Dear reader we return once again to our saga. 

MING was a GRATE LEADER! Not only did he beg the UK government to send nukes to Australia, but he pioneered dwarf mutant irradiated Eucalypts ( top RH corner) for the Bonsai enthusiasts.

We find our three sub- heroes Ces, Quent and Terry and their able saviour, (some might say part time nemesis) and protector Benny Boy Roberts Smith, arguably Australia’s most decorated soldier up on top. That’s it, after almost a year submerged beneath the irradiated wastelands of Maralinga, they’ve officially reached the surface, to find it, strangely deserted. That’s the funny thing about deserts there’s always a touch of desertification about. But, as they trudge towards the abandoned terminal that once, long ago teemed with feverish activity as Australia wrestled with the ‘Nuclear Age’, they wonder whether their quest, (to find the evil oppressor who had so cruelly defiled their tea-lady Ms Culthorpe on secondment to the Nations parliament as an intern),  for justice has been worth it. And thus dawns a deep seated discussion of a  philosophical and existential kind into the reason why.  Is it unreasonable to discuss the reason why? We have no idea, perhaps, with this instalment an answer may emerge, or like Coalition Climate policy submerge. Merge or submerge, any-fink can happen in the next five minutes… 

Read on….

‘Yup’! Terry demurred, ‘it’s funny, life has a habit of turning out different, there I was fifty, sixty years looking after ‘Radium Springs’, Australia’s first ever subterranean city and life just went on as usual up top and in the end I was just forgotten’!. 

‘Too right’! Quent Enthused, ‘you became a forgotten person’.. 

‘Yep’! Ces replied, ‘we all became forgotten people’. 

‘Ya know’!,  Benny Boy reflected;  ‘there’s a ring to that word, ‘the forgotten people’, like I’ve heard it before?

‘Nup’!, Ces replied, ‘whatever forgotten people may have meant in olden days Australia, it’s been forgotten, that’s at the core of being a forgotten person’. 

Churchill reads the transcript of MING’S greatest achievement, the sequel tune he composed on harpsichord and kettle drum to Rolf’s ‘Two Little Boys’!

‘Unless you’ve forgotten to call yourself a forgotten person’? 

Being a forgotten person? Quent chewed on the issue, there was something paradoxical about talking about a forgotten person, when even the act of talking about it meant that whatever it was that had been forgotten, hadn’t been quite forgotten. He proffered; ‘What is really at the core of it is the tendency to forget’?

‘In what respect’? Terry enquired.. 

‘I dunno , I’ve forgotten’.. 

‘Then whatever it was is totally forgettable, so….. 

‘I know’! Benny Boy wryly said, taking a puff on one of Terrys Camels.. ‘Forget about it’!. 

Dear reader, whilst they ruminated about the ‘forgotten people’ epithet, they felt the warmth of the sun and reflected on the surreal beauty of inland Australia, and rejoiced in the bounty that Atomic energy would unleash on Australia. And perhaps  for its native inhabitants a new opportunity to lift them from the grip of the stone age.

‘Well, we’d better start walking, cos if we don’t, that bloody terminal over there will disappear as if it were a mirage’. 

‘Yep, let’s make tracks, and just for good measure’, and with a professionalism of the highest order Benny proceeded to cover our advance upon the cracked, sandy, weed strewn hard- stand of what used to be the refuelling depot at Maralinga. The old terminal still welcoming newcomers cheerily as it had done since the mid fifties. As if, after all these years, nothing had ever really changed!

Children in the orphanage flock to hear Ming sing the entire ‘Two Little Boys’ song cycle.

Benny Boy, in the off chance of their nemesis Dutto or Sophie chose the stairwell and chambers as their route of pursuit,  emptied his back pack of Claymores, Torpex, Cordite, Gelignite and Roman Candles, (for artistic effect) and proceeded with fuse-wire, trip-wire and piano-wire to prepare the exit stairwell for demolition. 

‘I’ll put a five minute fuse on this lot and it’ll make sure that no one else ever uses that door’. 

‘Sounds good’! They all agreed and as they began trudging across the sandy space that was once a runway, they could hear Benny Boy whistling a few verses from  ‘Two Little Boys’, and  lighting the fuse and then following them with a quickened step..

As they approached the terminal they could see that it hadn’t been used for years and years. For a start, the flag pole was all rusty, and the wind sock at the end of the tarmac, just looked tattered and worn. ‘As it had run out of puff’, Ces Wryly remarked.   ‘Not far, I wonder if there’s any food on offer’?

‘Wouldn’t think so been abandoned for night on sixty years, 

I dunno could be some tins of baked beans or Spam? They can last centuries  and maybe even a few tubes of Vic in the fridge?

MING at the Maralinga control centre asks the operator if the console can record him sing ; ‘Two Little Boys’.

Dream on’, Ces replied, ‘there’ll be nothing, but there may be a radio receiver, and we can call for help’. 

With the word ‘HELP’ they all blanched. So far they’d been in a lot of trouble and not much help. Help had just become another four-letter word. 

Helplessly SO!

Will they find salvation?

MING was so Strong and Powerful an influence it’s no surprise then he had many pretenders in the Liberal Party. None of them gifted with his mastery of oratory, nor could they sing the entire ‘Two Little Boys’ song cycle without prompting.

Find out in the next desiccated episode, ‘Does Spam last a hundred years’? or ‘Baked beans may be pre heated at Maralinga’?

Dear reader,

The forgotten people was named 1949’s greatest ever speech by the editor of the Truth and the ‘Girl Guides Tribune’.

still in a state of shock as to the federal elections unexpected outcome we’re still hoping desperately that it may be a very minor win for Labor, who pushed by the Teal-dal wave of reformists finds itself in government. And yet Labor may still have a majority?

Like most voters of the insensible centre we hope they don’t make  the Liberals well and truly sidelined at the very least for the next three years. Cos with Super funds, vested interests and the status quo upheld in the Australian body politic, we are fearful that the Imperial Guard of the right- wing looney Coalition may fade from the public debate and become irrelevant. 

‘Good riddance’! you may say, we are inclined to agree. 

But without the likes of Tudgey, George, Clive, Barnaby, Matt and Pauline on the front pages, just for starters are worried about losing some of our star characters and then without their influence and vile personality dysfunction this blog may lose its relevance. 

With the loss of so many moderate liberals we’re increasingly fearful that the rat- baggers who’ve given us so much joy may be pushed into the shadows of looney right conspiracists and other adherents to the thrall of Murdoch. All of this may be lost to us. And be forgotten!

There is hope however, with Angus rumoured to be elevated as Shadow Treasurer we know that’s a huge tick for Cayman Island registered trust funds, and hope yet that great initiatives like the Murray Darling, and with a bit of luck healthcare, energy and aged -care policies may still be skewed by self interest. For without  base self-interest and greed out Royal Commission’s would lose their entertainment value. That would be a CURSE!

