Lesson Seventeen: It Pays To Ask Your Man What He Wants For Christmas.

I’m fond of shopping for presents around birthday and Christmas time. The element of surprise is what keeps it challenging to me, plus I believe I’ve got a great eye for gifts. However, for the first time ever, it’s been difficult to shop for someone. The Boyfriend. Three reasons why.

1. He is very, very, VERY particular about EVERYTHING.
2. He LOVES to shop. Seriously the man can browse from store-to-store for hours. Not something I’m a fan of – but it had to be done so I could earmark certain things he tried on or really showed an interest in.
3. He doesn’t settle for the first thing he finds, he often compares prices with other stores and what’s available on-line.

So I suggested he make a list of five things he would like – that way I’d get him two or three of those things, the element of surprise would remain, plus he’d get what he wanted.

His list read like this: -

1. Water blaster
2. Running Shoes
3. Tracksuit pants
4. Dress shoes or dress shirts
5. New wallet.

Firstly, there was no way I was buying a man I’ve been seeing for six months a friggen water blaster. It’s not romantic; it’s far too expensive and way too practical. In other words, perfect for a guy.  Secondly – he doesn’t run so the shoes were an absolute no-go. As for the tracksuit pants – unless he’s thinking of whipping them off, a-la-Chippendale style – that wasn’t happening. I mean tracksuit pants.... Really?  

Thank god I asked him to do the list because apart from the wallet, I would never have guessed that he wanted or needed any of those things.

The list I had for him went: -

1. Aftershave
2. G-string
3. New tattoo
4. Paying for his gym membership for the next six months
5. Wallet

So he got a new leather wallet, a very stylish dress shirt, and a Bribiesca ring (see above photo). Yes I know the latter didn’t appear on either list, however the ring is much like it’s new owner; stylish, one-of-a-kind, very hard to find but always makes the right impact. However, between you and I, the impact is currently with the bedside table so perhaps next year I’ll learn to stick to the damn list. 

Lesson Fifteen: Pain Definitely Means More Gain (seriously!)

Over the years I’ve spent a lot of time trying to get into shape. From my first aerobics class wearing my bright pink leotard, with knee length tights and high top sneakers in the late 80’s, to step aerobics in the 90’s, running, swimming and boxing. I’ve joined no less than TEN gyms over the years, which bled hundreds of dollars in weekly fees from me – but this time I wanted a challenging, hard-core workout.

So, one day I googled “kickboxing”, Jai Kickboxing came up and I went along for an introductory class. The room was split in two and on the other side were the “fit ones” and out of the corner of my eye I watched them do some pretty serious punching, kicking, sit ups and push ups without a break.  I wanted to be on the other side of the room, not with the unfit, “newbies”. However, it was going to be a hard road because after one session I couldn’t move the next day. Seriously, it was absolutely pathetic.

The next day I dragged my saggy, stubborn ass back and I’ve been going four or five times a week since. That was in April. 

Now you can meet the two men who punish and punish me to breaking point every time I see them – and always with a smile, some advice on technique and witty banter.  They are Chelsea (Sarayut Sajjasuwan) and Wimbledon (Chay Yai).  At first they didn’t know my name, so very politely referred to me as “beautiful girl”. Not because they consider me beautiful, they call every girl that until they know your name.

One day I go, “It’s Tarsh”

Wimbledon: “Oh – okay. Trash…..how are you?”.

Me: “No, no it’s TARSH.”

Wimbledon: “Oh okay……Thrush….how are you?”

So I was ‘Thrush’ for a while because I didn’t want to be anal and keep correcting them, plus I suspect they were having a laugh at my expense. Now they know it’s “Tarsh” and yell it out often during class.

Chelsea: “Tarrrsh….how are you?”

Me: Panting. “I’ve just done 30 full press ups, how do you think? I want to kill you!”

Chelsea: Laughing, “TEN MORE press ups – Tarsh, you count”.

I have no idea how I survive those classes. They are so hard-core that I sweat profusely but I grit my teeth and smash those pads and bags as they yell, “More POWER” at me. Wimbledon and Chelsea know exactly how hard to push me, they know my limit and they know I have it in me to keep raising it. They have shown me I have the most incredible amount of willpower to keep going as well as some pretty good physical strength. As a woman to be shown your inner strength is a very powerful thing so I thank them both for showing me. There will be more days where they push me to almost vomiting point, but I still made it to the other side of the room with the “fit ones”. 

