sure of each other quite early on, early enough to keep it from our loved ones until it seemed a reasonable timeline! When you know, you know rings true to me now.

My relationship advice is: Never forget to have fun together. Your partner is there for every part of life, especially the joy.

Arden owner-operator Lisa Penketh whips up a list of her best-loved places to eat and drink around Nelson, with everything from early-morning pies to low-lit whisky bars.

“Home always calls,” says Lisa Penketh. Originally from Nelson, she spent years in Wellington and Melbourne before being drawn back to the seaside town around a decade ago. In 2018, alongside Logan Ursell, she opened Arden, a restaurant and bar in central Nelson. Set amongst wooden floors and leadlight windows, the space bridges the pair’s Melbourne hospitality experience with the produce, wine and easygoingness of the Nelson Tasman region.

Next door, the pair also run Porta Via, a daytime eatery and specialist wine shop. There’s more to come, too.“As ever, I have a few plans cooking,” says Penketh. “Check in and see what’s happening in the Porta Via space – there’s art, workshops and pop ups all lined up in the coming months.”

Eating well in Nelson for Penketh means crudo and boquerones with a bottle of something from a local vineyard, but it’s just as likely to mean a life-giving bowl of phở, or a steaming claypot rice. Read on for some of Nelson and the surrounding region’s most exciting places to eat and drink.

Three words that sum up the food in Nelson: Hopeful, nostalgic, genuine.

Everyone has a dining out pet peeve. Mine is: Bright lights are unavoidable. Or are they?

The best restaurant in Nelson is: I have probably been overthinking this, but given Arden is mine and Logan’s shared hospo loves all crammed into one, as a diner, it’s Arden.

Why I love Arden: Its offering is delicious, quirky and comfortable.

My go-to order is: Always the bread and butter, always the crudo or boquerones, always the house made cheese and likely the porchetta or pasta.

When I’m craving something cheap and cheerful I head to: Jay’s Dumpling Cafe.

The most underrated local gem is: I don’t know if it’s underrated, but Falafel Gourmet is a beacon: yummy, filling, messy and just over the road.

A place I’ve been dying to try is: There are a few loose people in hospo that are about to do some good things, but are currently shhhh. There’s also lots of excitement around the Morrison Square development. I’m yet to get away at the right time to try Elba’s Pazza Pizza which has been on the list for ages.

Celebrating with a group? Book a table at: Brick in Monaco, great food and lovely service – they make space for an evening to evolve. It’s a very pretty setting too.

Pub or bar of choice: The Dog’s Bone. It’s a dive bar/ pub/ burger joint. And they have wine. And music, and lovely faces, and you can BYO dog. So good.

The BYO I keep going back to: Nelson Oriental. Feast it up, there are so many good dishes, the claypot rice and the green beans with pork and chilli are always great, and it always works out pretty cheap at the till.

Got visitors from out of town? I’m taking them to: Most likely the Moutere Inn. All Nelsonians take visitors for a drive to see the pretty places in the region. This is a great stop for a local refreshment, and the kitchen is open all afternoon and into the evening.

An ideal date spot would be: Wafu Bistro. Try to get a seat at the bar where you can see Yuki prepare each piece.

Make sure to order: The nigiri in pairs and the sake in flights, so good.

But I’d advise you to avoid: Going late. Don’t try to be classy and go late. We dine early here in Nelson. Give yourselves time to order all the things without being the last people in the room.

Nelson’s best…

Breakfast: The Craftsman Cafe. This place is proper good. Order three dishes to share between two, minimum. The menu changes often and you don’t want to miss a thing!

Coffee: Tahuna Breakfast Club. Classic flat white for me, usually to take away for a stroll towards the beach with the dog.

Sandwich: Salvito’s Pizza Bar by the slice (I think pizza counts).

Noodles: Depends on the day. Phở from Green Bamboo or ramen from Koharu-Shokudo.

Pie: Wakefield bakery. It’s open from 5am, and so it’s a pie any time for me – always the first stop on a road trip.

Fish and chips: The Prince Albert.

And the best place to unwrap and eat them is: At the pub with my mum, and each with a glass of Te Whare Ra riesling.

Bowl of soup: Hardy St Eatery. Always in season, always brothy and herby, the whole menu is a very good time and the bread is also excellent.

Bread: I’m not organised enough to take home a loaf, but Hardy St Eatery and The Craftsman both sell to-go loaves. Also, for our gluten-free friends, the legend Chloe at My Gluten Free Bakery has the goods.

Baked treat: Visit Clare at Little Dove Cafe for a little Persian love cookie.

What defines a great cookie? Not being scared of crispy edges, showing a little rustic love, baking fresh.

For a serious sweet tooth, head to: Crossbow Coffee Roasters on Fridays, their donut day.

If you’re after spice, make a beeline for: Takor Thai. Order the pad kra pao “Thai hot” – and you want the fried egg on top, too.

A splurge that’s worth it: Arbour. It’s over the hill, so a bit cheeky, but it’s super special. Co-owner Liz makes the connections for you between the food, the cooking and the wine… all in a super respectful and curious way. It’s a treat.

The dairy with the best lolly selection: CJ Asian Supermarket. This is more for the selection of crazy drinks though.

A little local treat that always cheers me up: Penguinos. Ice cream!

My favourite grocery shop: Cook’s Corner. It’s mostly a cheese shop, and that’s just wonderful.

For the best produce, I stop in at: Connings Food Market.

A perfect place to linger over a drink: Kismet for whisky and cocktails after dinner.

My favourite local hospo personality: Hannah “delightful” Walls, our section waiter du jour who is consistently sharing her enthusiasm for dining and delivering the kind and capable service we love at Arden.

For outstanding people watching, go to: Porta Via. Sit at the stools at the bar, and look out the window. Top notch.

A local spot I wish we could bring back from the dead is: Rhythm and Brown, a lo-fi bar with good people, which closed in 2019.

A restaurant I would love to relocate to Nelson: Logan’s favourite haunt when he was living in Melbourne, The Lincoln, would be amazing to have in Nelson. It’s a pub, but also a restaurant. Their drinks list is made up of really brave beer and wine choices, they host great events, serve a delicious menu and have the best team. And there’s Iain’s (the owner-operator’s) laugh.

The place I return to again and again: Doris’ Bratwurst Grill at Nelson’s Saturday Markets. It’s a nice shout for the team before service on a Saturday

Why I love eating in Nelson: We’ve got it covered. For a small place we are spoiled with so many operators and vendors and growers putting in the work and love every season to keep our culinary hearts full. It’s a group effort and I’m glad to be part of it.

Getting flak from strangers is not new for Kate Langdon and her wife, but since they had a child together, there’s been a new barrage of questions.

