Growing up, I had a friend. His name was Burt. Burt had been a friend of my grandfather's, whom I didn't get the chance to meet. Burt was great fun. He never tired of playing board games, he believed with conviction and passion that chocolate biscuits could be for breakfast, and he let me drive and practise driving his maroon Toyota Viva on the back roads long before I should have. Burt didn't always have a lot to say, but he would frequently impress upon me some sort of variation of the message that life isn't always easy. It's a simple enough sentiment, as was his solution: never waste an opportunity to learn and always vote Labour. Burt was the proud union rep for the Mataura paper mill, and every Tuesday he would drive down from Mataura to take my mum to the supermarket. This was his contribution to making life a little easier for Mum as she adapted to raising a young child as a newly single parent and a new life in a wheelchair. 