Lesson Fifteen: The Way You See It In Your Head And The Way It Actually Plays Out Are Always Different.

I had my 40^th birthday on December 6^th and after celebrating with a few friends the previous weekend, The Boyfriend had planned a fun/romantic dinner with just the two of us for the actual day. My taste in most things is hard to pick so needless to say he was slightly nervous about the gift.  I brought a new black dress, paired it with some killer heels and threw a little faux fur jacket over the top. (ie: - “killer” heels because they’re very high and kill my feet.) The Boyfriend arrived, we popped some pricey French bubbly that I broke the budget for and unveiled the present, a really unusual chunky silver ring. He nailed it.  

We headed to dinner and I took the rest of the champagne and swigged it straight from the bottle as he drove – that move right there is probably the reason the rest of the night went the way it did.  

We get to this fantastic Italian restaurant and ordered. He had outdone himself, the food was absolutely brilliant as was the wine and I was feeling pretty relaxed with a good booze-buzz on.

After dinner I was feeling a little frisky so on the drive back I suggested we pull over for a bit of a pash – after all, it was my birthday and that’s what I wanted to do. Even at age 40 with a perfectly comfortable bed to go home too – I’m acting like a teenage fumbling awkwardly in the car.  Plus I’d seen this play out hundreds of times in my head and knew after six months together we would have this down pat. We pull in by the beach, and no sooner had The Boyfriend pulled the handbrake, I go to cock my high-heeled leg over to sit astride him in the drivers seat. My smooth move may have gone flawlessly if it hadn’t been for the rich Italian food and wine because as lift I my left leg to flick over him, I let out the biggest, longest fart I’ve ever let go in my life. Mortified I still tried to go through with the “romance” by continuing to try and get my leg over him, however he was cracking up at the same time I was crushing his hand that was sitting on the gear stick.

At this point I resigned to the fact that a) there would be no romance; b) this would be a memorable birthday but not for the reasons I had hoped and planned for and c) we had to open the window.

So I sat back down, all romance obliterated while he rubbed feeling back into his crushed hand and we drove home. Fortunately he has a great sense of humor and had just added this this to his ever-growing list of 'Embarrassing Tarsh Moments'. (Thank god he doesn't have a blog.)

Lesson Fourteen: Try To Let A Guy Down Gently.

Walter Elwin. Blue eyes, brown hair and the first guy to tell me he loved me aged 15.

We were at Papakura High School together and I first laid eyes on him during fourth form Geography class with Mr McCrofskery. Walter was seating a few rows behind me being a pain and blowing spitballs at me through the barrel of a broken felt-tip.  I turned around and loudly told him to knock it off and then just to get him in trouble, suggested he go back to reading the Penthouse Magazine he was hiding under the desk.

I had NO idea that Walter had a crush on me at all. I mean our conversations went,

Walter: “Hey Natasha” (I’ve always hated being called my full name!)

Me: “WHAT?”

Walter: “You look pretty today.”

Me: “Shut up egg.”

One night at our house in Redhill I asked a few friends over – only because Dad was at the RSA, Dad never like people at home when he wasn’t there – especially hormonal boys.  We had about four Rheinecks between ten of us and there were cars all over the lawn. The stereo was blasting in the lounge and I was in my bedroom with some of my girl friends – probably looking in the mirror when Walter came in.

Walter: “Natasha, I need to tell you something.”

Tarsh: “Now? Can’t it wait?"

Walter: “NO – I want to tell you now, listen to me!!”

By this time I had my back against my wardrobe door and he was right in front of me.

Tarsh: “Okay, go on then if you have too.”

Walter: Trying to whisper something in my left ear, “Natasha I think I love you.”

Me: “What?  I can’t hear you."

Walter: Leaning closer to my ear and actually yelling just as the music went quiet, “Natasha, I LOVE YOU!"

Silence.

Deafening silence because not only did he temporarily deafen me, but also he’d yelled it so loud everyone in the lounge heard as they were changing the LP on the stereo.

So, I did what I do best. I made it worse.

Me: “Awwww….no you don’t Walter!” and I punched him in the shoulder and walked down the hall into the lounge where everyone had cracked up. 

