It was one of those long, lazy Sundays in Kiwiland. Everyone was lying around in the garden after lunch and trying not to think about Monday.
Two of the youngest Kiwis were playing tag in the shade of a rimu tree when suddenly there was a THUMP. A fat green parrot fell from his perch, and bumped every branch on his way to the ground.
The young Kiwis ran for help as the bird, called Kakapo, lay dazed on his back, groaning and rubbing his head with one wing.
‘Chief Kiwi! Chief Kiwi!’ called the young New Zealanders.
The Chief Kiwi was the wisest and cleverest woman in all New Zealand. She always knew what to do – and this time was no exception.
She let the young Kiwis lead her to the base of the rimu tree where Kakapo lay looking at the sky.
‘Easy up, bro,’ The Chief Kiwi told Kakapo, helping him to his feet. ‘She’ll be right. Nothing broken. Grab yourself a Steinlager.’ And she gave the little parrot a bottle of NZ’s finest beer from her cooler.
As the Kakapo drank his troubles away, there was a sound from above.
HIC! Flutterflutterflutter.
HIC! Flutterflutterflutter.
Chief Kiwi and her two young friends looked into the branches above them. Some creature was staggering around in the foliage.
HIC! Flutterflutterflutter.
HIC! Flutterflutterflutter.
HIC!
HIC!
THUMP!
A second bird landed on the ground next to Kakapo. This was a podgy wood pigeon, who went by the name of Kereru. Kereru loved the overripe berries which grew in the forest, but sometimes she ate so many that she got drunk and couldn’t perch any more.
Kereru let out a low whimper and reached for Chief Kiwi’s stash of Steinlager.
‘I don’t think so, Kereru,’ said Chief Kiwi sternly. ‘You need to sober up. Hair of the dog’s no good for that. Go fetch yourself a flat white and show these little Kiwis you know how to behave.’
Kereru got to her feet, let out a noxious belch, and muttered something under her breath. Chief Kiwi raised one eyebrow and Kereru hung her head, staggering off into the bush.
Suddenly the New Zealand phone rang. The Chief Kiwi picked it up.
‘Yes?’ she said.
‘G’day, mate,’ said the voice on the other end of the line. ‘It’s the Chief Aussie here. Do ya fancy coming over for a cuppa?’
‘Why, that would be lovely,’ said the Chief Kiwi.
‘Bonzer! See ya in five. I’ll put the kettle on,’ said the Chief Aussie, and hung up.
So the Chief Kiwi told everyone the news. All the Kiwis got onto the South Island, the grown-up Kiwis strapped the babies into the child seats, then someone fired up the outboard motor, and the Chief Kiwi drove them round to Australia.
She carefully reverse-parked the South Island next to Tasmania.
‘“Tasmania”,’said one Kiwi. ‘Bloody poncy name for a car-port if you ask me.’
'Manners,’ said the Chief Kiwi. ‘We are their guests, remember.’
So the Kiwis all got off the South Island, wiped their feet on the mat in Tasmania, and went through into Australia proper.
The Chief Aussie and all the other Australians were waiting to greet them.
‘G’day, Kiwis,’ said the Chief Aussie. ‘Put your feet up, make yourselves at home. Bruce, bring the cakes through – and the coffees. I’m guessing you all want flat whites, right?’
Four million Kiwis nodded yes.
‘Actually, I’ll have a tea,’ said Old Granny Kiwi.
‘Milk? Sugar?’ asked Bruce.
‘A dash of milk, please, darling. No sugar, I’m sweet enough!’ tittered Granny K.
So Bruce popped into Melbourne – a fancy Aussie name for the kitchen nook – and made the drinks. The Aussies had an electric hot milk frother and everything, very fancy. The Kiwis and the other Aussies chatted and caught up on their Pacific news. Bruce came back with four million flat whites, one tea, and a big packet of Tim Tams. The Kiwis tucked in.
‘Yum, yum, yum!’
‘Crikey dick, these biscuits are good!’
‘Oi, can we go halvesies on that last biccie?’
The Aussies smirked as the Kiwi nation stuffed themselves on Tim Tams in the late afternoon sun.
‘Not long now, mates,’ whispered the Chief Aussie. He looked over the huddled mass of Kiwis chowing down. His eyes glinted pure evil. ‘Not long now…’
