Good Evening from St Jasper's Island
The Tasman's waves lap gently upon the shore, goaded by the secrets of the moon. What are your secrets, Moon? What are you hiding from us? Good evening from St Jasper's Island.
We begin this evening with a Political Update, as the question of our island's independence was raised in Parliament today.
As you know, a newcomer arrived upon our shores last week, as most newcomers do: wrapped in burlap and concealed inside the crate of miscellaneous canned goods that appears at low tide near Old Jim's Wharf-side Hotel & Sponge Cake Factory every Tuesday. He's a young bald man with strangely pointy teeth and a beard named Chaz, though you've probably met him by now. I should clarify, he is named Chaz, not his beard. His beard does not have a separate name or sentience, as far as he or any of us knows.
Anywhoo, one of the many, many questions he asked once the welcoming ceremony was finished, besides the usual ones like “why are you hitting me with fish” and “can I have a towel to wipe off all this fish slime, please”, was what country we are part of, if any, exactly.
This question has severely rocked the political establishment over the past week, with neither the Premier, the Right Honourable Kahurangi Trelawney, the Leader of the Opposition, the Right Honourable Barbara S.P.H., nor the Backbenchers Tadashi, Victor, or Avery having any clear answer.
Premier Trelawney was fairly confident that we are a semi-autonomous overseas territory of either Australia or New Zealand, while Barbara maintains we are an independent sovereign nation 'that shall nonetheless soon be a part of the ever growing realm of nations managed benevolently by sentient patches of haze'. Backbencher Victor says we are a part of the British Empire, Backbencher Tadashi says we are part of the Japanese Empire, and Backbencher Avery says he thought we were a wholly-owned subsidiary of the New American Corporate Entity Incorporated, 'just like Texas or Mars', whatever those are.
It is important to remember, of course, that the three Backbenchers in Parliament are only there as observers, as they are ghosts from the first three World Wars who haunt the Central Government Building, and ghosts, controversially, do not have voting rights under island law.
Barbara suggested consulting the Island Constitution, much to the horror of everyone present, whose memory is still scarred by the trauma of the last time we dared enter the cave in which it lives. The idea was quickly shot down by the furtive glances and hushed whispers of all present, as we each chanted a tiny prayer to keep the Island Constitution safely asleep within its cave. Petrichor Linden Timonious, Tiffany Puff Nore Alloway, Sleep, Sleep, Sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep, Petrichor Linden Timonious Petrichor Linden Timonious Petrichor Linden Timonious Petrichor Linden Timonious. Amen.
It was finally decided that the issue should be deferred to the Governor-General, but, sadly, as he is still too petrified to do his job, this was basically akin to dropping the issue entirely. In any case, Chaz the Newcomer had moved on in his curiosity, and asked a whole slew of perplexing questions around the island, like, “how many of you are there here?” and “how big is this island?” and “why is the mountain doing that? Oh my god, how is it doing that? Is it a mirage?” and “I didn't think sponge cake was usually made of actual sea sponges?”
Such a curious chap, that Chaz.