Walter burst into tears, got into his red Anglia and drove home. I did end up going around with him – not because I felt the same way, but because he used to pick me up for school in that red Anglia and I didn’t have to bike. We lasted two and a half weeks. Walter emailed me a few years ago when I was working the night show at MORE FM and sent a photo saying he was married and still in Papakura. I replied with some niceties and wished him all the best with no further communication. Not the most romantic ending, but better than a punch in the shoulder. 

Lesson Thirteen: Learn How To Take A Compliment - John Aiken.

How do you take a compliment? I find it’s one of the most difficult things in the world to take – along with a pregnancy test and a shot of chartreuse.

I’ve never been very good at taking personal compliments because of my own self-doubt in my appearance and because I never really know what to say without feeling like a dick.

Giver: “Hey Tarsh – you look great, that colour really suits you”.

Old me: “Oh – not really. I mean I was going to wear black but my favourite top’s in the wash and this was the only thing that went with these jeans. In fact if anything I think the jeans make me look fat plus I’ve got this massive zit on my face….”. And on it goes. If I’d paid more attention I would’ve noticed the attention of the 'giver' quickly decline as they wish they’d never spoken to me in the first place.

When it comes to getting compliments about work, I’m very appreciative because I work hard and I truly believe in my abilities and dedication.

Then I met psychologist John Aiken who I went to see on the advice of my boss to try and feel better about myself. As usual with me, even the first meeting wasn’t normal.

John: “Hello Tarsh – please, have a seat”.

Me: “Okay – I’m not sitting on the couch though, I’ll take the armchair”.

John: “Sure thing, wherever you feel most comfortable”.

Silence as I sit down and look straight at him, walls up, defiant as.

John: “Well this is interesting, I’ve never sat here before”.

Tarsh: “What do you mean?”

John: “Well normally my guests sit here on the couch and I sit there on the chair, but this is new and it’s okay”.
(Who does that? Who sits in the psychologists chair?? Ironically John and I later worked together on the MORE FM Nightshow.)

John is exemplary in his field – so realistic, so patient and very interactive.

John taught me: By not accepting a compliment you’re either: - a) milking the person for more comments thus feeding your own over-inflated ego or b) trying to get them to sympathise and feel as bad for you as you do for yourself.  John’s big lesson to me, “accepting a compliment says a lot about how you’re feeling about yourself”.

This was at least eight years ago that we had that talk and to this day and it is still REALLY difficult for me to say two words whenever given positive feedback on my appearance, “Thank you”.  I’m a big compliment giver – I’ve been known to tell a lady in the Supermarket how great she looks and go back to a lady in a café to tell her that her butt looked great in her jeans.

The old adage is true about compliments the easier they are to accept; the easier they are to give. (BTW: Thank you for taking the time to read my little blog.)

Lesson Twelve: Sometimes You're Better Off Kissing Your Pillow.

I was pretty green when it came to boys and kissing, the only experience I’d ever had of kissing was with the back of my hand and my pillow, until I met Michael Moon.

It was the May School Holidays; I was 12 and staying with my grandparents in Whangamata along with my 11-year-old cousin Vilina. Despite our one-year age gap, Vilina was a lot more experienced with boys (that’s what happens when you grow up in Tokoroa) a lot more confident and boisterous.

One day at the Estuary we met these two boys – Michael Moon and his cousin Mark who were staying with their Grandfather close by. They were about a year older than us and my cousin liked Mark instantly so I was left with Michael.  Mark was tall, blonde, blue-eyed; Michael was a shorter, chubbier, less cute version.

They invited us back to the Estuary later that night so we went under the pretence to Nana Tolson that we were going for a walk with some friends and off we went to meet them. Sure enough they were there and together we sat in a circle on a sand dune and started playing Dare, Truth or Promise.

Somehow (and what a coincidence) “dare” was selected and Vilina was dared to kiss Mark. Then it was my turn and Michael Moon was dared to kiss me. It was a peck on the mouth, which left me relieved and disappointed at the same time. Then Vilina disappeared with Mark a few metres from us and Michael asked if he could kiss me again. By this time it was dark and I was imagining I was kissing Rob Lowe as Michael’s face got closer and lips met mine.  I was excited and nervous at the same time hoping he would know what he was doing when I felt his tongue zapping all over my lips. It forced it’s way in there and all of a sudden my mouth and my chin were drenched in his saliva.  To this day I’m not sure where the hell it came from because once his tongue got in there it just sat there, all limp and somehow the saliva bomb went off.

