Dear reader  

We at pcbycp have been inundated with enquiries about proposed tax changes, and advantages we might bring to those intent on minimising the onerous burden of paying tax. WE of course are a small publishing and infotainment outlet and were initially confused. Only after repeated enquiries, and requests to ‘do an Angus’, did the penny drop. WE are not in a position to give advice on Cayman Island tax schemes, but know that Angus is the man if you intend to do so.  And the other thing, Pcbycp stands for , (if you can remember) Passive Complicity by Cockburn and Poole. 

We now acknowledge that we have an issue with branding and reputational management. In light of these enquiries and have enlisted the assistance of the Bell Pottinger group to erase any connection accidental or otherwise to the other firm which goes by the acronym PWC.

We acknowledge the similarity between PWC, (Price Waterhouse Coppers) but from there any slither of similarity is fictitious. 

We do not siphon over 300 million from inside government contracts, and do not give advice to ministers and government departments which we then on-sell to punters. Nor do we have the inside on ‘mates rates’ via esteemed parliamentary colleagues such as Stuart Robert. Thought we’d like to have that level of clout in business, finance and governance, our senior editor has suggested, ‘Tell em they’re dreaming’. 

Sadly, we do not have the inner circle with the likes of Angus Taylor, so we can’t offer Murray Darling Futures, advice on Cayman Island Trusts, inside government nuancing of land deals, nor letter writing skills comparable to the one sourced in Clover Moore’s name. If we did, we wouldn’t be working out of a tiny office at the rear of a fish n chip shop of airport Road Niddrie. 

We regret the confusion and accept some responsibility to being on paper (at least) in bearing a similarity to Price Waterhouse Coopers. But from that point we are different. WE do not possess the corporate culture of PWC, which has made then a world-renowned international consultancy of the highest order.  Committed to assisting ordinary billionaires and a few persecuted Russian Kleptocrats with sound advice sourced by the most up to date and reliable government insiders. Just as we’d like to get a defence contract or two, or even an inside on the AUK-WARD Submarine contracts, we must content with being a bit player. Who whichever way you look at it, we do our bit. Which tragically goes unnoticed. 

Now that’s cleared up its back to our real story, three unsung heroes and the cohort, Australia’s bravest soldier, Benny Boy Roberts Smith, Australia’s naughties boy Julian, (‘he’s not the messiah, he’s just a very naughty boy’) Assange and our poster-boy of Anzackery Inc. Brenny-Boy Nelson. 

Will they get to the bottom of it? 

Only time can tell?  

And it’s a time tunnel of sorts and there seems to be only one way up and its DOWN. 

‘So if we keep following this tunnel’, Ces took a big drag on one of Terry’s camels for special effect, ‘we might either get to the bottom, or arrive at a dead end’. They trudged onwards, guided by the eerie glow of benny Boys bayonet, which all of them had a funny feeling was somewhat reminiscent of the sword Frodo carried in the mines of Moria.  Though they didn’t want to mention it because that might mean that the sickliest among them, either Brenny Boy Nelson, or Julian might be their very own Gollum. 

‘Yep’, Terry opined, ‘or it could just be, the bottom that is the top of another decline. Which would make the bottom just a presentment or arguably’, Terry took a drag on his own Camel, ‘the top to another bottom. Or the bottom of another top. And if it keeps on going down’? He paused. 

‘We’ll all be in fucking China’! 

Benny Boy roared with laughter, and as he did so his bayonet increased its eerie illumination. ‘Yeah, but the bottom is never really the absolute bottom. I mean’, (on this Quent waxed philosophically) ‘even the bottom has got to have a top. And whichever way you look at it, it’s  not the REAL Bottom. It’s just what we think might be the bottom. But there’s, and I don’t wanna put the wind up you, even on the bottomest bottom, there’s, (he took another drag), there’s always something underneath’. 

‘Well then there’ s only one way to find out’ snorted Benny-boy who never missed a beat even though he was carrying the crumpled form of Brendan Nelson over his shoulders, ‘and that is to get to the bottom of it’.  Again, he roared with laughter. It made us uneasy, but then, we’d all come to depend on his strength his stoicism and his directness. As a VC winner, he knew about struggle, and the scant reward that comes with ‘Doing the right thing”. He’d become more than just a hero, but he was now a talisman, a guide, a leader among Men, and willingly we now followed. 

The booming, distant, hollowing and eerie seemed closer. We arrived at a junction of sorts. ‘Which way’? Terry asked. ‘Right’, said Benny Boy emphatically. ‘Why right’? asked Terry. Cos that’s the way I feel and besides right is always right. You don’t wanna go left cos you’ll end up like him’. And he waved the shining bayonet in the direction of Julian, who was being dragged along on the improvised stretcher, unconscious, exhausted, and yet still a very dangerous and volatile figure who could destroy the institution of Governance, and the rule of law, by his leaks. 

‘So, lets turn right’, Ces affirmed.

We obeyed, what else could we do? 

And besides, left or right it made no difference. We weren’t PWC, just three individuals hard at it. Battlers, wanting a fair go and a chance as ‘Forgotten people”. We’d tell you more about ‘forgotten people’, but we’ve forgotten. Glumly we trudged, and the drums, sounded ominously closer.

Will the drums be the drums of war? 

Will they be the banging of the drums at Snowtown? 

Will they just be the sound of our own hearts drumming in our collective throats, 

Find out in the next percussive episode, ‘The drums of war beat for big business’ or ‘Bang a drum or if you aint got one, anything hollow, roundish, or flat will do’.