It still surprises me if I’m out somewhere, whether it’s a work event or a social one, and a stranger – who has clocked my wedding ring – asks me if my husband is here too, or what my husband’s name is, or sometimes even what my husband does for a living. I don’t know why these types of questions surprise me, they shouldn’t anymore as I’ve been asked them so often. Because I don’t have a husband, I have a wife. But the sum parts of seeing a wedding ring still equals a hetero marriage for many people. My wife has also been asked these same questions on multiple occasions. Perhaps this is because we don’t fit preconceived stereotypes of what a lady gay should look like, whatever that is. (We like to call ourselves lady gays, I’ve personally never loved the word lesbian).

Questions like these used to send me into an internal spin and I’m ashamed to admit there have been a few occasions when I’ve lied and replied that my husband isn’t here tonight, or that his name is Steve, just to make the questions stop. I don’t do that anymore. Now, I answer honestly, regardless of who is asking. I hope that by answering honestly it might make the person rethink the kind of questions they ask in the future. I refrain from replying: “The 1950s called and they’d like their questions back.” 

As a same-sex couple my wife and I have had to put up with some flak from strangers over the years but thankfully this is few and far between these days. In the early days of our relationship there were occasionally some men (a certain type) who couldn’t quite grasp the concept of two women being in a relationship and saw it as some sort of affront to their manhood. We would endure “It’s just because you haven’t met the right cock” type of comments, which were as tedious to endure as it sounds. My wife and I were both straight for many years, we have seen plenty of penises, their penis was most definitely not going to make us straight again. Life would have been a lot easier for us both if it were this simple. 

My wife and I have a 10-year-old daughter together and this has led to a whole barrage of new questions from people we don’t know about how she came to be. My favourite reply: “Well, we had been trying for years with no joy, so we decided to go to a fertility clinic.”  One thing you can guarantee is that if a same-sex couple has a child a LOT of thought has gone into it. Often a lot of money too. There is no way in hell this baby is an accident.

We were very fortunate in that one of my brothers agreed to be our donor. He is also gay and he and his husband had decided not to pursue having children of their own. I am often asked what involvement my brother has in our daughter’s life, many people assuming he must have a fatherly role of some sort. He doesn’t. He is her uncle, nothing more, nothing less. Our daughter knows that her uncle helped to make her and this is something she has known since she was a toddler. 

I also have a younger brother who is gay so it’s three out of four for my lucky parents, who are thankfully very accepting people. It would be a very quiet Christmas Day for them if they weren’t.

Another hot question my wife and I are often asked is which of us gave birth to our daughter. I tend to find this question a little alarming if it follows straight after the “where did you get the sperm?” question. The thought of my brother’s sperm being anywhere near my eggs (even inside a petri dish) is the stuff of nightmares. I get that technically it is possible I could have carried an embryo created from my wife’s egg and my brother’s sperm but no, we used my wife’s eggs and she also carried our daughter. Call us traditional. I had already given birth to my son 10 years prior, so it made sense to us that my wife got to experience this side of things. For me, experiencing both sides of a birth was an interesting juxtaposition and it gave me a new respect for fathers. No one gives a flying shit about you during this marathon event, they really don’t. 

My daughter’s existence makes people curious; it’s only natural and I get it. I often forget that it makes a good story because it’s just our life. We have been called a “modern family” more times than I can count.

My daughter is very good at telling anyone who asks that she doesn’t have a Dad, she has two mums, Mama (me) and Mummy (my wife). She says this with pride and it makes me chuffed to see her wear her difference with such confidence. Because she is different to all her friends who have a mum and a dad and she is reminded of this by society on a regular basis, like when Father’s Day rolls around and all the other kids in her class are making cards for their dads. Instead, she has to make two cards and two breakfasts on Mother’s Day, a frantic day for the kid. My wife and I have been in a stalemate for years over one of us switching to Father’s Day, neither of us prepared to budge.

My family aside, we are the only same-sex couple amongst our close circles of friends and we’re certainly the only same-sex couple raising a child together. We don’t know how we compare to other same-sex couples raising children but there’s certainly no difference between us and our hetero friends with how we parent. If there are two parents present there’s generally one who is more likely to be a bit stricter, or one who coaches the football team, or one who takes them to the library, or one who enjoys cooking with them. That’s just how parenting rolls, regardless of the sexes. Like any hetero couple, my wife and I each have our different roles within the household. Not based on gender, simply based on who is better at it, or who has more time. 

Our daughter is fortunate to have plenty of wonderful adult male role models in her life; hands-on grandfathers, uncles, our many wonderful male friends, and her 20-year-old big brother who is undoubtedly her biggest and most influential role model and whom she idolises. My wife and I both came out a little later in life (in our early 30s) and both of us had come from long-term relationships with men. These two wonderful men are now our daughter’s two godfathers and a big part of our lives still.

We are lucky to be surrounded by such an accepting and supportive wider whānau and I know that, unfortunately, this isn’t the case for everyone like us.

The little girl I once was, who assumed she would have a husband and four children one day, could never have foreseen the family she would actually end up with. But I reckon she’d think it was pretty darn awesome all the same. By the time our little girl grows up I hope there’s no need for anyone to refer to a family like ours as “modern”, just “family” will do.

Hungus is a deadly new poetry collection by Amber Esau (Ngāpuhi/Manase), a mantis-themed ode to nuance, tower moments and addiction. Esau sits down with fellow Ngāpuhi Samoan writer Coco Solid to discuss the joys of being misread, multinesian multiplicities, putting repression to work and how it feels to have your darkest matter become public poetic property.

Amber Esau: Hungus is textbook – “the girls that get it get it”. Some people might not have the full context to understand the world that has created this collection, but most books are a house of mirrors and this one isn’t any different. I think if you’re a lil too uncomfy with being on the outside of a work… what are you bringing to the reading experience? 

Coco Solid: Whereas I thought, “Oh it’s my diary, period”. I am a Māori Samoan Palagi who’s gonna get down with poetry and trauma, so I was like a nepo baby to be fair. I also don’t think people realise how special it is when we share a body of work like this. How it’s literally a part of your psyche and gafa just walking around.

AE: I agree. It’s been strange, because this is such an exaggerated version of who I am. And some of it is completely outlandish, but there is always an undercurrent of truth. The environment that I grew up in was tense and hilarious and there’s always that tension of big and little violences.

CS: Violence is always just there looming when things go left. Liminal, lateral; emotional violence, physical. I think when you’re growing up within a lot of contradictions that soft threat is always there somewhere.

AE: “Soft threat”, it’s so that. I also feel it highlights how cartoonish and surreal growing up in those environments can be. Not in a way that’s inherently bad. It’s just sort of navigating by streetlight. 

CS: We often cling to “this will make sense one day”. Not necessarily. You just put out a hot book about it and that might be the closest you’ll get.

AE: We write to better understand those essential and personal questions that keep circling us. A lot of Hungus is about the pervasiveness of trauma. It’s about addiction, but I think that’s just the underbelly of different kinds of trauma. 