Miss Green here thought it must be normal so we kept “pashing” even though both sleaves of my jersey were pretty damp from me having to constantly wipe my mouth dry.

Michael: “That was great Natasha – you’re a really good kisser”.

Me: “A-ha…” wiping my mouth dry again “….you too Michael”.  I never saw or kissed him again.

So that day, not only did I experience my first and worst kiss ever, I also learnt that sometimes you need to lie to avoid hurting a guy's feelings, and that I was better off practicing my kissing on my pillow. 

Lesson Eleven: Celebrate Being A Strong Woman - Colin Mathura-Jeffree.

I am from a lineage of strong independent women. Both my Grandmothers were strong, my own Mother and all three sisters, Michelle, Krystle and Dana. Also my many good friends who personify strong women; Teresa Patterson, Summer Wharekawa; Mereana Hawthorne and Angela Ashworth to name just a few.

I'm a very strong woman, however in the past few years I've tried to become more "lady-like"because I have often been told I'm too "hard-looking" and serious as a result.  Plus I do kick-boxing which does nothing to soften the image. 

When it comes to dating men, strong women don’t feature high on a lot of men’s lists. We’re considered too high maintenance, stroppy, bossy and ‘hard to read’.  I think some men are just too afraid that a strong woman isn’t going to take their shit or accept second best. However, not all men think that way.

Colin Mathura-Jeffree. I met Colin last year when we MC’d a Child Cancer fundraising event. He is stunning – both visually and internally and I liked him instantly. Colin attracts attention not just because he’s on television and in magazines, it’s because he’s so goddamn gorgeous and has great mana about him.

Colin makes you feel fabulous and sexy just being around him. I’m naturally shy person but even more so when I have to perform with and in front of someone I enjoy watching on TV.  I was feeling self-conscious about what I was wearing, how fat my arse looked from behind, how my hair was and as a result of the anxiety, I started sweating a lot.  I sucked it up, pushed it aside and thankfully my strong will took over and we sat down to chat over a coffee before starting the gig. The conversation was easy and I discovered pretty quickly that I had nothing to worry about because before too long we were talking about his love life and my inability to have one, plus my slight concern about being "too hard". 

Colin celebrates strong women. He likes woman who control their own lives, who don’t allow themselves to be walked all over and who, “Don’t dumb themselves down for a guy". Amen to that. If we could all have a Colin in our lives to push us through and make us appreciate who we are, what we look like and help us feel fabulous, we'd all be so much better off. 

So for all the Teresa’s, Angela’s, Summer’s and Mereana’s who are strong woman that I admire, who I call friends and who I hold in the highest regard – I celebrate you. And to Colin Mathura-Jeffree in all your fabulousness, thank you and all our other men who celebrate the strength of a woman. 

Lesson Ten: Trust Your Father When It Comes To Men.

Dad. Former Sergeant Major in the NZ Army, brown hair, green eyes and quiet guy who doesn’t talk for the sake of it, but he’s very quick-witted and wise when it comes to men.

Someone mentioned that they pictured Billy T James when they imagined my Father. Dad is a pakeha from Canterbury. Bless him though he tried hard to change that – often lying on the stretcher in the sun for hours and hours at a time, I’m not kidding.  And then he’d go as bright as a lobster, be in pain for two days and go straight back to white again.  I’m a half-cast so naturally olive all year round which used to quietly frustrate Dad.  But he did nail it when it came to boys and my experiences over the years.

Surprisingly Dad offered great advice when it came to boys. I say it was a surprise, as we didn’t often have heart-to-hearts about relationships. But throughout my life he often proved right with his theories.

At nine-years-old I was playing bull-rush after school, soccer and roller-skating down Badminton Terrace with the boys. I’d come home and have grazed knees and ripped clothing.

Dad, “Tarshie, I don’t think you should be coming home with ripped clothes and dirty knees like this. Why are you playing with the boys getting all dirty, what’s wrong with you?”

Me: “I don’t want to play with the girls – all they do is talk about boys”.

