Chambray, perhaps

In two weeks time today, one way or another I am going to have an immense hangover.

If the Coalition retain power I will drink an immense amount of wine, cry, pass out and wake up the next morning in immense pain.

If the ALP regain power I will drink an immense amount of wine, run up and down the street cheering, pass out and wake up the next morning in immense pain.

Of course if the first scenario plays out the hangover will last another 3-4 years.

Hangovers aside, I thought now might be a good time to make an assessment of the state of play in this phenomenally exciting federal election and place some bets.

In a post I made in June I wrote of my suspicions of the Coalition returning to power on the back of a fear campaign that revolved around Labor's fetish for unionism. At the time I thought they were gaining some real traction on this front, however this was before Rudd countered with his metooism wedge - the wedge which has at least superficially put a stopper in the election door that would otherwise have been shut. Or so the theory goes.

And so it goes that we have this situation where Rudd's straight bat appears to have kept the polls steady-as-she-goes for the ALP. If you can't beat them with original ideas, just copy and throw in a few additional taunts of fresh blood required and away you go, is the logic. But it's not enough.

For quite some time I have been opining that Australians are simply taunting Howard when they are being polled. The polls are suggesting the election will be a whitewash, but for perhaps the first time ever I agree with quite a few of the Liberal party frontbenchers - the vote is soft.

Australian voters are revelling in the pork barelling, and wanting to see what more they can get out of a very anxious Howard and Costello. With the numbers up to somewhere around $4k proposed spend per Australian since the election began Australians are finally getting a taste of the prosperity that has come at their expense. And they like it a lot.

Consequently, they will continue to punish Howard in the polls—treating him like some sort of horrifically ugly piñata— but come election day they will vote Howard back in. The senate will be returned to the people (although with Howard-lite running the ALP that won't mean a lot) but the Liberal party will have three more years to roll out the conservative manifesto that both Howard and Costello have been polishing since they came to power.

This is a real doomsday scenario for Australians, although only a marginal few seem to understand it. Or if they do, they still figure that the Coalition are still a safer bet.

The chorus of an old Hall and Oates song comes to mind:

You're out of touch
I'm out of time
But I'm out of my head when you're not around

Four years from now things won't be so amusing.

Predictions, I've got a million. Let's look at the two scenarios - a Coalition federal government and a Labor federal government - from a Liberal standpoint.

If the Coalition return to power John Howard will be ejected against his will within twelve months (while looking consensual to the act in public). He's been long on the nose in the party rooms and the more time they give his successor to become popular, the better.

In this twelve month period extensive, private internal polling will reveal that the country despises Peter Costello with a vehemence that, if harnessed, could reverse the orbit of Jupiter. The Liberal party, intellectual giants that they are, in the face of massive, continually building evidence will still flip flop over the best choice of leader. There will be considerable infighting before it is revealed gently/leaked to the public that Peter Costello, Malcolm Turnbull and Brendan Nelson have all got their hats in the ring. They will be clear that Peter Costello is the rightful contender and that this process of choice is purely going through the motions. Meanwhile they will spend a fortune watching, listening and analysing every word of public discourse to try and distill our sense of the matter.

To cut a reasonably long story to a bite-size portion, in the end Malcolm Turnbull will triumph with Nelson as treasurer. Peter Costello will implode like the miserable sphere of aging gas that he is. He will leave politics and will not be heard from until the release of his ultimately useless, extremely petty attempt at a Lathamesque tell all, along with impotent, friendly-guy, I-would-have-been-better-but-never-mind public relations (big smiles, family by his side, light coloured shirt no tie, freshly-conditioned, whispy hair). He will die a quick death in the media and the book will be in the Angus and Robertson discount bin inside 8 weeks.

On the flipside, if the polls stay true and Labor wins, the news won't get any better for Pete.

Howard would be in the garden tending to his weeds before any of us are even half way through our celebrations. No matter what is written about him, and there will be a great deal, he will feel that he was, and still is, the best thing to ever have happened to Australia.

Peter Costello will be installed as leader of the Opposition. For a fortnight. Well, this is a tad optimistic, let's say a month. Then the exact same scenario that I have described above will play out, except it will be messy, public and the words will be visceral and destructive. The Liberal party will explode like the most spectacular of supernovas and the only way they will have any chance of regaining government within the next 2-3 elections will be through Malcolm Turnbull. Eventually they will see this and install him as leader.

It will not be happy days for the Liberals and Mal will have his work cut out for him. If his party united behind him they may have a shot in 2013. By then, though, Australia will be in such a dire mess with energy stores and climate change effects they may not want to be leading. They may, in fact, throw elections to bide their time.


Any which way, there are at least two noteworthy positives. One is that Howard is gone inside twelve months. The second is that Peter Costello will never be prime minister of this country. Either of those things, or both, will not be as effective as a Berocca on the morning of the 25^th of November if things go south, but in time we will heal.

An open letter to Mr. Peter Garrett

Dear Mr. Garrett.