It was re- contextualised with a Hills Hoist converted in the 1950s to a ‘Tiemekangaroodownsport’ early warning radar display.

And with Dutto as the Opposition leader in waiting, there is still fun and laughter to be had. But the fear is, that with a new government actually listening, (this usually passes after a week or two) to the people in the street, there is a chance for real reform. But as the Chinese Premier Chow en Lai said so many years ago about the French revolution;  ‘its still too early to tell’!

But is it too early for our heroes? 

Find out in this next thrilling instalment, Maralinga or burst!

‘How far do you reckon it is’?, Ces wiped the dust from his mouth and pointed to the old terminal. 

‘I dunno’, Benny-boy said as he reached into his haversack for his field glasses ‘perhaps one or two k’, 

‘Well then,  what are we waiting for’?… 

‘I dunno’. Terry said quietly ‘But it’s a long long time since I’ve be up here and funny seeing it deserted. In its heyday this was absolutely packed with Canberra bombers, Bristol freighters, ground-crew and military personnel. All hell bent on delivering to Australia and the Empire the bounty of nuclear energy’!

‘Yeah Terry and a bit of the Big Bang theory’, said Ces with a tinge of irony.

‘Big bang’?,Quent queried,  ‘the Atomic Bomb that was just a sideline, we were really looking to unleashing its power for good’! Terry said that with a satisfied proprietal air.  We could tell he took great pride in keeping Radium Springs in good order. 

‘For good’, queried Ces?, 

‘Yeah, to make mighty inland lakes and build a mountain range across Central Australia to create rainfall and upgrade the sheep wheat belt, and make these desert sands the ‘bread basket’ of the Pacific’.   

We could tell that Terry was passionate. We felt humbled by his vision. Whereas we just had a conviction, that until the evil opressor who so cruelly violated Ms Culthrope as she performed her sacred duty as a intern tea-lady in Parliament was brought to justice, our passion, our determination , out integrity as human beings was unresolved. But Terry,  undaunted, was a man of vision. We listened in rapture as he described the vision of a Golden Age in raw, unquestionable Atomic Energy.

It was updated again for ‘Australian’s who lived beyond the ‘Barnaby Line’.

‘We were also going to blow up the Great Barrier Reef, convert it to Superphosphate and open it up as the worlds first integrated canal and real estate subdivision, under the name ‘Plutonium Ponds’. We had offers from Miami, Las Vegas and Manilla to build the worlds biggest casino, and then we had the great artesian bore breakaway!!

‘What was that’? Quent asked.

A bloody big hole in the ground’? Ces wryly remarked, 

‘No’! Terry replied;  ‘something much more visionary! 

‘We were going to blow up the entire arid wastes of Central Australia.  Move all the flora, fauna and natives off the site into a special compound called ‘Woomera- Ville’ where they could keep their primitive customs and beliefs whilst, (for a tourist entry fee capped at the CPI) could do something useful and generate tourism pounds!. And then through a succession of highly controlled blasts remove at least 1 km of earths crust to create a new inland sea. And from that opportunity, build a canal from Darwin to Adelaide. We called that the ‘Fark-en far Canal after the Chief Engineer, Sir Anthony Farken OBE from the Queensland Department of Inland Rivers,Policing, Gambling, Banana growing and Native Administration. The furthest and most far sighted far- canal EVER!!!!

And flood it! Thus opening up the potential for an inland transport hub using real ‘Mississippi style’ stern wheelers with real-estate opportunities for coastal development. The sky was the limit, and’……. ….. Terry paused in his soliloquy, 

‘What happened Terry’? Ces dryly asked, 

‘The….. the whole thing got put off, the Poms who supplied the nukes said they couldn’t do it’. 

‘Why? asked Ces, was it environmental, industrial’? 

‘Nup, they said; ‘capacity constraints’!, 

Both Churchill and Ming (R.G Menzies) warmed to the idea of an Atomic future for The Empires ‘white colonies’. (where even the black bits were bleached white by CSR and Bex Powders)

‘But I reckon it was jealousy, We really had a use for nukes in opening up the interior and I think that the Poms were miffed that we could use nukes for a power of good, rather than threatening wops in places like Egypt.You remember the Suez crisis was on’…

Our heroes paused to think about the unrealised potential, like the recent decade of stalled Climate response thanks to the Coalition’s bludgeoning obstinacy..another tragic waste of opportunity?….

‘Well then’, Benny-Boy wryly smiled, ‘I spose like our mission to bring the benefits of civilisation to Afghanistan it just didn’t quite work out that way’. 

Will it work our for our heroes? Does anything work out in the end? 

Find out in the next optimistically charged episode… ‘Sophie made it happen, lest we forget’!, 

Eric Abetz, a staunch supporter of ‘The Forgotten People’, and the ‘WHITE EMPIRE’. Enjoys a cup of Robur.

Or ‘I forget what it was I was supposed to forget about’. 

Dear reader, as you may recall incredibly our trio of heroes including Australia’s most decorated soldier ‘Benny-Boy’ Roberts Smith,  found themselves at last on the surface.

The Coalition now they’ve lost are big believers in recycling… Dutto as oppsition leader sounds like GOLD!

Somehow, by some miracle, or dare we suggest the agency of a greater being,( as this episode invokes the spirit of the Religious Discrimination Bill) they have been delivered from evil . 

An evil of such magnitude that Vladimir would be hard pressed to make it any evil- er. An evil so pronounced and so manifest in every corridor of the nation’s parliament that we wonder if things will ever be the same. Will the nation’s capital ever recover and return to some semblance of normality and will the evil doer who so heinously defiled Ms Culthorpe our tea-lady during her stint as parliamentary intern ever be bought to justice? Is there justice left when only the tea-leaves can suggest a future that’s not stymied by corruption, the stench of nepotism and croneyism.

Do not despair, there is hope. Not in the new government which may or may not have a mandate for accelerated change and accountability. No not that at all, the hope that Sophie, who crafted the Teal-nado through her sociopathy and obdurance may yet be recognised as more than just a vital board member of the Fair Work Commissioner. The question is can Sophie bounce back from her fight with Dutto and with her dozen other half million a year salaried Commissioners determine a fair wage increment for poorly paid workers? Will it been another twenty cents, as high as fifty cents, or maybe even a generous whole dollar? 

Such is the responsibility of those who must maintain standards so that lowly paid workers don’t get uppity. 

Barnaby must stay as Nationals Leader to remind the public…

Since the Teals stormed the winter palace, (Crown Resorts) there’s been a lot of uppity-ness lately. But rest assured not too much cos SCOMO sensibly stacked every board, commission and public agency with his mates just to make damn sure that change would not change anything. 

But try as he might there is STILL change afoot? 

