ANALYSIS: On a bright spring morning at a Hastings livestock yard, three farmers in crumpled sun hats, checkered hats and muddy boots lean against the sheep pen.
One lights up a durry and slowly takes drags. In solemn, reserved agreement they all nod.
Standing on a box in front of them, in bright blue jacket and immaculate leather boots, a bouncy Christopher Luxon radiates energy.
"I think farmers have been treated like villains in New Zealand over the past six years," the National leader said.
Before Luxon rolled up to his first proper campaign stop and burst out of his sparkling Crown car, his team was filled with nerves.
This is the start of the last sprint and for the first time there's not just them to organise. For the next six weeks - and possibly next three years - they have to factor in the diplomatic protection services, which both Chrises contending for the top job will have.
"It feels different," one staffer said.
But nothing really had changed as he strode towards the crowd, palm ready for the shaking.
"Hi, nice to see you!"
He takes a tour of the livestock sales yard, pats backs, is asked whether he would change the name of New Zealand ("not without a referendum") and is told by one fan in a Zimmer frame that his two local candidates are marriage material ("it's 2023").
But he's still in opposition mode. Instead of listening, he's waiting for an opportunity to bring up a policy and drop in one of the many grim statistics he's got on the top of the tongue.
Regardless, his team have to drag him out of there and away from the handshakes. He has campaign calls to make.
He turns up an hour later at a shoe shop where a runner has stopped by for some new trainers. Turns out he's an entrepreneur about to set off for a mega work trip to the US to seal some mega deals. Luxon can't believe it.
At the next stop, in Esk Valley, he switches from being a politician to become a leader. People whose lives have been destroyed and their frustration with the whole system is palpable. Luxon takes their questions, talks and listens.
On Tuesday, in Wellington - a tough crowd politically - he waves signs at the basin and brushes off a banana hurled out of the window. A woman in a Tesla stops to hurl abuse. Luxon laughs. He's then hammered by journalists with questions about his tax policy.
But by Wednesday, in Christchurch, Luxon's changed gear. He rolls up to scoop gelato and it's like he feels lighter.
It looks like he's shaken off the shackles of being the Leader of the Opposition and the limits of it - the constant negativity, the pressure, the seven minute interviews once a week in the morning, the seven second grabs each night on the news.
He's spent the last 18 months telling Kiwis that New Zealand "is wet and whiney" because misery loves company. Now he gets to be the one to embody hope and help.
And with most of National's major policy out there, the pieces of the puzzle are fitting together - Kiwis can imagine Luxon's New Zealand.
He's now able to show off the leader he would be. Luxon looks like a Prime Minister - and perhaps more importantly - he's feeling like one.
His big blue ball of energy bursts into shops, barrels up to people on the streets and happily plays to the media. Taking another bite of ice cream and spin after spin on a jetboat so everyone can get their shots. It's great fun.
Beneath the energised exterior, there are still major questions hanging over a lot of what he's offering, for example:
- His tax plan and where all those infinite foreign buyers are coming from
- How they will pass all the legislation and have their new taxes bringing in cash by the time they cut taxes on July 1 (especially The Gambling Act which would need wide consultation)
- How huge cuts to the public service won't impact the frontline (like immigration officials at MBIE who have been under so much pressure they've not been doing checks - while National is proposing another premium service)
- How pumping up migration and giving everyone more cash to spend in a constrained economy wouldn't be inflationary - simply saying "it won't be" isn't good enough
- How they'll lower emissions.
Faking it until they make it won't cut it. Power and trust are earned.
He still responds to questions about the above with his tick of "what I'm clearly telling you is" before not giving a clear answer.
But there's a new tick emerging that he uses after random Kiwis tell them his dreams of being the local butcher, moving cities to be an artist and how they're off to the US to secure a major business deal.
"How fantastic!"
Every night Luxon heads back to Auckland for policy meetings and debate prep. His team are expecting Chris Hipkins to outshine their own Chris. Debate is Hipkins' weapon of choice - Luxon's is his relentless energy.
Four days into his campaign, the rhythm is beating. His people have relaxed into their roles, encouraged by internal polling, and joke with their new security entourage.
The operation on the ground is slick. Six weeks is a long time to sprint on a campaign and the first stumble will come. But at the moment Luxon's barely breaking a sweat.
Amelia Wade is a senior Newshub political reporter.
