What follows is fabricated, or at least most of it is.
9.30am
National MPs have been arriving for a critical caucus meeting, which comes as Christopher Luxon faces considerable pressure over his leadership. Recent days have seen a grim poll and anonymous briefings to the media suggesting that Stuart Smith, who according to searches of the internet is the chief whip, had not been able to get a meeting before Easter with the boss to tell him support from MPs was shaky.
The prime minister, who never comments on polls, had commented that polls showed the incumbent coalition returned to power, until the latest poll didn’t. Luxon, who stresses unequivocally that he has full support of his MPs, says there are five MPs who want him out. They are “disgruntled” and “moaning and frustrated”, he says.
9.45am
Arriving out of the torrential Wellington rain and into parliament, MPs have been waxing lyrical about their leader.
“Kind. Grounded. Energetic. Action-oriented. My leader. Our Prime Minister,” said one MP, while performing the umbrella dance from Singin’ in the Rain.
“Air New Zealand,” said one.
“I would drink a barbecue with him,” said another.
The arriving MPs are placing their phones in secure lockers outside the caucus room. Behind them, five individuals in orange boiler suits have been hustled through the door.
10am
A message from the prime minister’s office has arrived. “Morning all, Stuart Smith has asked me to pass this comment on to you: ‘I am not attending caucus today due to a longstanding personal appointment. I did want to confirm that I did not contact the prime minister or his office seeking a meeting. I am disappointed by recent speculative media coverage. The prime minister has my full support.'”
10.15am
The floodwaters are beginning to rise. In the grounds outside parliament, only the top of the slide is visible. Through the mist, a man with a boombox is just visible. It is Trevor Mallard.
10.30am
Leaks are emerging that Christopher Luxon has addressed his MPs. He had asked the parliamentary library to provide him with the riot act, but apparently no such legislation exists. So instead he reads from the multi-node transformation blueprint he has been working on all night. “Guys, we’ve got to do a turnaround job on this rinky-dink joint. What I would say to you is: I get it.”
10.45am
The ground floor of parliament is filling with water. Geoffrey Palmer has been spied wading through a select committee meeting room. A biscuit tin just floated out on to Bowen Street.
11am
The minister for statistics, Scott Simpson, has asked Todd McClay to account for his public statement that he is “one thousand per cent confident” Luxon will lead National into the election. If true, he said, waving a calculator in the air, the many MPs who have expressed one hundred per cent confidence in this matter are left looking disloyal.
Simpson has clarified that he is a different person to Stuart Smith, who is not attending caucus today due to a longstanding personal appointment.
11.15am
Christopher Luxon has lacquered the floor in diesel. He is skidding around in the black gold, declaring, “As at 11.59pm Wednesday 15 April we have 19.5 days’ cover in-country, 10.8 within our exclusive economic zone and a further 14.6 days on water outside that territory, bringing our total diesel stock to 44.8 days. Any questions?”
11.30am
Chris Bishop is practising his cover drives.
11.45am
According to press gallery reporters overheard in the toilet, Andrew Bayly has read every report and listened to every broadcast about the latest brouhaha, and is baffled as to why he has not been mentioned as a contender for the role of prime minister.
12.00pm
Rumours are circulating that the people in the orange boiler suits were the so-called “Moany Five”. Sellotaped to the sacks covering their heads are A4 sheets of paper. One reads VERY NEGATIVE, another WET, the third is WHINY, and the fourth INWARD LOOKING. The fifth says STUART.
12.15am
A further message from the prime minister’s office. “Hi all, another comment from Stuart Smith: ‘I want to let you know that my longstanding commitment to walking means I will not make it to Wellington from my Kaikōura electorate for some weeks, perhaps longer when you think about the ferries eh haha.’”
12.30pm
The caucus members’ phones are blaring from their lockers with emergency flood warnings.
The minister for emergency management and recovery, Mark Mitchell, in a high-vis vest and camo shorts, is said to be hanging from a light fitting issuing civil defence instructions to MPs.
12.45pm
Another message from the PM’s office. “Gidday team, one more comment for you from Stuart Smith: ‘Just to confirm I won’t be returning to parliament. Straightforward reason is that I do not and never have existed. There is no Stuart Smith, it was all just a mix-up. Stuart Smith is a menswear store in New Plymouth, please update your records accordingly. All the best for the rest of the year.'”
1pm
Approached for comment, the Labour Party has insisted that it doesn’t exist, either.
1.15pm
It’s hard to make out anything now, what with the rain gushing in through the walls, but it sounds as though someone is screaming from the caucus room. It’s a blood-curdling noise. Awful. He’s shouting: I don’t know how to be any clearer, guys.
1.30pm
Thomas Coughlan from the New Zealand Herald is gliding serenely across the black and white and watery tiles on a lilo. The rest of us will shortly be completely submerged. The keyboard is beginning to fail. I’m losing power. Tell my family I love them. The door is opening. The Moany Five are