Dad: “Fair enough. Just don’t beat the boys all the time, they won’t want you in their team anymore. Let them win sometimes so they can still enjoy it”.

Aged 15.

Me: “Dad this boy I like at school likes someone else even though he said he wanted to go around with me. He rejected me and I feel stink”.

Dad: “Tarshie, for every boy that rejects you, there are ten boys that you reject without even knowing it”.

Age 18 and about to go on a date with a guy my Father had never met.

“I’m not interested in meeting any boys Tarshie until you’re serious about them. Now get out there and have a good night, don’t let him get out of his car and come to the door”.

Aged 36, and about to get my heart broken.

Dad:  “Tarshie, let me tell you. Drink doesn’t help and I told you that guy was a no-hoper from the start. You’ll be all right. Do you want me to call him?

Me: “Errrr, no…..What would you say to him”.

Dad: “I’d say, hey you no-hoper, stop mucking my daughter around and get your shit together!”.

I never let Dad call that guy, but Dad had the last word when he said, “You’re better off without him Tarshie, trust me on that”.

Suffice to say that particular guy and I are better off without each other. But it’ll be interesting to see what my Father thinks of The Boyfriend when they meet in the next few weeks. 

Lesson Nine: A Girl Will Always Side With Her Man.

Here’s an invaluable lesson I learnt at a really early age. I was seven, at Redhill Primary School and I had a friend called, Andrea Birse. Everyone, including the teachers, just loved her.  She was blonde, always wore a long ponytail, and she was very loud and opinionated. I was the opposite but I admired her because she was pretty and popular.

Glen Carlyle was in our class and he was a real goody-two-shoes who would always talk when the teacher had her back turned but then blame someone else.  He had blues eyes and brown hair and an annoying habit of flicking his fringe to the side even though it was never in the way. (Imagine the Justin Bieber flip but in the 70’s wearing a blue zip up top and tan corduroy’s.) One morning during interval Glen wrote a note to Andrea asking if she would go around with him. We were all like, “Wow, Andrea has a boyfriend…wow”. Half an hour later she was bossing him around and making him hold her books and sit next to her.  Girls learned fast at that age. 

During the afternoon Glen came up to me: -

Glen: “Natasha, I have a present for you”.

Me (excited), “Okay, give it to me”.

Glen: “No…um…..I have to give it to you outside.”

Me: (sigh) “Okay let’s go”

We get outside and my impatience gets the better of me so just outside the classroom on the asphalt where we played netball I go:

Me: “Give me my present”.

Glen: “NO, I have to give it to you behind the handball wall”.

Me: “Why?”

Glen: “Just cos, come on” and he went to grab my hand which I shook away.

Me: “Give it to me now. I want my present NOW!”.

Glen: “Oh…okay then” and he moved his face towards mine and went to kiss me on the mouth. I saw his face coming because he flicked his head to the side giving me a chance to shove him and he fell over backwards.

I ran into the classroom and without even thinking went straight up to Andrea and said, “Ewww yuck Andrea, your boyfriend Glen just tried to kiss me but I pushed him over”.  I thought she would find it gross and funny. Unfortunately she didn’t.

She got very angry and walked right up to him screaming, “You’re dumped” and then she cried. Andrea never spoke to me again and whenever she did it was loudly to her friends that I broke her and Glen up because I was “easy”.  Sure enough they got back together; he told her I kissed him. I “accidentally” gave him a bloody nose during bull-rush a week later.

From that moment I learnt to a) never get myself in that situation ever again and b) when someone says they’re going to give me a present, to do it with witnesses. 

Lesson Eight: You're Never Too Old To Be Told Off.

Enter the current Love. Craig Donovan - 38, 6ft, blonde, green eyes and a great smile. Works in IT and is one of few people who can actually make me laugh out loud – a lot. Like, throw my head back laugh.

I liked Craig before I even met him. His friend was telling me over the phone about this single guy he knew traveling overseas and I filed it all away. Upon meeting him seven months ago I thought, “What an absolute douchebag…. my gut got this one totally wrong!”. He stared at the floor and barely said two words. Craig later admitted he was quite nervous at the time – plus he's naturally shy when he first meets someone. 

