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Welcome back folks. Or welcome back some folks. Once again, and moronically, I find myself surprised by how few people are back to work already. This is my 12th January in Aotearoa, and yet each year I think it’s going to be different. Call me a curmudgeon, but by the week after New Year, I’m pretty much done with turkey, ham, camping, lime milkshakes and roadies, and am itching to get some deals on the board. Anyway, I’m back, so let’s kick the blogging year off with a few predictions for the 12 months ahead. Someone might be reading this out there.


With the year yet to kick into gear, Recruiters, covered in sun cream yet sitting in the rain, have time to reflect. Most have had a great 2 years, and the astute ones know this won’t last. They opt for the Coleman 6 Man Eco-Traveller for their tent upgrade, whereas their less savvy  colleagues go all-out and “invest” in the six-figure Dethleffs T45 Globebus Motorhome. Recruitment GMs worry about matching last year’s revenue before being distracted by an errant tent peg. Politically, Ardern enjoys the brief respite from the negative groundswell of public opinion and starts researching after dinner speaking rates. On the other side of the fence, anti-abortionist Chris Luxon enjoys a summer of prayer and self-flagellation, whilst practicing his acceptance speech. In Europe, war continues and heating is now more expensive than mild drug addiction.


February sees the Recruitment world spring back to life. Except it doesn’t spring for all. For those who know what they’re doing, there’s still enough work to bill plenty of money. For those new to the game, or just a bit sh*t, they limp into January like Heather McCartney. For these Recruiters, internal recruitment starts to look quite attractive, even though you said you “never would”. At least one global gets itchy feet, and although NZ is their most profitable country by headcount, start sharping the knives from their London HQ. We also see more young people banging on about a 4 day week. Fruit continues to rot on the vine, and we stare into the face of a global recession, but still…4 days is enough right?


The cost of living continues to rise. Labour shortages, war in Europe, a terrible summer have caused capsicum to be recategorised as a semi-precious metal. Arden, thinking about what she’ll be doing in the summer, sends an email to Oprah. Oprah doesn’t respond so she drafts one to Ellen, but hears Clark chasing the Nanny around downstairs again, so doesn’t hit send. Luxon has now taking to wearing his Opus Dei robes like the albino fella in the Davinci Code in public. In the UK, gas is so expensive that houses are now heated solely by the burning of 70 million copies of Prince Harry’s “Spare”.


With avocados now a black-market currency, Paremoremo Prison sees its first avocado related “shanking”. In politics, a late September election is called. Ardern has given up, both politically and at trying to keep Clarke off the hired help. Luxon, who hasn’t been this excited since his “impure” thoughts over a Margret Thatcher documentary, has taken to wearing one of those spikey belts round his leg to keep his pre-election-erection at bay. In Recruitment, a global recruitment firm announce they are leaving New Zealand. The staff wander Queen Street like zombies. Some are scooped up by Fletchers, a small number get an agency job, some “go it alone”, and the rest are shot in the street by an outsourced pest control firm.


Recruitment firms find themselves in a bit of a pickle. Thanks to Labour, only 6 migrants have been granted visas this year, with 4 of them being fed to Clarke Gayford’s insatiable libido. The world is now in the firm grip of a global recession. There are no jobs and even fewer people to do these no jobs. Recruiters flee the cities and set up alone in New Zealand’s “better value” towns and communities. Ngāruawāhia becomes like Singapore on meth. Politically, Luxon sweeps to power in a landslide. He starts to wear a Bishops Mitre, dissolves Parliament, and forms “The Council”. The Council are all white, male, former-CEOs who like to tell women what to do with their ovaries. Ardern gets on Ellen but has to be subtitled for the US audience.


New Zealand is now a country where Thatcherite capitalism meets religious fundamentalism. No one has heard anything from Europe since the Markle Riots, and from space it looks like no one is home. Luxon, in his flowing robes, now resembles that old dude from Demolition Man. All those Recruiters who set up by themselves are picking fruit, but continue to post on LinkedIn. We still all meet at the RicePowWow and tell each other how busy we are. Internal Recruiters are now on minimum wage, and with interest rates at 15%, have resorted to boiling their leather belts for dinner. Yet somehow, as gangs prowl the streets in search of homeless people to eat, and the US and Russia exchange B-61 nuclear gravity bombs, like cockroaches, us Recruiters somehow live on.

Anyway, Happy New Year everyone!