CS: This cool device of the praying mantis. That’s such a deep totem for us in cultural ways, like a tōhu for pregnancy among other things.

AE: Hardout. I used to dream about praying mantises a lot. I reckon they embody the power and terror of womanhood. 

CS: And I like the way Hungus moves through the plural life. Selfishly I love that it moves through the plurals of my life. Those whakaaro that swim and knock into each other. Suddenly, “oh, I’m in this quadrant now”. I’m suddenly at a fiafia night, we’re in the tension of “baby sharks trying not to allure,” and then I’m marvelling at the heaviness of a soft-boiled moon. Collaging all these contexts with lush language, it’s just so technically impressive too.

AE: Nah, thank you. The earlier drafts were a lot more elusive and opaque. I was a little too prepared to free fall into a vat of hearty Moana metaphors, eh. 

CS: Are you like: “If you don’t get it, it’s not my problem?”

AE: More like: “This is my version of the poem. But what is coming up for you?” I’ve always thought there’s a collaborative approach to offering such a tricked out poem, lol. I love mixed metaphors – they are kinda fobby which feels like home – but with the original intentions that I had for writing the work, I hadn’t fully realised what was truly pushing the opacity.

CS: I‘ve read interpretations of the praying mantis as an alter ego, or a buffer between you and the you saying what you need to say. The tension between wanting to cloak and wanting to connect. Poetry shit.

AE: “Whatever comes up for you is none of my business” is how I have always felt, but sometimes I think that can be used to warp a work so out of context, which is a little bit sus. This has made me consider my responsibility to the kinds of images and metaphors I use. I get the impression that some people want so badly for poetry to do the work of really taut fiction, a style of poetry that is also very awesome, but it’s not entirely what I’m interested in. I think of the Mantises and the Manaia more like the major arcana in a tarot deck. 

CS: When I’m writing, there’s this quiet resentment wanting to buck those assumptions, it’s always there burning. But Hungus has that duality and it does that. It’s not glaringly academic, but even when it was mysterious to me I could feel that labour. If you’ve been in a white forensic writing class, you’d know why Hungus ate. But also if you’ve got a Samoan grandmother you’d know why it ate as well.

AE: That was super important to me. From the earlier drafts, I had to accept that actually there is an elitism in the way I’m using language that will not be accessible for a lot of my family and the community I grew up around, most of whom aren’t poets. They couldn’t care less about the juxtaposition, volta, anaphora and enjambment in the work. If they feel it, they feel it. 

CS: We live opaque lives and similarly poetry is at the mercy of those perceptions too. People are going to be misreading me every day well into the double digits. I accepted that a long time ago, that’s the waka I’m soldered to and no one has the time or range to casually work through that and reassure you. We’ll never provide people that clean, reductive read, right? So why wouldn’t our writing be like that as well?

AE: One hundred percent. It’s hard not to feel a little cynical about it, eh. It’s twofold though, because again, how you read Hungus is none of my business. But also you’re gonna read it how you read it anyway. Whatever I say has the potential to be misrepresented or misunderstood so why not get a little freaky with it? 

CS: Did you have fun in that way, playing with perception on your terms? Hungus has visuals in it and all these moving poetic forms. As soon as I started reading it, I see “the Moana is a rolling mirror and will definitely fuck “. There was a line break there and it turns into another sentence. But I’m still frozen thinking: “You damn right, the Moana will definitely fuck!” I felt every choice you made was experimental. Were you seeing how much you could get away with?

AE: My general sense is that I’m probz a surrealist – I love incongruous images/language/form. I find that kind of confusion exciting and familiar and crack up, and embodies the soft threat you mentioned earlier. 

CS: I think you’re a surrealist too. Did you want to go all out? Use the maximalism in your kete?

AE: Before I went back to study, I was just doing a lot more intuitive writing and a lot of it didn’t really make sense. Afterwards, I had a bit more understanding of my process which was useful. I’d always taken being a stream-of-consciousness writer quite literally and thought editing would muddy the “raw confusion” or something like that lol. There is a version of this collection that’s even more hungus. I was so lucky to have Ashleigh Young as my editor – she really understood the essence of the work. And now editing feels closer to refraction. 

CS: And how do you feel about the book?

AE: I don’t hate it?

CS: That’s major.

AE: I mean, I’ve read it a lot and I’m still okay, this is still revealing new things to me. That is a good tell. I’m really glad to have had time from the first draft to focus on other things. Distance definitely helped the overall arc and made me a lil more ruthless. 

CS: And it’s editorial murder on the dance floor before you put that shit out. It’s horrible.

AE: Hard not to be so attached. Even just submitting the work took me ages. I was holding onto my finished draft for a few months before I thought maybe it’s time to send it. I needed to give myself the time to grieve that period where it was just me and the work. 

CS: Because once it’s out there, it’s no longer yours.

AE: Exactly, and it feels so separate to me now. I’m still a little surprised when I see the book out in the wild and think, “Oh, that’s right, I let her go and do her thing”.

CS: The cover for a book ends up setting this energetic tone. Can we have a moment for yours? It’s almost like “brace yourself, bitch”. This is such a bombastic, incredible visual world. It really sets the mood.

AE: It all came together really quickly and randomly. I’d met Katrina Steak at a Yellow Lamp poetry night maybe a month before Te Herenga Waka University Press told me they wanted to publish the book. We followed each other on Insta and I was absolutely floored by her artwork. The visual worlds she creates resonate so deeply with me and with what Hungus is. She’s mean AF!!!!! I felt so certain that it had to be her, that she would really “get” the work… and she did. 

CS: With a pukapuka, you’re building the whole culture around the work after creating the work itself. Making sure that you’ve packaged it beautifully and the way it’s aligned, the way it finds its audience — you push the work out as best you can. I feel that’s a really big win for this body of work, because when I got into it, I felt like all the elements co-ordinated.

AE: I love that. Yeah, I think with the way that the work is, it was important to make sure anyone who entered this poetic fale had some idea of what they were stepping into. Also, there was no way I could let my girl, Hungus, go out in an ugly fit haha. 

CS: I’m thinking about the tension of having subscriptions to so many worlds. I really love that line: “split across timelines is the her of many hers.” That’s the fantasy, right? That part of us that is uncontestable, the ultimate you. And it’s the core of your being, the spirit that trauma and other people can’t destroy. We’re often trying to get to the centre of trying to find her.

AE: Absolutely. I can’t remember who said it, probably lots of people, but there’s a thing called multi-consciousness. It’s all intersectional and we’re just Venn Diagramming our ways to where the parts of our wakas overlap/are bound well enough to hold us, eh. 