About a month later we met again and I was hooked. Craig was chatty, he danced, he made me laugh plus he was sexy.  We actually started out as friends with benefits and I kept it very quiet – why tell people about something casual right? Then one night he said to me, “We need to talk” to which I replied, “Can I just finish watching the rest of the rugby?”.  And from that point we became a “couple”. Craig may be shy at first, but that man has integrity, drive, life-goals and boy does he have balls.

Fast forward to a moment just a few weeks ago that anyone who knows me will absolutely love.

Mini Golf. I hate it and I’m crap at it. But we go and play because he wants too.  He’s brilliant and gets every hole well under par whereas I’m in double figures and getting angrier at each putt. Suddenly he comes over, waves his putter at me and it goes something like this:

Him: “Come on, we’re leaving”.

Me: (and imagine it’s being said by a 5-year-old because that’s how I was acting)

“Why?”

Him: “Because you’re having a shit time which is making me have a shit time. I really enjoy this and you’re wrecking it. We’re leaving.”

Me (aka a Five-year-old): “What? I’m having a great time”.

Him: “Really? This is you having a great time?”

Me: “A blast, and only another scintillating ELEVEN holes to go…”

Him: “Well I’m not, so snap out of it, get a smile on your face and get on with it, or we’re leaving right now….you decide…”

Me: “No one talks to me like that”.

Him: “Well, someone should. So what’s it gonna be?”.

And I snapped out of it. Next hole…I got a hole-in-one. He won of course and when I asked him what the scores were, he replied while patting my backside, “Best you don’t see the scorecard”. So off we strolled, him knowing he’d put me in my place with the game and the telling off, and me knowing I’d met my match. 

Lesson Seven: Men Are Loyal - Especially Your Brother.

One of my favourite men is Arama Tolson. Tall, long curly hair, green eyes and one of the wittiest guys I know. He is my younger and only brother – recently turned 18. We have the same Father and different Mother, but to be honest I regard all my siblings as full family regardless of how we’re actually related.

As a kid Arama was a real Mummy’s boy and a bit of a crybaby to be fair. Something he’ll staunchly deny now, but as his sister, I watched him aged six, cry when I offered him spaghetti instead of baked beans!! He’s grown into an amazing man – strong, kind, sensitive, very witty and he doesn’t suffer fools.  Arama reminds me of Dad – a lot. He doesn’t follow the pack - people naturally gravitate towards him wherever he is – me being one of them.

Earlier this year I spent my first summer as a single girl and hung out with the family in Papamoa for a week.  In two separate cars we drove to see more family over the Kaimai’s in Hamilton.  I’m driving along and Arama and I are chatting away about life, family and relationships when the questions hit.

Arama: “Tarsh…..can I ask you something?’.

Me: “…Yessssss”.

Arama: “No offence but, Why don’t you have any children?”

Me: “Do you think I should have some?”

Arama: “I don’t know, I just wondered why you haven’t. I reckon you’d make a good Mother”.

Me: “Well I haven’t been in a solid enough relationship to have children. I did talk about it with Scott, but then we broke up so, it’s never happened. Does that make sense”?

Arama: “Yeah I guess. “

Brief silence followed before....

Arama: “Tarsh….can I tell you something?”

Me: “Yes Boss” (my nickname for him.)

Arama: “No offense but.....I’m glad you broke up with Scott….”

Me: “Why’s that?”.

Arama: “He wasn’t that nice to you, plus I reckon he looked like a bit of a dufus”.

Me: “Ohhh….thanks Boss…..I guess”.

Arama is staunchly loyal to everyone he’s close too. A trait I really admire in him because I know he has our backs and I know I can trust him. So I told him last week I was seeing someone after being single for 18 months…

Arama: “Is he ready for Dad. Ha-ha”.

Me: “Yeah, I’ve warned him. Hey, he can bench-press 80kg”. (Now I told him this because Arama regularly works-out, plus The Boyfriend is pretty proud of it.)

Arama: “80kg? I’m half his age and I can do 140 – I have no time for anyone under 100”.

Me: “So, I guess spotting each other is out of the question then”.

Arama: “Definitely, I have no patience for sissy’s”.

I’m looking forward to the day they meet, Arama's opinion means a lot.  Suffice to say The Boyfriend is going hard out at the gym to get close to bench-pressing 140 kg. 

Lesson Six: You Should/Can Never Change A Man.