That Sophie, unrequited, unrealised and unremarkable may yet still rise to the highest office in the land and become a director or even, may we hope a chairman of Crown Resorts or something bigger still, such as a fully fledged Secretary of the United Nations? You think that’s far fetched? With the world sliding into totalitarianism, it takes a hard nut to crack the likes of Vlad and Xi, and Sophie has got what it takes, an utter and compete absence of empathy or compassion. 

Just as Zac Rolfe must stay in the N.T as Australia’s bravest copper

How is Sophie and Dutto getting on? We return to our saga, our heroes temporarily reprieved and the king-pins Sophie and Dutto fighting it out for supremacy. 

‘Lets face it potato -head, you couldn’t get a bit part in a B grade horror movie cos you’re not even C or D grade’. 

‘Wanna make a bet, I’m gonna be the leader of the Liberal party. Under my agency There’ll be shiny new uniforms, Cool peaked hats, and shiny boots,!  I’ll change the national anthem, and edict compulsory military training for kiddies under the age of ten. As Gauleiter of Queensland, my reach will be….. Un…unreachable’! 

Sophie Scoffed, ‘You couldn’t reach the dunny brush to scratch your own arse if you tried, you’re a has-been Dutto and I’ve gotta tell you, the tide of  John Howardism has run out, and the whole party can’t wait to see the last of ya’!. 

To remind us how influential Sophie really is, as the Reason Why?

‘Aren’t you talking of yourself? Ya couldn’t win an election cos you were basically unelectable you look like a bean bag and your face is craggier than the Great Barrier Reef and the Crown of Thorns Starfish’! 

(Editors Note) Dear reader we apologise for this base invective, as you can see the quality of parliamentary debate had not improved, one can only hope with the new Federal Government there is a lift in standards. We can only hope!

‘Is that what you think’! And with a power beyond her size, she lifted Dutto up and flung him across the street. He landed with a ‘kerplunk’.  ‘I learnt the ancient art of ju-jitsu when I worked with Gina, and Ive got some moves you wouldn’t know’!

‘Wanna make a bet’?, And with that Dutto dextrously unclipped his standard Queensland Police truncheon, and flicked it across his shoulders. It landed with a loud ‘thwack’! Sophies face, (pudgy at best flashed pink and bruised) and you could tell, it must have hurt, because she went ‘Phwawwww’, and with an impulse faster than lightning, she retaliated by throwing a rubbish bin back at Dutto and it disgorged its dusty contents, long decayed and putrefied all over him. He wiped himself down, and in amongst the detritus noticed a newspaper article. He read it  distractedly, and then fixing on a discovery expostulated ‘LOOK AT THIS’!

One down, and only Tudgey remains as the stellar performer who introduced Robo-Debt!

‘Our lives depend on this, and if we don’t sort it out where in big trouble!!!

Sophie waddled over and read the piece, something about Radium Springs and Maralinga, and a little scrawl at the bottom, RG 201294 451. SW 321 12 k, NE 132 6 k… ‘So what Dutto! What’s the issue’?

 ‘Don’t you understand, RG 201294 is the secret unit developed by Mi 5 and the heads of Asio to quarantine mutants and, the RG 201294 refers to the sacred birth date of our eternal leader MING! This is highly classified, and in the 50’s if anyone outside of ASIO knew about it they’d, ( he searched for a suitable descriptor) would just disappear. These co-ordinates Give us the exact location of the Doomsday Box!

The Doomsday box?

Yes! the vital computer in which all the codes are kept and the activation switch for ‘Big Barnaby’.  

‘Big Barnaby’?, Sophie looked non- plussed, suspecting as most folk woud that the ‘Beet-rooter’ was active as a potential threat. 

‘Yes,  the worlds first ever positronic valve and wire-guided robot. And I know this because my father helped design it, and strangely, if you want to know,  (he spoke in a whisper),  it looks a bit like me’.. 

Sophie dropped the tyre lever she was about to hit Dutto over the head with and cried, ‘we’ve let them go’.. 

‘What’!!! Then Dutto cried exasperatedly.. ‘we’ve let the cat out of the bag, where are they’?

Oh, Dutto shrieked, ‘they cannot be allowed to get to civilisation’, 

‘They must have gone out through the emergency exit in building Y’. 

As for future leadership material? They always have Tim Smith, he’s working with TONE on re- vitalising the party. Can’t wait!

They  looked down the street, the buildings were clearly marked and sure enough behind the faded facade between buildings X and Z the large letter Y.. ‘That’s it, let’s go’! 

And grabbing her jackboots under her arm, and with Dutto retrieving his Queensland copper truncheon, they raced for the stairwell. 

Will Dutto and Sophie catch our hapless heroes or will they break the bonds of penile servitude? 

Find out in the next National Party sponsored episode, ‘The righteous rump’!, or ‘Can-a-van bring Barnaby back from the brink’?

Dear reader, 

we return to our saga. Though the tectonic plates of the Australian political scene have moved ever so slightly, we know that for our heroes stuck beneath the desiccated and irradiated wastes of Central Australia, there is a slim chance that unlike the members for Kooyong, Chisholm, Higgins and Goldstein they may yet pull it off. 

‘Pull it off? You might say, 

Threatened by the spectre of Tudgey in the shadows with another personal parliamentary secretary? Or Christian with his blind truss? 

Lest we forget, the sterling work performed by Warren Truss in crafting the INTERVENTION!

Truss? The architect of the Intervention? Before Barnaby was deputy PM, there was another, do you remember Warren Truss? ‘The quiet achiever’.

Could it be the same? Will a new government wind back the intervention and put in jeopardy thousands of white collar jobs in the  Aboriginal Industry? 

A truss, be it surgical or just cosmetic. Or nothing quite as bad as that, just freedom from the eternal pursuit by Australia’s most ambitious political duo, Peter, a copper who comes from Queensland and rolls along like a bent sixpence, (bribes of over $2.00 are tax deductible)  Dutto. Or Sophie, (is that a public funded sinecure for my entire family for just being odious) Mirabella. Come hell or high water, though there is no water in the arid desert, and whatever might fall is already covered by Angus and his mates with the Cayman Island Tax haven.  The destiny of this country is dependant upon their escape and escape they must. 

Or worse, we return to our epic;

‘Can you open it? 

Waren also gave the taxpayer good value for money, in some instances via ‘MATES RATES’ up to 30 mil would be paid for land valued at 3 mil.

‘Nup’, came the stern reply from Benny-Boy

‘Why not’? Terry asked, lighting his fifteenth Camel and passing round another pack for our enjoyment. Ces said;  ‘Don’t worry Terry, you can keep em’. To whit Terry smiled,  ‘but I think you might need em, we still aint dealt with Sophie and Dutto and we may still be here a long time’.  Resignedly Ces, took the packet and lit one up. Quent followed suit but Benny-Boy being controlled and fit just said this;  ‘Sorry youse blokes but I just cant see a way of opening this without another roll of torpex, a stick of gelignite or even a crowbar you see’…… He pointed to the hinges rusted over through time, ‘and these draw bars, and this crank and this wheel, I can’t move any of them, and even if I tried with explosive there’s no guarantee that the outside will be the outside.  It could all be a ruse put there in the fifties to put off the Russians, the Chinese, whoever’. 

‘But there must be a way’? Ces enthused, 

Warren and another visionary Keith Pitt. Lest we forget.

‘Do you know anything about this Terry’?

Terry flicked the ash from his lab-coat and scratched his chin. ‘Well I’ve never really been topside since the late fifties, but I can tell you if I’d known of this door I’d have tried to use it years ago. It’s just that I’d signed up to do the job for my government and I’ve always felt it was my duty to do the right thing’. Terry then said to himself barely audible, but with some remorse, ‘And rot down here for eternity’. 

‘I wouldn’t say rotting, it’s just that it’s been comforting not having to change after all these years, The older you get you don’t like change. 

But what option did you have, surely you must have been curious’? 

‘I dunno’ said Terry as he phlegmatically drew on the Camel, ‘I’ve never see it that way. Didn’t really talk-about it with all my responsibilities. 

A Warren Truss bridge. That’s right folks, a ‘Warren Truss’ is also a name given by engineers for a specific type of bridge, who would’ve thought?

Well then, think man, surely there must be a key, a device, a lever, that can open this thing’?

Benny looked back at us and scratched his chin strap. ‘We did have a door like this at the Fat Lady’s Arms, but it just led to the Pool Hall and the gaming lounge, whereas I’ve got a fair hunch this’ll get us nowhere.  I’m for turning back’.

Turning back!! We shrieked, to Dutto and Sophie??

Nup just at the last junction I reckon we should’ve turned left rather than right, 

‘But’!!! Terry expired ‘left or right in Australia usually makes no difference’ 

‘Well it should’, Ces enthused, ‘it should make a helluva difference’, and with that impatient and flustered he nudged the door. And curiously, and incredibly, he must have just hit the right spot for with an imperceptible squeak it opened, 

‘Bugger me’! said Benny

‘Jeez’! said Terry

Kev also kept the momentum of the intervention going. He not only helped homeless people as an act of immediate concern prior to becoming PM, but also was keen on punishing remote communities. Both noble causes seem to have slipped from his radar since then.

‘Christ’! said Quent, 

For before them in the late afternoon light bathed in a warm sulphurous glow they looked out upon a desert landscape and in the distance, an abandoned building of sorts with the name still legible after years of scorching sun and desert sands the words stencilled  ‘M A R A L I N G A’

Is the end nigh?

Have they escaped?

Good thing that the traditions of Warren are now in safe hands with Barnaby and the resurgent NATIONALS!

Find out in the next ‘doorish’ episode, ‘When is a door not a door when its not a -jar either’, and ‘What hinge squeaks noiselessly in the arid wastelands of a safe Nationals Seat’. 

Weather man says ; ‘A TEAL-NADO’ is on its way!

Dear reader,

incredibly, if you’ve been following this saga, our heroes, led by Australia’s bravest and most decorated soldier ever, ‘Benny Boy’ Roberts Smith have been playing it safe. Hoping that in their heart of hearts the dingy, dark, dusty stairwell that seems to be going upwards will deliver them ‘from evil’ as is biblically said. 

And yet, after the fire and brimstone of Dutto and Sophie, arguably both deep and committed Christians committed to a fairer and more equitable Australia, they are  perilously poised as they’ve decided to a man, after all the experience they’ve had over the past six months with men and women of religion, they’d rather hang around with individual of no interest in religion at all. 

A woman expressing herself joyously

It’s a vexed issue, but with the stakes so high they’ve found the professed religiosity one way or another of those in power, from Angus, the Cayman Island trust fund owning Energy Minster, to Tudgey and his shagging ex secretary, to Barnaby and his ‘family values’, and even SCOMO and his ignorance of who shagged Mrs Culthorpe our tea lady whilst on parliamentary secondment a little ‘off putting’. Or as HRH Prince Andrew is fond of saying ; ‘un-becoming’!

A woman expressing herself incredulously

All the religious conviction on hand in our nations highest office, the high roller lounge at Crown Casino, would be as useless as famously said as ‘tits on a bull’. Not that having tits on a bull is gratuitous insult to those of the bovine species that would prefer gender re-assignment. It’s just that for the vast majority of herbivores, graminacae eaters and even rodents who are fond of a bit of vegetation to supplement their diet, gender specificity as to religious conviction seemed hardly relevant when people are in peril. Either as victims of a villainous plot crafted by two of the most nefarious individuals in Australian politics. Or just as ordinary people in having their wages cut and their living standards lowered. Made worse by the knowledge  that though they sink to the bottom of the heap, their so called leaders are left sinecured and unassailable.

Now this is sounding like a bit of sermonising, which we are loathe to indulge in,  as it smacks of religiosity.  Ours is to record events as they happen and not to sermonise. To record that precise moment when as it has famously been said;  ‘the people have spoken’. 

Not the electorate, and the ‘Teal-nado’ that tore through hitherto safe Liberal seats. 

Not the change which has swept through leafy and well to do suburbs and displaced politicians less odious than the fire and brim-stoners with left leaning reformist…… WOMEN!

A woman expressing herself engagedly

Not the shake- up on conservative politics that leaves us with the hard right rump of uber conservatives who may anticipate change and borrow from the Trump-ish republican party Copy book. 

Not those people who would divide and conquer society with Replacement theory and any other odious divisive strategy to further alienate the hard right looneys from the common or garden conspiracy looneys, 

That is all a given. 

A woman expressing herself ‘Green-ishly’ and still getting across the line. Nice tactic LNP.

Not that the custodians of these formerly safe seats were anything other than illiberal.  But the fact that the real leaders in this saga, Ces, Quent, and Terry, and their noble warrior hero the much maligned and misunderstood ‘Benny Boy’ Roberts Smith may yet escape from the perils of Dutto and Sophie. And as we all know post election, or just post a bad day at the office, there is always hope. Hope springs forth from the dust of disaster, and strangely they had up to this point managed to escape a fiery destiny wedged as mere prawns, (a deliberate malapropism) to Dutto, the most powerful copper in the land and Sophie, earnest and committed member of the Fair Work Commission. Who incidentally, let it not be forgot has a stellar public record of looking after retired law professors in back paddock sheds generously donated for their well being. Because she is and will always be compassionate and caring, And as has also been famously said the ‘Teal- nado’ would never have existed if it weren’t for Sophie’s principled stand against her nemesis; OTHER WOMEN !

We return to our saga, our heroes going upwards to who knows where?

‘I dunno Ces’, Quent whispered to his companion, ‘these steps have been going up for ages, surely we must be getting near the’……… Quent stopped mid sentence as the incandescent glow of Benny-Boy’s helmet mounted flashlight illuminated the grey, oblong of a steel door. 

Above the steel door in faded lettering they could see the words ‘Surface Exit’. All of them gathered behind the formidable bulk of Benny-Boy and breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. ‘This is it, aint it’? Noone dared to answer, too terrified to think that it may be another false lead, another source of disappointment, another collapse of expectations. 

A woman expressing herself enthusiastically

Like when, ( just to use an implausible example) a clean sweep is made of inner urban seats to proclaim teal independents. 

They hope,  (just to use an implausible example) that this time, for the first time in decades there may be a sensible policy debate and real legislation destined to reform and adjust the levels of equity and fairness in a society riven by latter day Thatcherism. We acknowledge that this is an implausible hypothetical construct still born by the vested interests of big business, superannuation funds and structural generational inequality, but we just put it up as a hypothetical to illustrate a trenchant point. 

Which is….  they’d learnt from bitter experience to hold their breath and just hope. 

Six women comprise a TEAL-NADO!

Hope against hope that this time, after years spent waiting, that door could be opened and from within its dusty portal the blinding light of an entirely new and profound destiny would greet them.  

But will it? 

Find out in the next tangentially implausible episode; 

’the door is more of a door than a mere portal. ‘Is it then a Christian Portal’? 

A sidelined and disrespectful Woman won’t smile for the P.M. A DISGRACE? Or a turning tide…. that leads to a TEAL-NADO!

And what of the blind trust fund? 

‘How can trust be blind? Are these blinds Venetian? In space as in the far-canal no one can hear you.  And if they do…… ‘is this our deaf in Venice moment’? 

Deaf in Venice?

And there, therein, we begin with the penultimate post, pre -election day. 

Is there anything in this election? 

Is it too close to call?

Have ideas and visions so powerful transformed the Australian political landscape?

Will tax reform negative gearing, and a Federal Icac be foremost just for starters?

Out of the darkness, a new future beckons for Australia

Will the climate get the reckoning it deserves? 

We have no idea and thankfully being Australia,  big issues like Climate change and knocking off flora at an accelerated rate are irrelevant. It’s the smallness of things we’re interested in. And that SMALLNESS stands us in good stead. To be a quiet place, where the quiet majority who worry about super, housing interest rates, their work, security, xenophobia, and smallness and self interest. They’d rather leave it to people who know better. And know what’s best for all of us, and may help themselves to a little bit of the cake along the way.

Bu there are much more significant things afoot beneath the irradiated sands of Maralinga. The final testament between two of our most powerful politicians, Sophie, (is that a professor in my back shed Mirabella?), and that titan of the Queensland Constabulary Peter Dutton. Now that the truth is out that Peter is half-human, half-crustacea, a victim of atom bomb testing in the 50’s we have Sophie and our unsung heroes the only witnesses to a terrifying state of play, The fact that all the Queensland front benchers and a sizeable rump of those in the senate, are mutants. Every Jack person of then defined by the radioactivity they copped whilst they were infants or when  their parents worked hard in cleansing the arid interior for a nuclear future. 

An Australia of big ideas and a thirst for innovation

Will they be able to turn the tide?

Will Sophies ordeal put her out in front?

Or are they both destined to perish, disappear from the political landscape forever once election day is done?

Find out in this next episode; Who dares wins or who wins dares to dare again’.   We continue with our saga,. tThe perils of our heroes in doubt and the forthcoming ordeal just begun…

‘I dunno Ces whispered to Quent, looks like we must be almost at the top’? No sooner had Ces uttered those word as we followed  in the footsteps of Australia’s bravest soldier ( EVER)  up the dusty dark steps than we arrived at a landing of sorts. On either side, a straight and level tunnel leading into the inky blackness. The question poised for our grim party to determine, Which way to go?

WE looked at each other, and then looked again… ‘So this is it’?  We looked at each other, we had arrived at a crossroads of sorts. 

It’s a bit like the election,  Quent demurred; ‘You can either go left or right. 

An Australia where even defenceless furry animals of all kind shall be Protected.

Yep,  and whichever way you go the left and the right turn up at exactly the same place. 

And that’s the trouble, no matter how long you might travel down in the right direction, you always think you should’ve gone in the left direction. No wonder people get confused on the ballot paper. Yeah! Opined Terry; in my day it was way simpler.  There was Labor and a Liberal and you could really tell the difference!

Hows that? questioned Ces. 

Well for a start Labor people weren’t as well spoken as Liberal people.  And Labor people also had the taint. The taint? queried Ces. 

Oh yairs, the taint of socialism. It made them hard to trust. Trust on whose side they were really on. 

 Hows that? enquired Ces, 

And even unspeakably ugly persons will have their right to a fair go

‘Well they were all a bit pinko. Only a man with enough courage and foresight, ‘MING’, would give nuclear a go. And if we’d stayed with the Coalition we’d be nuclear on everything by now! And I’d still have a job, rather than just the flunkey in an abandoned nuclear facility. 

He’s right! Ces quipped; we can’t stay the lucky country all the time without an opportunity to be made in either digging shit up out of the ground or blowing things up. That’s why they call it the big brown land, cos its strength is in its emptiness. 

An Australia of BIG IDEAS and confidence in REAL REFORM!

Yep and let’s hope nothing changes after the election, cos in a way we need people like Dutto and Sophie to remind us why we’re a democracy. And whys that ? Ces was determined to work this quandary out once and for all. ‘Well people can look after themselves and mates. The don’t need the curse of BIG GOVERNMENT ruining their lives.  Mateship would be gone in a fairer and more equitable Australia, and there’d be restrictions on digging shit up and chopping trees down and in the end we’d have to be cleverer’. 

WE all agreed that the last thing we wanted was a nation full of intellectuals and thinkers, TROUBLE- MAKERS!

An Australia of diversity and inclusiveness evident on the benches of parliament

‘Too right’ Benny-boy replied, ‘it’d be a nation of ratbags and they’d all be obsessed with social policy rather than looking after the real drivers of the economy, mates, and kickbacks to mates mates.  Did you get a gig in the ATT. (Benny was referring to the Administrative Appeals Tribunal), ‘Nup mate, not considered reliable enough. Thats a pity. Everyone is in on it, Why fer fucks sake would you wanna change that I arks YA’!

We are inclined to agree with our heroes assessment. With change comes the possibility of ‘real change’, and that would be dangerous for Australia,. Whilst Dutto and Sophie fight it out down below we suffer the real risk of incremental microscopic change in Australia.  Let’s hope it doesn’t happen and Rupert, Lord of Murdoch may yet decree, Australia, is safe and PURE from  dangerous ideas. 

Or just another middle -aged white bloke saving us from ourselves.

But will Sophie and Dutto go unanswered? They still lurk, behind the scenes, and the scenes are borrowed from the props department of Doctor Who. Will there be a doctor in the house? Find out in the next prescription-drug issue, For whom does the tolling bell toll in an election booth? , Or Try saying election in Japanese English to a houseful of angry lesbians? 

Mateship. Mates you can TRUST!

‘Closer and closer the election day creeps, each day so protracted its feeling like weeks,
with arguments lacking for eruditon, imagination and wit, the best we can do is wallow in shit’

Dear reader if this is the best we can do from Australia’s only poet laureate, Sir Rolf of Harris we really are at the nadir of ‘Australian Creativity’.

‘Australian Creativity’ you may ask?

Surely with Super releases for new home buyers, an increase in the offset levy for high income earners and the twin pillars of franking credits and negative gearing assured you couldn’t find a more epoch making high water mark of Australian creativity?

With the arts all but stifled and undergraduate degrees costing possibly more than it does per capita to keep indiginies in jail, this must be as good as it gets?

Luckilly there’s no Australia Council to guide and instruct and inspirec, but just the simple logic of greed. Cos ‘greed is good’, and ensures that the status quo of fat cosseted middle aged white male bastards is kept intact. Anything else might just smack, (OUCH!) smack of tokenism.

MATES who SHARE the SAME VALUES!

But what of our heroes,?

Are they mere prawns to be tossed upon the electoral barby?
Are they a sausage sizzle outside an electoral booth too far?
Is there hope for them?
Or are they, like all those older women who are not fortunate enough to live in inner-ring suburbs, divorced and car pooling as emergency accomodation destined to be cut off as a ‘forgotten people’? Cut adrift from all support and meaning as active agents in the political process, mere chaff to the wind, cos they were unlucky in love, unlucky in marriage, and just plain unlucky! Whichever way you look at it, they’re in a pickle, but at least not buried beneath the wastes of Maralinga. While there is still time, there is still hope. And where theres hope there’s hopelessness. So if hope springs anew, we return to Radium Springs and find out just what happened to Sophie and Dutto as they battled it out for the pre-eminent sinecure post politics. Will they like Christopher Pyne land a life long sinecure on defence contracts with a parliamentary pension? Or will they like Andrew Robb, be able to get a gig with a consortia to buy the Darwin port or a local hospital?. Find out and have renewed faith intact cos with mates, theres always a kick-back and the gravy boat is always full.

We return to the dusty, dark streets of Radium Springs.

‘Bugger you Dutto , you couldn’t find a crab stick in a Bain Marie’…

MATES! Who have a shared suspicion of science and TROUBLEMAKERS! ( Journalists and an informed public).

With that Dutto’s unbroken antennae twitched nervously. His crab-claw clickety clacked menacingly, and his rounded shiny exoskeletal head turned a bright crimson with rage.
“OH YEAH’! He bellowed triumphantly into the gloom. ‘Think you can evade me Sophie? You might be smart but you aint that smart. I can smell your cheap froggy perfume from here, and I’ll track you down’!
‘It’s not cheap I got it on that trade mission to France as Gina’s Coal convention convenor, ‘Briquettes to the Bois Boulogne’ when we were working on the froggy sub contract’.

MATES who know the value of LEADERSHIP!

‘What the’ (Dutto fumed)….. I own that contract’?
Dutto was incensed,
“Yeah, you THOUGHT YOU OWNED IT’!!.
From the gloom somewhere a maniacal laugh; ‘Like you thought you owned a lot of things…… Chrome Dome’!!.
What you didn’t know is that we had the Submarine the frogs ordered and we weren’t gonna make it diesel electric. We were gonna do it for Australia, the worlds first Coal powered Submarine, The Pepys le Pew. And you, you fat ugly bastard was gonna launch it till SCOMO stuffed it up by telling Macron to Stick his Gauloise up his Arch de Triomphe!

It was all planned fat head! And you and yer mates from the Sunshine State even the beet rooter would be none the wiser. So take that’!

From somewhere in the gloom a can of sun-ripened beetroots hit Dutto smack on his crab claw! You could tell it hurt, but Dutto being a Queensland Copper true and through knew what to do with it. With a dexterity more professional than one of Warnie’s googleys he sent the tin of beetroot flying back from the direction from which it came, and in doing so deftly sliced the tin open. From the distance you could hear and audible slop and the sound of an irritated individual flicking sliced beetroot from her shiny jackboots.

‘Is that the best you can do FAT-HEAD’?

And how to stop their HEAD EXPLODING!

Dutto snarled, ‘I’ll flay you alive and after I’ve cooked you. Ill feed you to the’…… He was about to say Crocodiles but thought of something worse; ‘the press gallery and after they’ve finished with you you’ll be as a happy as that uni professor you stuck on a shed on yer back paddock till you’d fleeced him of his funds, Wouldn’t you like that Sophia me old tart’?

With the word ‘Sophia’, the very word that the girls at St Catherine’s had taunted her for being “multi-cultural’ (A swear word to someone of Sophie’s sensibilities) there was an audible rumble, and from out of the gloom a shopping trolley filled to the brim with sides of pork, ham slices and full pork legs splattered all over Dutto’s crustacean self. ‘Heres more for your pork barreling’! And before she could finish the sentence, Dutto vanished.

By some artifice, he’d worked out where the voice was coming from and seeing his opportunity, slid down a sewer pit, and made his way to the source. Sophie had perhaps only seconds before a confrontation, crept from out of the darkness into the streetscape, and proclaimed, ‘Chickened Out? Couldn’t handle the heat? I thought you were a crab man, not a chicken,’?

And from behind her, more stealthily than the paperwork required to make a joy ride to anywhere a parliamentary privilege, she felt the claw tighten around her throat. Sophie had met her match, but that just made her more dangerous.

Will Sophie get out from Dutto’s clutches,? Will Dutto reign supreme in the dark world of Radium Spings?

Simon Birmingham sniffs the wind, could be changing direction for the Coalition?

Find out in our next pre-election episode, ‘Sophies got my craw’, or ‘Duttos daliance with destiny deals devilishly dangerous for undecided decorously clad desmoselles in un-distress’.

Dear reader, 

We leave our saga of our heroes Ces, Quent, Terry and their sidekick, the indomitable and highly decorated hero of Afghanistan, Fat Ladies and burying USBs in his backyard Benny-boy Roberts Smith, to give you an insightful update on the upcoming Federal election.  With only days away the Tweedle Dum,  Tweedle Dee contest is getting to the pointy end. And so far, as far as we can tell there has yet, ( safety first) not been one slither, an inkling, a crack of imagination from both parties. 

We asked our in-house psephologist, Alan Tudge what he thought of the chances of one imaginative idea ever surfacing and his comments were insightful. 

