January 26: Crikey us Aussies are cranky at the moment. The country’s well-being index is lower than a Longreach dam. More people like colonoscopies than like Prime Minister Abbott. Why? Because a fish rots from the head down, that’s why.
The Man in the Lodge made two fatal mistakes, in my book. He’s unfair. And he’s up himself. That’s why he’s a dead man walking and that’s the sound of numbers crunching underfoot, you can hear.
Australia Day is the day we shower honours on our fellow citizens. Bit awkward this year since Tony Abbott reintroduced the British honours system of dames and knights and it reminded everyone how he was born in Blighty, boxed at Oxford and saw Liz 2 as His Queen. What’s wrong with Australian honours, mate? Did he just say Happy New Year and welcome us to 1955? He has made us feel we are again a bunyip aristocracy.
Abbott: the Queen’s man in Orstrayla. Buff, bronzed, botoxed, and for Dr Who fans, eerily similar to the warlike Santoran.
So what’s not to love about someone who was described by his own daughter as ‘lame, gay, and churchy’? None of which is true, btw. Far from lame, Abbott is a fitness freak who travels the world with his custom made carbon-fibre
flagellator bike. Sick people he says are ‘leaners not lifters’.
Nor is he gay. In fact he says he’s ‘threatened by gays’, and if the daughter was using the word ‘gay’ to mean naff, well screw her. The fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree.
He’s not churchy unless Catholics have changed a lot since I was a kid and you don’t have to go to Mass on Sundays. Our Jesuit-schooled, former seminarian prefers a hit out on the bike. And what Catholic could cut 18 billion dollars in foreign aid, deny climate change and offer no shelter to refugees without going straight to hell. He’s playing chicken with God.
This stuff is Catholic 101: Put money in the mission box, help the poor, the sick and the homeless, and open your door to a stranger (it might be Jesus).
In Australia, Jesus on a refugee boat would be stopped at the border (in the middle of the ocean) and sent without mercy back to the soldiers he was fleeing. No succour here.
Abbott’s boss, Pope Francis, meanwhile, is specially concerned about women, the poor, refugees and dammit, global warming. No, our PM is not lame, gay or churchy. He’s fit, white and male. (And apparently older men who pleasure themselves are the main rump of climate change deniers).
Abbott’s a charmless leader. And tribal. He pointedly wears the blue tie of the Liberal, when he should govern for all. That’s his tragedy (and ours), a foot soldier promoted way above his pay grade.
Personally, why I don’t like Abbott, apart from everything else: Well he was really mean to a man dying horribly of lung disease caused by asbestos. Abbott told Bernie Banton he was a pest. He told him he could pack up his oxygen and piss off. Bernie died soon after. Now Abbott’s deputy, Julie Bishop, used to be a solicitor paid by Big Asbestos to frustrate the claims of little guys like Bernie Banton. What a pair – let’s agree the Prime Minister or the Deputy Prime Minister won’t be knighted for services to lung disease, that’s for sure. Nor their cigar smoking treasurer.
So it’s Australia Day. It’s Invasion Day if you’re an Aborigine. The other Abo (our PM’s nickname when he played rugger) wants us all, at noon, to rise and with our shandies to toast the Queen and to sing Advance Australia Fair. I kid you not.
I love Australia, the Australia that’s multicultural and proud of it, unselfregarding and proud of it; the Australia that’s kind to a fault and prides itself on a fair go— a country with ‘boundless plains to share’ with ‘those who’ve come across the seas’ , if you believe the national anthem we’re meant to all sing at lunchtime.
I think I’ll listen to Yothu Yindi instead of “all those talking politicians”.