Scott  – second love of my life. Met him when I was leaving the Edge Radio Station at a Singles Party in Rotorua. He galloped up the stairs to the bar Hot Lava with his good friend, Shaun and I thought, “Thank god, some talent has arrived”.

He had a nice look about him and I remember he text me the night after we met:

Him: “Hi”

Me: “Who’s this?”.

Him: “Scott Robinson – met u last night”.

Me: “Yeah I know who you are, Roger Daltrey look-a-like with the accountants hands and knack for losing jackets to needy girls”.

What the text said isn’t important, but the fact Scott kept that same text for three years until he accidentally deleted it is.

Scott is a very warm, very loving man and an amazing Father.  However he just couldn’t decide what he wanted to do in his life or whom he wanted to do it with. I could see the man he was desperately trying to be, so without permission I took it upon myself to try and make him get there before he was ready. Ultimately it lead to the demise of our four-year relationship

Two years into it, I moved to Wellington and after a few shaky months he followed.  Scott left Te Aroha early in the morning, but by 3:30 PM text to say he was taking his time and just hitting the Desert Rd. So I chilled out and the next thing I know he’s pressing his nose up against the kitchen window.  Two weeks later I had a bad feeling and my calls went unanswered. I shot out of work as soon as the breakfast show was over and got home. I opened the letterbox and Scott’s key was in there. I ran to the little townhouse right at the end, unlocked the door and rushed in. All of Scott’s things had gone. It was as though he had never been there and I’d dreamt it. I was so devastated that I simply crumpled to the floor in a heap and wailed. He’d left a handwritten note on the coffee table saying he couldn’t do it and didn’t want to see the disappointment in my eyes.

I have never been so hurt in my life – it was so painful and unbelievable and just a few days shy of my birthday. We got back together and battled it out for another two years but split for good in February 2010. I will never say anything bad about Scott – he was so easy to love. But I pushed him and subsequently realised that a man needs to be who he is, he doesn’t need to be changed or forced in the direction you want him to go.  And I learnt that your Father is always right. Dad’s summation upon meeting Scott, “He’s a nice boy Tarshie, but he’s not the one for you”. That was three months into seeing each other. 

Lesson Five: Men Will Always Surprise You....Even The Prime Minister.

Lesson Five:  Men Genuinely Care, Even The Prime Minister.

This isn’t me yanking it nor is it I fudging the story. This is what happened and said lesson was learnt and documented.

I met the Prime Minister, John Key, three years ago when he was the opposition leader and he was on the campaign trail.  My own perseverance got him to our studio after months of emailing and calling back and forth to his press Secretary, the wonderful Leslie.  In he walked with his security team and a handshake and polite kiss on the cheek followed.

What sealed it for me was during the FIFA World Cup and I decided, on a gutsy whim, to ring this cell phone number I had that I was POSITIVE was the PM’s. Gutsy because I can’t remember how I got the number AND he was in South Africa in an official capacity.

I rang, and he answered, “Hi John speaking” and we had him on air. From that point I was able to text him directly (as I’m sure many media people can) and arrange for him to be on the show.  From that point he would walk in, open arms and give me a big hug, throw his jacket off and sit down to breakfast and coffee that we always had waiting for him.  It always felt like he was pleased to be there and interested in us as people – especially off air.

Three weeks ago when my redundancy was made public I text John to see whether or not he was free to chat during our final week on air and told him what was happening.

PM: “What!…. that’s outrageous”

ME: “Yeah – long story. So when are you free?”

PM: “Are you still on air?”

ME: “Yeah – until next Friday, Nov 25”.

PM: “No, I mean right now?”

ME: “Oh….duh. No.”

Then my cell phone rings and it’s the PM asking what the hell is going on and am I okay.  It’s a pretty surreal moment. I mean the cynics could say, “Oh he’ll do anything for a vote”. But he genuinely wanted to know how I was, how I thought the new breakfast show would go here and what my next move would be. Then we had an off-the-record talk about the election campaign and that damn cup of tea he had with Banks.

People are never as they seem and while I’m not a family friend, I feel that Prime Minister John Key is a pretty genuine man who cares.  At least at one time he did genuinely care enough for this little unemployed half cast, to pick up his phone and ring her, just one week out from a general election.