The Secret Diary of .. Judith Collins

2026-01-30 - 17:08

MONDAY I was knitting on the rocking chair when Luxon knocked on the door of my attic. “What do you want,” I called out. “You asked to see me.” “Hmmph.” He came in and leaned against the windowsill. “Don’t do that,” I said. “You’re blocking the light.” He stood in the middle of the room. “Your text said it was important,” he said. He folded his arms and stood with his feet wide apart, but his mouth twitched. “I have decided,” I said, “to quit politics.” “Oh no!” “I’ve run my race. And what a race it was! I’ll go down in the history books. I suppose I shall be remembered for my graciousness, but that’s for others to decide.” “You’re a legend.” “Yes. Anyway, I was thinking you’d appoint me head of the Law Commission.” “It’s not that simple.” “Yes it is. Bill English, Stephen Joyce, Paula Bennett – they’ve all been given plum jobs. I’ll leave you to pull the right strings.” “This has to be a fair, open, and transparent process,” he said. “It will take time.” “I didn’t mean right now,” I said. “Tomorrow morning’s fine. Thank you.” He took it as his signal to leave. I rocked in the chair and knitted until it was time for bed. TUESDAY Luxon pulled the right strings. “The job’s yours,” he said. “Well of course it is,” I said. WEDNESDAY I announced the big news, and well-wishers sent texts and emails for hours on end. Everyone was so kind. They recognised my many years of service. But I wondered whether anyone grasped the significance of my achievement. “Crusher Collins”, and all that reductive nonsense – my legacy is deeper than that. I brought about real change. And all throughout I was true to a core philosophy. Plenty of journalists have admired me over the years. That’s been nice. But none of the press gallery were ever deep thinkers. None of them were ever on my level. There was only one person who truly understood. THURSDAY I spent the day packing papers, notebooks, folders and various mementos from my career into trunks, and placing them in a dark corner of the attic. It took most of the day. Every now and then something would catch my eye, and I’d stop to read it. Most of it brought a smile. Internal memos about demoting that wretch Simon Bridges. The photo at the shooting range. But then I came across newspaper headlines about my election defeat to Ardern. I had got so close to fulfilling my destiny of leading the country. So very close. The defeat was a lot more narrow than people perceived. FRIDAY “To everything you achieved,” he said. We clinked cups. I had laid out biscuits for the occasion, and we drank tea and ate Cameo Cremes as the bright light of summer poured in through the window of the attic. “To greatness,” he said. I nodded, and sipped at my tea. “You always understood,” I said. He sighed. “We got so close to power,” he said. “So very close,” I said. “Well,” he said, “to you.” “No,” I said, clinking our cups, “to you, dear Cameron.”