Right then, lads—new circus, same clowns. One of those chosen four gets asked about the old lady by the lake—eighteen grand in rates already, facing double then triple—and he says no to letting her tick it up against her multi-million dollar house. Later over a cuppa: “Didn’t hear the question.” Pull the other one; it’s got bells.
Column A: Human—answers the question, offers hardship help, explains the forms. Column B: Not Human—talks in circles, then claims “didn’t hear it.” I’ve got biro ticks, see? The poor auntie’s cash-poor, house-rich. Let her postpone the rates with a charge on the title. She pays when the place sells. Boom. Tea?
In my day we ran rates postponement for hardship. Not perfect, but humane. If thou canst manage a ledger, thou canst manage compassion: — clear criteria, — interest capped, — annual review, — no surprises. What we’ve got now is a stage and a shrug.
“More matter, with less art.” To spurn a widow’s plea beside the lake, then plead the ear was stopped?—Nay, sir, thy mouth was. A statesman hears the quietest pocket rustle.
Policy pass one: Property-rich, income-poor—allow postponement with a transparent interest rate, a statutory charge, and a plain-English letter. Policy pass two: Automatic screening—when a bill crosses (say) 10% of household income, trigger outreach. Metrics: fewer arrears, fewer emergency calls, happier auditors.
A draught rattles the Chamber poster. The barmaid eyes the tape.
And while we’re at it—our young bloke needs a photocopy of his job application before five. Library barricades say “no card, no copies.” Lotto-shop copier’s cactus. He tries WINZ; front counter says “not here,” but the manager goes, “Sweet, do it now.” See? One person with ears on. He got the job, aye?
Exactly. Bureaucracy shouldn’t be a brick wall; it should be Lego. Pop-up access: pay-per-copy kiosk with coins, tap-to-pay, or voucher. Emergency rule: one-off free copy for job-seekers—log it, done. I’ve drawn a star by “common sense.”
Libraries used to be the front door of opportunity: copy, scan, send, no song and dance. Set a simple policy: — ID optional for printing; — standard fee; — hardship voucher via desk if clock’s ticking. Stamp it, ledger it, next customer.
“Hands off thy hurdles, good sirs,” say I. For what is hope but ink upon a page, writ twice, stapled neat, and filed by five?
Micro-policy kit: 1) Access tiers: member, visitor, hardship—same machines, different price points. 2) Manager override button: ten seconds to yes. 3) Outcome log: “copy → application → interview → job.” Evidence converts kindness into policy.
A bloke at the next table mutters, “Should run the city, you lot.” The jukebox skips; Crowded House mercifully resumes.
Back to Mr. “Didn’t Hear It.” If he missed the question, what else’ll he miss—sirens? It’s simple: Say yes to postponement, or say why, properly, with an alternative that doesn’t punt Nana into arrears.
And put it in writing: — eligibility, — interest rate, — how it ends when the house sells. One page. Two at most. I’ve seen shorter recipes for pavlova.
And publish the hardship stats quarterly. If you won’t show your numbers, I’ll assume your heart’s behind a firewall.
“Suit the action to the word, the word to the action.” A council that speaks of care yet counts in thorns is but a play with props and no compassion.
System lens: — Rates relief reduces forced sales; — Document access lifts employment; — Manager discretion beats policy paralysis. Net effect: healthier households, lower downstream costs.
The barmaid yanks down the Chamber poster and replaces it with “Quiz Night—Teams of 5.” She winks.
All right, lads—pledges we’d demand if we were grilling them on stage:
One: Hardship Rates Postponement, codified, capped interest, plain-English letters. Two: Library & Agency Access, emergency overrides for job-seekers—copy/scan/send regardless of card. Three: Response Time—forty-eight hours for a real reply, not “Seen.”
Four: Public Dashboards—how many postponements, how many copies issued, how many jobs landed. Five: No more “didn’t hear the question.” If you missed it, own it, answer it, and put it in writing.
Six: “Let mercy season justice.” For what is governance, if not the art of bending rules toward human good?
Seven: Audit the stage, not just the staff. If you’ll corral 1400 workers to vote fourteen, you’d best open the mic to all twelve on the night—or livestream the lot and let the city judge.
A brief hush. Outside, the lake wind lifts and falls.
To the contenders who hear the question and help—ka pai. To the rest—get policies with a heartbeat, or get off the stage.
And someone fix the copier.
And the dashboard.
And the meter of thy speeches.
And, gently, the system itself.
They clink glasses. The jukebox fades. Quiz Night begins. The five scribble “The Common Sense Party” on their answer sheet.