Tweedle Dee is trying to harness the womens vote against Tweedle Dum

 ‘Look here fellas talking about imagination is the last thing this bloody nation needs. We’ve got hedge funds, franking credits, negative gearing, and tax breaks  for high income earners and the fact that no one under the age of forty is ever going to be able to buy a home. That’s enough for just starters. Why then for fucks sake, ( Tudgey said this with almost as much emphasis as he did when he kicked his former press secretary out of bed) would we want to introduce the Trojan horse of Imagination into the mix? What fucken planet are you on? The public consistently for three decades have told us they don’t like imagination. It’d be like wheeling Barry Jones onto the stage and giving him another crack about the future, or getting that rat-bag Flannery to bang on about climate or even worse, someone like Ken Henry to bang on about tax reform.  These ideas about imagination are bat-shit crazy!! No! Take my word leave it to Tweedle dum and Tweedle dee. They’ll not upset the public, and look, this is gonna be a tight race, we’ve enough on or hands trying to bury our treatment of Sheilah’s in parliament and you want to introduce unknown knowns. 

Tudgey’s talent, Robo-debt auto-bot on trial.

Take it from me. Don’t mess with what we quaintly and euphemistically refer to as ‘democracy’. Keep it in the safe keeping of superannuation firms, big business and pollies who work hard for the lobbyists like Barnaby Joyce. At least that was we can pick the right people on the board of the ATT, The Fair Work Commission, and Sophie and Dutto can all look to a slice of the pie into the future. Thats how you grow prosperity, not on some fucking ideological delusion that the ‘trickle down effect’ is gonna make a wit of difference from people who don’t even know how to thank us for not punishing them more. Robodebt was my brainchild, and I gotta tell you after a few had topped emselves they’ve learnt their lesson, to be content with what we dish out to them. It’s why I whip the dog, kick the Sheila outta bed, and slap em round a bit, it keeps em keen’!

Both Tweedles follow NSW Rugby, which is sorta like footy

And besides, there’s always gonna be winners and  losers. If you’re a loser its cos you’re lazy and never had a crack’. 

We are indebted to Tudgey for this insightful insight and only hope that the electorate do the right thing and endorse Tudgey or at the very least the UAP who have the catchy slogan ‘freedom freedom freedom’ as their bond of good governance. Change at this time would be dangerous. And besides with some back benchers  we’ve never heard of owning upwards of twenty investment properties it would cause a market crash if ever we did anything about parliamentary lurks and negative gearing. 

Is this negative, is this nihilistic.. Not really, just real politic.

Real politic is when you’ve got two pollies who think, talk, and act the same, 

Real politic is when both parties asylum seeker policies are cruel and vindictive

Tweedle Dum has the advantage of Clean Coal.

Real politic is when you by necessity must keep the prison and judicial system processing indiginies

Change is dangerous unless it’s ‘plus ca change’. 

Plus ca change? The promise of a bit of  cash  in the pocket. That’s an election winning formula.

These blokes have strong appeal to the Womens vote. Just ask em?

Cant tell em apart!

Franking credits anyone? 

Malcolm ushered in a new era of Queenly sackings!

Dear reader,  Once again we are in the proverbial., 

Hawkie loved most of all……HIMSELF!!

Our heroes and Benny-boy Roberts Smith  find themselves still up to their armpits in merde.  Is that ‘merde’ you say? Yes  reader, a direct quote from another great global leader Emanuele Macron who’s got this thing going with Vladimir. One phone call and Vladimir might promise to be nice, cos at the end of the day whether its a submarine contract or a kleptocrats yacht, its nicer when its said in French. Pity Scomo cant understand French, it might make him a lot more electable, or at the very least he could choose to politely ignore the unkind things that are said about him in Parliament by members of his own party. But before we give SCOMO all the credit for being the  genius in suggesting first home buyers  dip into their super as the first plank of the Coalitions election policy there’s another bitter struggle for the hearts and minds beneath the desert wastes of Maralinga

Keating had a penchant for flash suits and ws the last PM to employ wit and vision as a political device.

No matter how hard they try, they; Benny Boy, Ces, Quent and Terry cannot rid themselves of the taint of real – politik. ‘What is real politik you may ask’? That’s the sort of politik where you scratch my arse and I’ll scratch yours. Whats that in plain English? Well thats simple;  ‘you wipe my arse and I’ll wipe yours’.  That according to our famous psephologist Ted. E.Whitten is what its all about. In politics its all about the law of the jungle. And in the jungle, the only thing that can be heard above the screech of the hyaenas is the dull, percussive, mordant sound of the ‘Drums of War’!

Is this a khaki election? Or just one where colour is so leached of empathy that its all a monochromatic sludge of over- worn slogans and knee jerk cliches? Surely we deserve more than this? 

Or do we?

John Howard showed a remarkable taste in friends

What effort have we put into the political process? For the baby boomers we’ve had it pretty good. Our investments since mummy and daddy have karked it have grown and now we ride the tidal wave of our era. Free education, universal health care, well paid jobs, not having to fight in other peoples wars, the present is a panegyric to our time. We are the exalted, the younger generation can fend  for themselves cos in our height, we are  beyond reproach. Its someone else’s problem. All this stuff about inflation is for the rental class. They can go and find an investment property and if they cant afford one they can hold onto a rung. A rung on the ‘ladder of opportunity’. Some of them are lower on the ladder of opportunity, and if they cant hold on they are losers, not winners . We only exalt the winners, whatever side you bat on!

But what of our heroes? We must believe in heroes, for without heroes of some kind the alchemy of politics doesn’t work.

Kev was way too clever and liked to tell us so….

Who are our heroes? Are they two late middle-aged men fighting it out for the blancmange of middle Australia? Or something more profound? An Australia. Of destiny and vision? An Australia of imagination and the gift of diversity? Or something a little less confronting? Win or lose our heroes may be the best chance we have of clutching defeat from the jaws of victory and achieving from this ideological wasteland our  Gallipoli Moment!

Whatever happens you know that its written in the sand.

And the sands are always moving so whatever is written is re- written. And written again. As a famous Bedouin tribesman once said. ‘It is written though I can’t remember what was written the last time it was written as the sand is always moving’! So we too must move in sync to the sand, As the hourglass expires, so we must prepare ourselves for the final hour, the last grain, the last tic of the toc and now that this is our time. And time flies.  Tempus fugit, or as Barnaby would

say; ‘Roll out the barrel, if its got pork in it it’ll float, fly, or go sky high. And land fair square! Somewhere in a Coalition electorate’.  

Julia was a woman and for that she was PUNISHED!

Have we got time for the central narrative, of our heroes mired in the morass of intrigue, back- stabbing, hypocrisy, cover ups and chicanery? Another day in parliament? No! The grim struggle for dignity and humanity against minds so corrupted by power and privelege they’ll stop at nothing. Can Dutto and Sophie be stopped? Or is it too late? So late that we’ve run out of room and only have this smallest of slots, as this is an election edition to provide just the scarcest of space to an utterance from our heroes. 

