Coutta’s Cut: Wanted—a government with balls

I’ve been half expecting a call from Annette or Crimpy telling me nicely, or not, to get my arse into gear, write this month’s Cut and get it on the email yesterday.

must admit to getting a bit waylaid this month with the Clubs’ NZ Trout Fishing Competition hosted by the Rotorua Citizens Club.

Lynne the Ruthless did the comp with me and I’m pleased to say, despite fishing in a centre console boat with very limited cover in filthy weather, including torrential rain and thunderstorms, we never got into a domestic dispute worthy of a mention. While we were out of the major prizes, I picked up a daily prize for the heaviest trout on Lake Rotorua.

Something, however, did happen that will no doubt surprise anglers who knows a bit about trout fishing. There was a prize for the heaviest brown trout, so I spent a bit of time harling very slow sinking lines with a couple of green rabbits on the end, in around a metre and a half of water over weed banks. I landed one, which was deeper than some snapper I’ve caught recently. To cut a long story short, on weighing and measuring, it came out with a condition factor of 72, which is bloody high. I think I can be forgiven for assuming I had the condition factor prize in the bag, until one came in at 73. What’s that saying about counting chickens?

As I said earlier, the Ruthless and I fishing together went well apart from when Lynne had a fish right beside the boat when the fly came out, ricocheted off the motor and went into my pinky right up the bend. I had a couple of choices, the smart one being to pack up and go to a doctor. The other not so smart one was to push it through and cut off the barb. The dumb-arse one was to grab the pliers and rip it out. Due to that fly doing a fair bit of catching, that’s the one I chose. A bit of pain but no great damage. The Ruthless preferred option one and reminded me of things like infections and blood poisoning. Too late.

Some readers may have noted in last month’s column, I stayed away from anything, even approaching politics. I didn’t comment on the shortcomings of the Prime Minister, her cabinet or the Police Commissioner. I didn’t even mention the little shitbags who are continually committing crimes without a thought for their victims or what will happen if they get caught. This month I make no apologies for venting a bit of anger and frustration.

In this morning’s Herald there was an article about a couple from Gisborne in their sixties. That’s a similar age to me and the Ruthless. Four bits of scum backed into their drive and when the male occupant answered the door, they demanded alcohol. He said he had none, so for that he had the shit beaten out of him and is in hospital receiving treatment for some serious injuries. Now these gutless little shits probably won’t get caught and, if they do, bugger all will happen.

Why is this happening? I’ll tell you in two words. No consequences. Until we get a government with the balls to return to treating criminals like criminals and not some underprivileged life forms who need a hug, we just need to suck it up and get used to it.

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