Entertainment. Once, a Kiwi night on the town meant a beer with the boys, taking in a flick
at the local bug house, a beer with the boys, stumbling down the town hall dance floor,
a beer with the boys, a quick fumble in the back seat of the V8, a beer with the boys,
pee, pie, and pud, a beer with the boys, and home to mum. Now we've left the Stone Age behind.
Today, it's the Victorian era, still hiding our light under a bustle. As far as we're concerned,
Madame Butterfly is the favourite for next year's Melbourne Cup. A symphony concert is what you have
to sit through to get a look at the Queen. We'd tolerate ballet if it wasn't for the dancing,
and we'd take our children along if the men wore clothes. We've a feeling for books, too.
On every New Zealand bookshelf, alongside the China Lady and last year's Christmas cards,
there's a pencil-thin voicemail.
The Wit of Sir Arthur Porritt. Two blank pages bound in Morocco leather.
We may not know much about art, but we like what we know, and we take our pleasures seriously.
We're ready to snatch a quick sleep during the news in order to be fresh for Studio One,
bubblegum music, and boy sopranos. The search for stars has taken on a new earnestness.
Good evening, and welcome to another episode of The Wit of Sir Arthur Porritt.
And welcome to another session of Studio One.
Yes, quite a few innovations this year, and one of these will be the inclusion of some talent.
So, let's get away to the first new face of 1971.
Here he is, a warm hand, please, for the boy from the bush, Pookie Mun.
Well, respond to the audience, of all

issues.
No, do you want to sit down?
This is the moment.
Well, 67.



Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight