“Have a cigar, old boy, and a seat.”  The vice-chair of the International Rugby Board took a long pull from his glass of Chateau Mouton Rothschild and lit his own cigar.
“Jesus!” I exclaimed.  “That’s a 100 pound note!”  I had to restrain the Scotsman in me from leaping up and rescuing it.  He puffed on the cigar and watched the rest of the note burn in the ashtray.
“Unexpended profits from the 2003 World Cup, dear boy,” he said.  “Some of those ungrateful former colonial nations couldn’t spend it all.  And as we all know, money does go off after a time.”
“Eh?  Money doesn’t go off…”
He waved a fat hand in my general direction.  A bow-tied waiter appeared with another glass of Chateau Mouton.  
“I would offer you one, old boy, but the IRB is currently on an economy drive.  Now what was it you wanted to see me about?”
It was at about this point I realized I wasn’t dealing with normal people.  But unlike that time in the Congo when I had to give up my youngest brother as collateral, I decided I needed to attack.
“Here’s the thing, mate,” I said.  “You’re going to bank at least $197 million from the Rugby World Cup.  Now I know you have running costs and suchlike, but surely you could cough up three or four mill to cover the costs of shifting games away from Christchurch?”
His eyes fixed on a point in the distance and he pursed his lips.
“Have you ever heard of the Building Mapping Project?  No?  It’s $350,000 for a major outdoor projection project, featuring spectacular imagery and state-of-the-art technology, on Wellington’s most prominent buildings.  Before you accuse us of being profligate, perhaps you might want to go and talk to your own Government about how they’re spending your Lotto money, young man.”
“But…”
“Heard of the National Science and Technology roadshow?”  I nodded.  “Well, they’re getting $400,000 to (he picked up a sheaf of papers and read) ‘celebrate the dads who coached kids from their first games through First XV and Junior As, and the mums who selflessly served pies and Fanta in the clubrooms and washed muddy shorts pristine white with Sunlight soap. It celebrates the Saturday (all-weather) matches, the community and provincial involvement, the traditions, the lasting friendships, the memories. And to top it all off, a quintessential Kiwi side-line feed by way of the ubiquitous sausage sizzle will be there to greet punters at the end of the exhibition’.  Hardly science.  Barely technology.  And you think we at the IRB piss money away?  You’re not even getting a piss up in a brewery for your $9.5 million being spent on this foolishness.”
“But…”
“$100,000 for choral recordings that will help the public all over New Zealand learn the national anthems of the Rugby World Cup 2011 participating teams?  $120,000 for a rugby photographic exhibition?  $200,000 to stage the Rite of Spring in Auckland?  And you think we should be financing the cost for games being shifted from a disaster zone?  This whole country is a disaster zone, judging by this Festival Lottery Grants thing!”
“But…”
“You see, that’s the problem with your country.  You used to be the ‘can-do’ nation.  Now it seems you’re the ‘how much?’ country.  There’s $9 million being generally frittered on things that won’t add any value to the tournament.  You need to ask yourself who’s really the beneficiary here.  Now bugger off and find me a clean ashtray, there’s a good chap.”