Although, sometimes the process of naming things and being named can distance us from actually doing the work. In this age of social media, we are even more used to abstracting ourselves to the point that we might avoid the responsibility of actually being ourselves in the world. I definitely struggle with this. I mean, I’m Samoan, Māori, NZ Irish, bi, woman and I’m also a daughter, a sister, an aunty, a niece, a friend, a lover, and just me? 

CS: That is so much of what writers do, the laser-pointing of trying to reach your internally mutated people.

AE: I grew up with a diasporic Fa’asamoa and there is always the expectation to be the most Samoan you can be. But I’m someone who is constantly feeling like a fractal and always living between different cultural contexts. It’s interesting, but it’s also always feeling like you have to explain yourself.

CS: Even to yourself. Those assumptions make the sex and eroticism in this mahi leap out too. It feels 4K when you bring those kinds of themes to the front of what is stereotyped as “brown woman work”. Like, PinkPantheress is this illegal? No, it’s not, but damn sometimes you’d think it was.

AE: Haha, I’m honestly sick of feeling like I have to do “brown woman work”… can’t a girl just vibe? I read this book called The Agony of Eros by Byung-Chul Han. One of the things that I understood from what he wrote was: we don’t know how to hold space for the other. The eroticism is in the conflict of “us” existing and an “other” existing and holding them together – that is eroticism. But within a colonial framework, we’re expected to overtake rather than sit with that uncertainty. 

CS: Conquer. Control the dominant narrative.

AE: Exactly. And a dominant narrative must be consumable, standardised.

CS: Literally state-sanctioned.

AE: Truly. One of the hopeful parts of Hungus is: how do we hold the other? It’s uncomfortable if you’re still in survival mode, but something’s gotta come after that. 

CS: And how do you hold the other with integrity, whilst also upholding your own integrity? And knowing that it doesn’t really deplete anything by being open and doing that. I like how you associate that with eroticism.

AE: I grew up in a pretty repressed and village-like household. I had very little privacy and was expected to be as transparent as possible. It cultivated a sort of gullibility in me, eh. I naturally assume people are straight up. It took me ages to accept otherwise haha. 

When I was writing the first draft, it was shared in the workshop space and that was a little triggering. Once I had distance from the therapy draft – and also, I ended up getting some therapy to work through some of my stuff – it felt healing to reimagine the darkness thematically and on the sentence level. Not just for my mana but also for the mana of anyone entering the work. A feeling that I wanted Hungus to have is pulling teeth, pulling a bad tooth so you can get some relief. There’s a tension of leaving it for so long that it overwhelms you, the hurt and aggression of it, and then the catharsis … but it’s also kind of gross. 

CS: To me, it captures that real heavy metal side of being a wāhine. What we are forced to socio-spiritually do. So it feels cathartic that it’s all these themes I know well. You give it that brutal treatment yet the work ends up being quite chic and shiny. You’re holding the glam but also the gory.

AE: I love that. I’ve known too many strong women holding it down for everyone and feeling like they can’t be messy and spiritual. 

CS: And with ‘2Puna’, how you talk about the log flume at Rainbow’s End, the ticking rails, the regurgitated water. If you know that clapped fun park, it’s very sensory but you give it this cute mihi. I have to feel close with my tūpes to be able to call them my tūpes, just like you do 2Puna. I love how you culturally relax and get to play with them too, at Rainbow’s End of all places. You flex that security, to make the casual sacred and the sacred casual.

AE: For a long time, I felt like a spectator to myself, my 2puna, and others. It sort of makes the rituals of everyday life seem rote rather than a chance to be present. We all have our cultural customs that maybe operate in the same way that religious customs can. This sometimes abstracts and outsources spirituality and tries to pigeonhole us. I think it’s easy to lose connection to the land if we’ve put our faith too out of reach. 

CS: And you want to have polyphonic abilities, right? You want to be a Mongolian throat singer, where you can hit all three, four, five frequencies within everything you say. Someone can hear it from every realm in which you belong and feel attuned. That’s our grand wish. Under the rubble and the limitations of language, I just want to know that you feel me.

AE: That’s one of the dreams for sure. But not everyone is gonna come into something with that openness and that good faith. We can only offer it up and hope they want to sit down next to us and try to hear. Sometimes tiring, though. 

CS: Especially when you put in all that energy and still get misread for your troubles. 

AE: I think part of the work is an attempt to understand faith and belief. It is about the glam holding the gory, which I love, that’s so the vibe. But it’s also about the systems of power and the abuses that can pervade not just the home and family dynamics but on a grander, societal level, too. Maybe this is the true manifestation of trickle-down economics lol. 

CS: The real call coming from inside the house.

AE: People will often think that this is where my power is, so I can be this way. I think it’s also an opportunity to check how we interface with Empire. 

CS: Look how the government historically treats Māori women members of parliament when things get too messy. I have a theory our scapegoating is baked into life here, it’s hidden in the collective consciousness and in all kinds of dynamics I experience. I’m often laughing at Empire like, “oh, you think this is the first time I’ve had my resources or public approval or power stripped away from me?”. I was born into it. Like Hungus we’re holding up a mirror and testing these default narratives every day. 

AE: Throughout this work is the “hurt people can still hurt people” narrative. I think that’s a big part of our upbringings, the work, and understanding that in the context of Empire. It’s my attempt to offer people a way to check themselves as much as they check others. Because these kinds of power imbalances are not just for one type of person. Everyone is as capable of this. It’s a gentle reminder. I know I’ve been a dick in ways too, so how do I renegotiate that?

CS: You get harmed, you cause harm, and you want the reader to benefit from knowing that’s a constant relationship and truth we all live inside. It’s inescapable and it’s ongoing, no matter how “good”, “correct” and God-fearing you are.

AE: Exactly. To really access that part of it you have to be open to seeing yourself in the work. And I think a lot of people aren’t willing to hold the nuance. 

CS: I think holding all of these competing doctrines comes through, even in your use of astrology. That’s not the same as a whimsical Anglo girl putting astro references in her poetry. It goes through the vetting process and mythologies and guilt-ridden distortions of a Polynesian mind. I gotta consider maramataka, menstruation, navigation, if the church is gonna call me a witch yet again. Astrology and your use of planets, like ‘The Uranus trap’ and the ode to our mutual (brilliant) friend Chance ‘Stfu about Your 12th House Stellium’. What’s your relationship like with astrology?

AE: Astrology was a big part of my twenties. I think that it’s quite common for people who have unresolved trauma to really flock to astrology, because it helps to provide a framework from which you can understand yourself a little better and give yourself some grace. Like, “Oh okay, this is the energy that I’m working with”.

I would love to understand the maramataka better and actually link to seasonal living, rather than being on the clock and constrained for the sake of convenience/productivity/labour. Even though it’s not fully possible, that is definitely something that excites me about understanding our relationship to the skies a little more. I’ve also always felt at a distance from things, on purpose or otherwise, and the avoidant in me loves that but, I’ll be looking at the moon and am still shocked that we get to share this view.