And Ces said; ‘Crumbs! Were in a right pickle now, and theres no easy way out’ . 

Too true. There was no easy way out. We could just make out the silhouette of Benny-Boy ahead and all we could do was shuffle along in the dark and hope for the best. It was comforting to know that Terry had another carton of Camels in his backpack and as he tossed us another round we lit up and as in a torch- light parade, we puffed along knowing that things could be worse.

 ‘Ya know’’ Terry said, ‘it aint all bad, I mean’, there was a pause as Terry searched for the right sentiment. ‘I mean we could be a Russian Conscript in the Donbas, doing Vladimir’s bidding, or just a misunderstood copper from Yuendumu with a Glock  that’s lable to go off who’s just trying to do his job. Or a policeman who gets by luck and stupidity to be the Defence Minister. Yep, and here we are us band of brothers, and Benny boy being led to the surface it can only get better from hereon’…

Tony was a strong man who also demonstrated a profound facility for character judgement.

 But no sooner had Terry cheered us with the prospect of being free than we heard a dull thud form deep below, we knew in an instant that either Dutto or Sophie had found a way of settling their argument. Or one way or the other, they were going to find where we’d got to and they’d be hot on our tails. 

Thats all we can give as our air time is paid for by the UAP, an they like to get value for money. 

So folks take if from Clive; ‘For the best election you wanna buy, Clive is not far away, 

he’s not in a Melb-ayne pity,  butta Brisbane City… 

Will Clive make an appearance to save our heroes? Find out in the next Capricornian episode ‘Coconuts and Pineapples don’t salad mix’, or, ‘Isn’t it TIME to reinstate the Brisbane LINE’!

Malcolm trusted his closest associates, and they returned the favour…

We acknowledge the UAP and Franco Cozzo Furniture in generously sponsoring todays editorial comment. 

In the beginning there was MING. (on the left, not the silly bastard on the right.)

Dear reader, we find ourselves after a period of unexplained delay back on track with the true saga behind our current federal election. 

Yes folks as the teals battle it out with the inner blues and reds we know that a much more Herculean task is afoot below the irradiated wastes of Maralinga. For there, hidden from the public more securely than a register of donations to both  the major parties, the hope of ever seeing a federal ICAC or just the promise of a fresh, new, imaginative idea ever coming from the cobwebbed bowels of a Canberra focus group and dull policy documents a titanic struggle ensues for the real hearts and minds of what we refer to euphemistically as the “Quiet Australians’. 

From the swamp came Harold!

And why are these Australians so quiet? 

Harold was a REAL PERFORMER! He was the first to recognise the SHEILAH VOTE!

Cos they’re entombed, beneath layers of rock in a stygian cavern with Dutto and Sophie as their jailers. If they can get to a ballot box and make significant change it’ll be a miracle, cos las time we looked Maralinga was pretty much sewn up by Barnaby and the Nationals. But whilst there is Barnaby and the existence of ‘Barnaby-Speak’, there is also hope. So hold onto your corflutes, and hold your breath as we continue with the true account. The minute by breath-taking minute of how our heroes, all three of them and Australia’s noblest greatest most decorated soldier ever Benny-Boy Roberts Smith must find a way through the miasma of politics, vested interests and sinecurism…… Because, where there is still hope there is hilarity. Read on……

Then, along came JOHN! Johnny was our first PROPER post war labor P.M, even though he batted for the Liberals

The door clanged behind us and from within the dark stairwell we could just see steps, ancient, dust covered and undisturbed leading upwards. ‘This looks like it’, Benny gasped, and just to make sure, we watched in awe as Benny taped up the steel door that had clanged behind us and for good measure attached a string of rifle grenades, a trip wire, a claymore, several anti tank mines and a roman candle.  ‘Whats the Roman candle for’? Ces asked. ‘Oh that’s just to distract them as they walk in, once it goes off the whole shebang’, he paused; ‘she blows, and that’s the last we’ll see of Sophie and Dutto’. He laughed somewhat too eagerly, he clearly enjoyed being on the job. ‘But what if it doesn’t work’? Ces asked with just a hint of incredulity.

Then came BILLY! Billy was not liked by anyone in Parliament. Still didn’t stop him from being P.M

‘Believe me mate it’ll bloody work’!  And for emphasis he threw something long and shiny from his backpack. We clutched it, thinking it was an explosive device, a wad of torpex or bundle of cordite.  To our surprise Benny had thrown us a prosthetic leg. ‘Hold the bloody leg and say after me, To the Fat Lady’s Arms and beyond, the bond, shall never be broken’! 

We smiled awkwardly at Benny, what else could we do? Benny had two taped Kalashnikovs pointed at us. We uttered the solemn words, and Benny exalted, ‘Thats done then, give us back the fucken leg’. 

‘But what’s it for’? sighed Ces.

‘It’s for good luck. Picked a pile of em up in Tarren Kwot, and they’re sort of like rabbits feet, they give you good luck, and’ , he smiled condescendingly, ‘they have other uses, Cmon!’

We barely had time to think of what other uses meant and just sidled up the steps. Ben had his night vis helmet goggles on and we just blindly stumbled forward, not caring for much other than the thrill of it ever happened of gaining the surface. Bit like finding yourselves after a policy desert in a federal election the day after. ‘The day after what’? Ces expired, ‘after the federal election’! replied Quent. 

After Billy came GOUGH! Gough gave First Australians (portions)their land back, so that PRISONS could be more fully integrated in to the NT economy.

‘But’’, Ces exasperatedly sighed, ‘whatever happens in a federal election makes no bloody difference. Tudgey will still have a sinecure, Barnaby will be slotted onto a lifetime pension for fucking up the Murray Darling and a sensible climate debate.  All the other hacks will be looked after and nothing ever changes.  I dunno’? replied Terry, ‘Theres always some change. 

What then’? blurted Ces.  ‘Well, there’s a change in the mood, and who gets to buy toys for defence, and build prisons. There’s always a lot of change, and  some parties just like to mix it up a bit. Yeah’, Ces replied caustically, ‘but is that real change or just window dressing’?

Terry took offence, ‘I was a window dresser at Myers in the fifties and the work we did kept the engine of commerce going though the post-war era. There’s so much more to window dressing than window dressing? 

Post GOUGH? Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dee. A safe policy bet and no threat of destabilising CHANGE!

‘Such as’? Ces asked dryly. ‘Well it’s the style, everyone wants a bit of style, it’s bit like Keating and his suits versus Scomo and his baseball caps’! Terry had made a point and it showed than in spite of the flim-flammery there was a prospect of real change. 

But will change be enough? Will the climb from the gloom be their doom? Find out in the next sartorially challenging episode, ‘Two suits and your straight-jacketed’, or…. ‘is that couture you’re wearing or just haut couture’?