CS: And how do you feel about entering into the culture of being an author? I guess participating in the… not the industrial complex of it… but the very real thing where putting a book out just really changes things. You are in the libraries and you’re in the bookstores and people are talking to you about your book for a long time. And then you have to get into this almost rhetoric as an author and then you get this whole new community. I found it really exciting, but also really jarring. What about you?

AE: I’m proud of the work and I’m happy that she is able to do her thing. That she’s out there vibing. I think that’s so cute and intrepid of her. 

And the author part of it, I’m weirded out by. I’m quite shy and awkward but also loud AF when I’m comfortable. These days, I’ve been trying not to get too overwhelmed being in group dynamics, especially now that I’ve stopped drinking, but it’s still kinda hard for me. I am very much a one-on-one kind of person. 

I find it exciting being able to talk about the work with people who engage with her thoughtfully. This? Amazing, thank you. It’s really interesting to me hearing how Hungus shows up for others. 

I’m still getting used to the fact that people are talking about the work, or talking about me rather than Hungus. It’s so nosey sometimes haha. I know that we’re gonna be intrinsically linked, but she’s not mine anymore. I’m just over here making sure that she is supported through her journey.

CS: You’re just like a kaitiaki.

AE: Yeah, maybe.

Hungus by Amber Esau ($30, Te Herenga Waka University Press) is available to purchase from Unity Books.

Hair never stops growing, and robots can’t do fades – yet. So is being a barber a solid career choice in an unstable world? We catch up with some to ask how it’s going. 

It’s 10am and there’s a queue out front of Mr Barber in downtown Auckland. It’s a daily sight. They’re there for the free haircuts, all done by trainee barbers during their 12-week course. Clippers and scissors are in their hands on day one. It’s “hardcore”, explains co-founder Jacqui Spence, and a good way to learn. Mr Barber trains around 70 each year. 

Cutting hair is a billion-dollar industry. New Zealand has 5,000 barber shops and hair salons – most of them small businesses – and barbering has seen distinct momentum, with a recent regulatory review noting the category has seen “significant growth” over the past 20 years. What started with hipster barbershops in the early 2000s has snowballed thanks to social media, celebrities and influencers. The men’s hair care market is growing around the world amid a booming male grooming industry. In the US 63% of men believe taking care of their appearance is integral to their wellbeing. Appearance is a higher priority for Gen Z than it is for millennials (we’ve all heard of looksmaxxing by now).

It’s an appealing employment pathway for young people who find school or study isn’t for them. Although the vast majority of Mr Barber students are under 25, like 70% of last year’s intake, some are in their 30s or 40s and changing careers (hairdressing and barbering have both been assessed as low risk for replacement by AI). 

Donna, 42, left behind a corporate career and has nearly finished her training course. “It’s been awesome.” She’s looking for a work placement but many barber shops want two years’ experience. She sometimes worries about her age and gender – though it’s traditionally been a male domain, around 30% of the students at Mr Barber are women. Donna’s learning the trade to support her own business, making hairpieces for men experiencing male pattern baldness. “For a long, long time in my career I was just chasing money because I was a single mum, but my kids are older now and I’ve always wanted to have my own business,” she explains. “But it’s quite scary to give up that security and come here.”

The average income for hairdressers and barbers is $44,000, although it can go as high as $100,000. Barber shops usually operate like tattoo parlours, with employees renting a station and paying a percentage of their income to the shop, although some are paid an hourly rate. Do people understand the skill involved in cutting hair? “Absolutely not,” says Donna. “I think a lot of people take that for granted.”

Another trainee, Ben, is nearby, cutting a client’s hair. He’s 30 and used to work in construction, which took a physical toll on him. He’s learning barbering so he can help his mother in her beauty salon.

After training at Mr Barber, which is NZQA-registered and the only dedicated barbering school in Auckland, students have to do a further 780 hours at a commercial barber shop before they’re assessed and can receive their level four qualification. Other schools, like Servilles Academy and most polytechs, also offer courses for the same qualification, the level four New Zealand Certificate in Commercial Barbering. According to NZQA, 312 people received the qualification in 2025. Wherever they study, trainee barbers also have to learn to trim facial hair and do wet shaves. Hairdressing qualifications are a little different, and include skills like colouring, future hair treatment and home hair care. Under New Zealand law, anyone can cut hair and certification isn’t required. The 2025 Hairdressing and Barbering Industry Regulatory Review found only 60% of barbers and hairdressers hold qualifications (although lacking them wasn’t indicative of reduced quality or safety).

Social media and public figures have contributed to the destigmatisation of appearance regimens for men and driven an increase in trends. These can be hard to keep up with. Lauren, 31, who started training last year, spends a lot of time staying on top of the latest haircuts. “Barbering is evolving so much, even in the time that I’ve started,” she says. Lauren left a corporate job in Sydney to come home and learn the trade and now works at a couple of different barbershops – Mr Barber’s commercial shop and Latenights the Barbershop in Mount Eden. There she often gets asked for a warrior cut, but hair styles are different for every client. “They trust you more when you get to know them.” She loves the creativity involved in the job and “helping people”, and eventually wants to have her own business. Barbering can be a part-time gig and it’s common for barbers to have other jobs as well (lots of firefighters also cut hair on the side, she reckons), but in a competitive industry, “you need to get out there and push yourself”.

Getting work isn’t always easy for newly qualified barbers, but staffing also presents a challenge for the local industry, with some businesses struggling to find and retain qualified barbers (other countries, including the US, UK and Georgia, have had similar issues).

Ziad joined his brother’s business, Top Barber on Symonds Street, three years ago when he was 17. He started cutting hair at home during Covid, learning the basics from YouTube. After dropping out of school at 16 he decided to study barbering and got qualified. Learning the trade properly takes you at least a year, he explains, although he likens it more to an art. Young guys come to Ziad for fades and more experimental cuts, but most of their customers are local office workers.The best part of his job is getting to know people. “I’ve got clients everywhere, all over town,” he says. “People recognise you in the street. It’s nice.”

But it’s not cruisy. Standing on your feet all day can take a toll and back pain is a common concern. And then there are the challenges of business; like other discretionary industries – although you could argue haircuts are a necessity – barbers have been buffeted by reduced consumer spending. “People are getting haircuts once a month instead of twice,” explains Ziad. That kind of change in behaviour can have a major impact on a high-traffic business like a barber shop.

Consumer confidence was down again in June, reaching levels not seen since 2023. (Stats released before the US-Iran peace agreement.) Of people surveyed by Westpac, 84% had changed their spending and 43% were cutting back on non-essentials. This has put pressure on a sector, recently described as stagnant by Hair & Barber New Zealand, which represents 10% of the industry. Saving it from decline are younger customers and digitally driven demand. And things might be looking up, finally. 

The industry is changing too. That 2025 government report found a sector in the midst of evolution, with many businesses moving away from brick-and-mortar salons and barber shops, instead operating out of homes and mobile setups, which benefit from lower overheads.

Rodney Fisher, another Auckland barber, works from multiple locations and has a portable set-up, rather than being tied to a traditional shop. “That flexibility means I can meet people where they’re at, keep overheads manageable, and create an experience that suits a wider range of clients. It also lets me balance barbering with my other creative and community work.” (He’s a musician – you might know him from Goodshirt.) Rodney’s also seen business get tighter than it was a few years ago. “People are being more careful with spending, but haircuts are still one of those things that help people feel good about themselves. The clients who value a cut and the connection keep coming back,” he says. “For me it’s always been about creativity and people. Barbering gives me a chance to connect with people from all walks of life, hear their stories, and help them leave feeling better than when they arrived.”

The top 10 sales lists recorded every week at Unity Books’ stores in High St, Auckland, and Willis St, Wellington.

AUCKLAND

An ideal book for winter: warm, entertaining and all’s well that ends well.

3 Land by Maggie O’Farrell (Headline Press, $38)

4 Degrees of Happy by Philippa Werry (The Cuba Press, $25)

A brand new young adult novel from award-winning writer Philippa Werry. Here’s the publisher’s blurb:

“Tess’s parents have dropped a bombshell. The family’s moving back to the place everyone wants to leave, the place Tess calls Toytown. She doesn’t want to go and not just because it’s small and nothing ever happens there – moving means leaving Chloe behind, her sister who died.

What she doesn’t expect is how much happens in Toytown, especially with a half-brother and half-sister moving in, the promise of chickens and a frenetic dog called Milo. And school isn’t any less busy. Tess accidentally gets caught up in the annual Shakespeare festival, playing a tree in the Scottish play, and prompting for The Tempest, directed by a boy in a patchwork waistcoat who seems to think she knows what she’s doing.

Happiness, she has begun to realise, has gradations, like steps, or rungs on a ladder, and she’s not at the bottom anymore. And then it’s Chloe’s birthday, and with the voices of Miranda and Prospero in her head, Tess leaves her new life behind and goes to find her sister.”

5 Things We Never Say by Elizabeth Strout (Viking Penguin, $38) 

What we will say is you can’t really go wrong with Strout.

6 The Correspondent by Virginia Evans (Michael Joseph, $38)

Winner of the Women’s Prize for fiction!

7 London Falling by Patrick Radden Keefe (Picador, $40)

8 Yesteryear by Caro Claire Burke (Fourth Estate, $37) 

9 Te Tiriti, Equality & the Future of NZ Democracy by Dominic O’Sullivan (Auckland University Press, $40)

“In this major work, the leading Māori political scientist Dominic O’Sullivan draws on theories of republicanism and the commonwealth to challenge understandings of Te Tiriti as a partnership between races, or between Māori people and the Crown.

O’Sullivan also critiques the idea that Te Tiriti created one people, assimilating Māori into colonial ways of governing.

Instead, he proposes a new politics where Māori self-determination and liberal democracy, rangatiratanga and kawanatanga, complement one another to promote meaningful and culturally grounded political equality.”

10 Whistler by Ann Patchett (Bloomsbury UK, $39)

The highlights and lowlights of a long week at parliament. 

While you were watching the Fifa World Cup, parliament was busy hosting a tournament of its own. Theoretically, the scrutiny week game is all about accountability. In action, it’s more like an endurance sport where goals are not scored by kicking balls, but by busting them. Ministers were on defence, opposition on attack, Winston Peters gave a protester a red card, Paul Goldsmith played often enough to qualify as a one-man team, and Te Pāti Māori struggled to get off the bench at all.

It all kicked off on Monday with a triple header. Goldsmith fronted the social services and community committee wearing the hats which usually gather dust on his coat stand: arts, media and Pacific peoples. There was a very light “ooh” at the small list of arts-related achievements Goldsmith provided, but for the most part, the minister did what he does best: going “uhhh, well, I, uhhh, ahhh” intermittently for two hours.

The cards were already coming out by Tuesday morning. Labour’s Deborah Russell told regulations minister David Seymour he was “taking the mickey”, Labour’s Willie Jackson challenged treaty negotiations minister Goldsmith to “name one Māori” who supported him, and immigration minister Erica Stanford revealed that her biggest opponent was her own ministry.

Across the road in the Māori affairs committee room, Māori development minister Tama Potaka channelled his inner life coach. When Willie Jackson argued it was “racist” for Māori services to constantly “prove” themselves worthy of funding, the minister tried to claim the moral high ground. “I come from a background where I don’t kill people with kindness,” he said, sagely. “I torture them with success.”

Later, Goldsmith (this time with his communications minister hat on) was back, discussing satellites with officials from the Ministry of Business, Science and Innovation. It was largely a boring affair, but sparks briefly flew between the minister and Labour MP Cushla Tangaere-Manuel, after she questioned the efforts made to connect the last 2% of marae which are still off-grid.

“Is 98% [connectivity] not good enough for you?” asked Goldsmith. The reason why some marae had been slow to join the government’s digital connectivity scheme was due to “something about Big Brother,” said one of the ministerial officials. “Which is unfounded, of course, but there was some of that stuff going on.”

“I think they didn’t want to be connected to the podium of truth,” Goldsmith offered, referring, pejoratively, to Jacinda Ardern’s Labour government.

Wednesday’s first bout was between finance minister Nicola Willis and Greens co-leader Chlöe Swarbrick. There were plenty of sighs from the Green MP, who shook her head and stated “that’s not true” whenever Willis tried to assure her that Aotearoa was still on track to meet its climate obligations under the Paris Agreement. They spent several minutes disagreeing over that, before moving onto another disagreement over whether they were disagreeing with each other’s “implications” correctly.

“I would like to out my own words in my own mouth,” Swarbrick told her. “Sure,” Willis replied, coolly. “You do that, and I’ll do the same.”

In room four, associate education minister David Seymour showed up to discuss charter schools, attendance and school lunches. There was a convoluted metaphor about pizzas and class sizes, which ended with Seymour stressing the need to improve numeracy rates, especially for “young people who could grow up to become opposition MPs”. There was another dig he wanted to get in at Green MP Lawrence Xu-Nan, but “I’m trying to be good for the rest of the week”. A good idea, given how Seymour started it.

 Thursday morning saw minister Simon Watts make a rare admission of a misstep with his environment portfolio. Questioning from Te Pāti Māori co-leader Debbie Ngarewa-Packer led Watts to admit that he wanted to revive the recently slashed Māori Climate Platform fund. It was a clear example of a project in which “intervention by government has had some success”, Watts told Ngarewa-Packer. He’ll be lobbying the finance minister to bring it back.

Goldsmith resurfaced again to speak on justice-related spending. Asked by Green MP Tamatha Paul about the cost of implementing the controversial treaty clause review legislation, Goldsmith confirmed that the bill likely won’t pass the select committee stage before the election. And on the response he’s received about the bill from iwi leaders? “I think, probably, I could generalise and say that the feedback from that quarter has been, ‘don’t do it, and leave things as they are’.”

Paul vs Paul provided a nail-biting finale to Goldsmith’s long week in the select committee. There was a bit of tension when the minister identified Te Pāti Māori’s proposal to abolish prisons as a Green Party policy, and corrected himself with another imagined policy: that the Greens wants to defund the police.

“That was your words that you put on a billboard,” Paul shot back. “Words that didn’t come out of my mouth but, you know how the spin machine works.”

Goal to Paul, Goldsmith nil.

“Oh, OK,” replied Goldsmith, smiling ear to ear. He tried to “Anyway…” the situation, but Paul wasn’t giving up. “I’d love a reference of when it came out of my mouth,” she told the minister, who uhhh-ed and ahhh-ed as he does. “It’s disinformation.”

Two to Paul, Goldsmith still nil. Committee chair Andrew Bayly’s cry of “order!” was the whistle that finally broke it up.

On Thursday afternoon, more excitement. Foreign affairs minister Winston Peters is a man rarely overshadowed, but a handful of protesters – some of whom were detained by Israeli forces for their involvement in the Global Sumud Flotilla last year – managed to bring his hearing to a standstill. Following questioning from Labour MP Damien O’Connor over the minister’s decision not to recognise a Palestinian state, protester Hāhona Ormsby stood up and took the scrutiny into his own hands. “Are we going to investigate Israel for the people on the flotilla that were brutally beaten and tortured?” 

After committee chair Tim Van de Molen requested that cameras cut, Peters slow-motion rolled around in his chair. There was “no evidence” that Ormsby and others had been the victims of brutality – “that’s bull dust,” Peters told him, gruffly. “Now, get out of here.” Parliamentary security and Act MP Laura McClure saw him out of the room, followed by a few stragglers who cried, “Free Palestine”.

“How was that allowed to happen?” Peters asked, cold eyes scanning the room, as if a parliamentary staffer was planning to pop a hand up and say, “Sorry mate, it was all me”. One of the few protesters who remained took a silent approach, turning her back to the minister and scrutinising the sunny day outside.

Another week of vaguely successful scrutinising of the government done and dusted. As for the scoreboard? Well, does anybody ever really win at scrutiny week? But after four days of point scoring, own goals and the occasional admission, these players are at least worthy of a participation prize.

Tara Ward reviews a new series about a luxury dog retreat hiding a sinister mystery.

The opening 45 seconds of TVNZ’s new docuseries make for astonishing television. What the Hell Happened at Woofington’s begins with footage from a 2019 episode of Seven Sharp, with presenter Jeremy Wells introducing a bizarre story about a Wellington castle that operates as a luxury dog retreat. It’s revealed that the castle has been raided by armed police, and is described as “a mental asylum”. Then, there are allegations of animal mistreatment, and news headlines warn of drugs, assault and a woman’s finger being cut off. 

Then, a lone voice: “If only the dogs could talk, and tell us what was really going on.” 

A talking dog is about the only strange thing that doesn’t feature in What the Hell Happened at Woofington’s, a new three-part series that dives into the mysterious events that unfolded in a Wellington castle-turned-dog kennel between 2017 and 2021. TVNZ journalist Baz Macdonald has been obsessed with Woofington’s for the past seven years, and is determined to find out the truth about the castle on the hill. Why did armed police storm the building? What other secrets lie behind the castle walls, and what happened to the people who worked there?

Macdonald’s first questions relate to the castle itself – built over a decommissioned radar bunker by Wellington millionaire Brian Willman in 1999, it was intended to be a conference centre until Willman transformed the building interior into a luxury dog kennel in 2016. Woofington’s promised to pamper the capital’s pooches with televisions, individual kennels and chauffeured trips from home to castle in the company Porsche. “It was no-expenses-spared,” a fellow Wellington dog daycare owner remembers.

But Macdonald discovers it wasn’t long before Woofington’s customers began to report unusual events at the castle. Online reviews warned of animal mistreatment, and we hear from a former customer who recalls the night her beloved canine wasn’t dropped off at home as planned. After making the long, spooky drive through the Wellington hills herself, she arrived at Woofington’s to find the company’s live-in manager Robert Bromley covered in blood. “I didn’t trust what was going on up there, obviously,” she says.  

So what was really going on at Woofington’s? Macdonald brings us along with him as he tries to make sense of a strange series of events, including a drug raid, a kidnapping and an armed burglary. We’re there when he calls Willman for the first time, and when he uncovers some particularly explosive pieces of evidence. This immediacy creates a real sense of suspense and momentum that makes it feel like we’re along for the ride. Macdonald relates the facts without any dramatic embellishment – there’s no need to exaggerate when story itself is so extraordinary. 

The series builds a fuller picture by speaking with a variety of people involved with Woofington’s, including former customers, police, journalists and staff members who worked closely with Bromley. These interviews take us deeper into the story’s heart of crime, and the personal testimonies of the two women who worked at Woofington’s provide some of the series’ most harrowing and tragic moments. Even several years later, it’s clear that what happened in that castle continues to have a deeply traumatic impact. 

It’s not easy for Macdonald to connect all of Woofington’s dots, and perhaps a visual timeline that pulls all the events and people together would have helped viewers who are unfamiliar with the story. Regardless, this is still an extremely gripping docuseries – there are jaw-dropping bombshells throughout, and the heartwrenching accounts of those involved bring a powerful emotional weight to all three episodes. 

No wonder Macdonald has been so captivated by the Woofington’s saga for so long. It has all the hallmarks of a cracking local yarn: a remarkable and remote building, a series of unusual characters, violence and crime, innocent animals and human lives changed forever. Most unexpectedly, What the Hell Happened at Woofington’s shines a light on a darker, more sinister side of New Zealand society. While it might not answer every possible question about why a dog kennel ended up in a drug-filled castle on the hill, it has a bloody good crack at it – and that in itself is well worth the watch. 

What the Hell Happened at Woofington’s? is available on TVNZ+. 

As part of our series exploring how New Zealanders live and our relationship with money, an export operator shares their financial comings and goings.

Want to be part of The Cost of Being? Fill out the questionnaire here.

Gender: Female

Age: 23

Ethnicity: NZ European

Role: Export operator

Salary/income/assets: $80,000 and probably $1,000 in my KiwiSaver :/

My living location is: Urban

Rent/mortgage per week: $150 to my mum.

Student loan or other debt payments per week: None – again thank you mum.

Typical weekly food costs

Groceries: About $100 a week. I do currently live with the ‘rents but buy my own groceries and meals. I could cut this down but I seem to always go to the grocery shop hungry, so inevitably more goes in the basket.

Eating out: Around $100 a week. That’s quite confronting… I socialise a lot with friends and mainly over meals.

Takeaways: An estimated $40 a week, only after a long day at work and none of my copious grocery items are calling out to me.

Workday lunches: $20, always have to buy lunch on a Friday.

Cafe coffees/snacks: I feel like spending money on coffee doesn’t count, so probably $30 a week.

Other food costs: I wish I grew a veggie garden.

Savings: I have about $20,000 in savings so far. I honestly don’t know what I’m saving for… I don’t think I will ever afford a house, so I guess travel? Or in case I lose my job suddenly (touch wood).

I worry about money: Sometimes.

Three words to describe my financial situation: Grateful, skeptical, occasionally anxious.

My biggest edible indulgence would be: Poke bowl for lunch every Friday, never gets old.

In a typical week my alcohol expenditure would be: Regrettably around $100. Depends on how generous I’m feeling at the bar.

In a typical week my transport expenditure would be: I take the bus to and from work everyday and thanks to AT this maxes out at $50 a week. I also don’t own a car so I feel lucky I don’t have to pay those fuel prices at the moment. Also maybe an occasional Uber, so $70 a week.

I estimate in the past year the ballpark amount I spent on my personal clothing (including sleepwear and underwear) was: $2000. I do love buying clothes and also updating my work wardrobe. However I am very strict on what clothing items I like, I am an avid returner if I don’t love the items.

My most expensive clothing in the past year was: It would be boots from Mi Piaci. They were $600, BUT there was a sale so they were down to $400, so kind of a steal?

My last pair of shoes cost: Sadly please see above, I have also only worn them once in the last four months.

My grooming/beauty expenditure in a year is about: I am a natural brunette who is now blonde, so that hurts my bank a lot. I would say $2,000. Majority of that cost is dying my hair, but I also do fall for marketing and what’s trending with makeup.

My exercise expenditure in a year is about: I love running and going to the gym so I don’t feel as guilty about these. I have a gym membership for $12 a week. I do also own four pairs of running shoes. Annually, this would be about $3,000 including gym and running shoes.

My last Friday night cost: Hotel Ponsonby, $150 – was clearly feeling very generous.

Most regrettable purchase in the last 12 months was: Honestly the black boots – why would I pay $400 for boots I will inevitably ruin?

Most indulgent purchase (that I don’t regret) in the last 12 months was: I am going on a trip to Asia with my bestie later in the year. Even though we are yet to go, the thought of having this trip booked in is keeping me going.

One area where I’m a bit of a tightwad is: Honestly wish it was more areas, but maybe Uber Eats. I try my best to use the groceries I buy and only indulge in severe circumstances.

Five words to describe my financial personality would be… Need to be more strict.

I grew up in a house where money was: A comfortable topic and not. I had two perspectives – with my mum’s side we were always comfortable and fortunate. However, with my dad’s side, money was very tight and often posed a lot of awkward conversations. I think having these two sides gave me a very unique view on money. How obviously it’s a privilege to have but more importantly how it doesn’t have to define you.

The last time my Eftpos card was declined was: Yesterday. I swear I’m not broke, I just don’t keep money in my current account.

In five years, in financial terms, I see myself: I see myself being in a comfortable position, however nothing extraordinary. With the economy at the moment and house prices its extremely hard to ever picture myself excelling financially.

I would love to have more money for: Travel, I want to go to so many more places. Especially because NZ is so far, travel costs so much more.

Describe your financial low: Losing my job last year. The thought of not having any incoming income sent me down a very dark anxious spiral.

I give money away to… World Vision, I sponsor a little girl called Katie :)

Two reports released find that major failures led to an autistic 11-year-old being mistreated at Waikato Hospital, writes Henry Oliver in today’s excerpt from The Bulletin.

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In March last year, an 11-year-old non-verbal girl with autism was taken to Waikato Hospital by police, after being seen in distress looking over the rails of a bridge. According to initial reporting by Benjamin Plummer at the NZ Herald, she was misidentified by police as a 20-year-old missing patient and then, once at the hospital, admitted according to the mistaken identity. She was then restrained and injected with adult doses of antipsychotic medication without consent. About 12 hours later, the police called the hospital to advise of the mistake and the girl was released to her family. 

Today, two reports into the incident – by the health ministry and the Health and Disability Commissioner (HDC) – have been released, and the girl’s whānau have spoken publicly for the first time.

The ministry report

According to a report by Anya Fielding on RNZ, the ministry investigation, led by director of mental health Dr John Crawshaw, found the key failing was hospital staff not following the formal process for confirming the identity of patients who are unable to identify themselves. Alarmingly, not all staff were aware the policy existed. Crawshaw told RNZ the situation was “deeply concerning” and “not consistent with what the practices should have been, and in fact not authorised under the Mental Health Act”.

The report also found there was no lawful basis to restrain and medicate the patient – even if she had been the 20-year-old patient police and staff believed her to be – as the threshold for urgent treatment under the Mental Health Act had not been met. To help prevent this happening again, the inquiry recommends clearer processes for confirming who patients are, better training for frontline staff, stronger communication and record‑keeping, more support for patients and whānau, and improved monitoring and follow‑up across services.

The HDC report

The HDC’s report, authored by deputy commissioner Rose Wall, separately found that Health New Zealand – Te Whatu Ora had breached the Code of Health and Disability Services Consumers’ Rights. It found the use of medication and restraint was “unreasonable and premature” as the girl had displayed no signs of being a danger to herself or others, and that her right to dignity had not been upheld.

The report stated it was “reasonable to assume that this would not have happened had she not had a disability and been non-verbal in this circumstance.”

Mental health minister Matt Doocey said in a statement that “Health New Zealand failed this young person and her family. The safeguards that exist under the Mental Health Act were not followed, resulting in a serious breach of the protections that exist for some of our most vulnerable people.”

Health New Zealand has been referred to the director of proceedings to consider possible legal or disciplinary action.

The family’s response

The girl’s older sister spoke to Te Aniwa Hurihanganui at 1News, describing her reaction on learning the details of what had happened. “I remember being so disgusted and I felt sick to my stomach getting more information about what happened, and then I remember being angry, like, really angry.”

She said it was hard to reconcile how many opportunities had been missed to correctly identify her sister. “It sounds like there was a lot of opportunity to properly identify her and a lot of people actually state that they think that she is autistic and not a mental health patient. I think knowing that it was really close to being handled properly, and then it ending the way it did, is really hard for me to come to terms with.”

She told 1News her sister has a lot of trouble feeling safe going outside, and that recovery had been difficult. Their mother had been particularly badly affected, becoming withdrawn and blaming herself in the aftermath. The family received apologies from the hospital and police, but the sister described them as contradictory: “A lot of it was them saying they were sorry and then saying they did nothing wrong.”