I’m not naïve, Peter; I understand contemporary politics requires the sacrifice of one's position on many issues. I understand that, for the greater good, you may need to be silent at times when you would really prefer to speak up. Most importantly, I understand that the Kevin07.com ALP will do anything to win government, even if this means being devoid of perspectives outside of the very conservative line you need to walk as a party.

But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

Thankfully – for the ALP – I fall into one of the marginal groups who don’t really add up at federal elections. I’m 33, childless, partnerless, mortgage-free and very small l liberal in my outlook. No political party outside of the Australian Greens cares for my opinion, and I certainly don’t want you, or the ALP, to pretend that you do. Not that there’s any risk of that happening; in fact, the federal member for Melbourne, the very brusque Lindsay Tanner, actually told me that I’m not in-line with what most Australians want. So I know very well what the ALP think of me and my kind.

C’est d’accord - I no longer care for the ALP, they lost me when they lost their voices. I do care about you, though, Peter, or more to the point about people like you who join the ALP with credentials and passion. In your case, I was excited when Latham brought you onboard. I knew you’d be somehow muzzled but I was convinced that with time you’d shine; that your worldly perspective would add an element of freshness, or – even more controversially – dissent, to the ALP.

But that just hasn’t happened. Which is not surprising, given there’s zero tolerance for alternate opinions in the ALP at the very moment and Rudd, the man who will do anything to head this wonderful nation of ours, keeps you all on a leash. While I’ve been saddened to see you sidelined it wasn’t until recently, when I read your interview with Crikey, that sadness turned to complete disillusionment. They had it right: where’s Peter?

If this interview wasn’t run past Rudd, and edited by either him or his communications director, I will butter my cap and eat it. 48 hours to reply to Crikey? Sounds about right for ALP turnaround, drafts and final inclusive. But perhaps worse than this, what if it was you that wrote this? I think that might be worse still. If this is the case it indicates that you’re actually further along the path of personality destruction than I imagined.

I loathe having to write this letter, Peter, because I expect that if you do actually read it, somewhere, deep down, it’s going to hurt that principled being we’ve all loved for so long. It hurts me, too, though because who wants to be critical of someone they’ve once admired? I just think you’re wasting time in the ALP and politics generally. You are onboard with Howard-lite, a man that has very clearly signalled a conservative agenda for this country in a time where we need real leaders and real, radical change.

I do suspect that you see a side to Rudd that inspires you, and that perhaps you really do believe in the man – it would be hard not to be caught up when you’re in the maelstrom leading towards an election. Unfortunately I just don’t believe that with all the deals Rudd is making – implied or otherwise – that he can recant and deliver a progressive agenda for this country.

We all know that if the ALP wins government they’re looking at eight years of stewardship. That must seem exciting to the ALP, but these next eight to ten years, at home and abroad, will be a period that will define us a species. We’re either going to win, and thrive, or we’re going to bury ourselves alive. I have no faith that Rudd can deliver the former and while I’m drinking desalinated sea water I will be awfully sorry to see you on the deck of the ship, mute and wasted.

I do wish you the best of luck later this year, Peter. I will continue to hope that you are able to effect change from within, or quit and do something more useful as a private citizen. Either will be just fine with me and the rest of Us.

Sincerely,

But it's something I can never do

Bush clearly paused after he stated that Musharraf can not simultaneously lead the country and military.

Is it possible that he has finally grasped irony?

If so, I'm nervous - once these machines become self aware that's when the really bad shit happens.

Under the influence of several elephants.

The great Twitter experiment lasted three days.  It would seem I'm just not cut out for today's ever-evolving set of web-based communications tools.

But then this from a person who has 93 odd unread messages—from people I care about—in his gmail.

Only onions and kids

One of the most beautiful things I've read in a long time.

Almost every night when everyone is asleep, I'll rearrange my son's train tracks. We have wooden tracks, the kind I wish I had when I was a kid. (The secret to buying kids trains is to not worry so much about the trains themselves, but get a good variety of tracks). I sit on the floor in the semi-darkness and try to come up with an interesting design because I know in a few hours my son will wander in dragging me by the hand and the first thing he'll do is study the new tracks before sitting down and playing trains for a while. He's never asked why the tracks are always different, it's just how things are in his world. It's little my way of telling the kid I love him. Sometimes, like this morning, I'll fall asleep on the couch while he's there playing and when I wake up I'll be covered in carefully placed cars and trains covering me from head to toe. I figure that's his way of saying he loves me back.

Thank-you, Raul.

A miss without a swing

I’m sitting directly opposite her, line of sight; the café is almost empty. She’s reading Wallpaper, in front of her sits a book about slow cooking. Two for two. I look up, she’s looking at me, our eyes lock for a second. I thought it was an engaging stare on my behalf, her face, though, said stalker. Still, she persisted, a couple more glances snuck here and there, an operation I too was carrying out from my side of the table.

But the café is closing. It’s time to go. I stand, I wait for an in – there are none. My only attempt to speak to her foiled by another damned patron who stood between us. And alas, it was over. Again. Yes, Her.

Walking away, looking through the window, our eyes meet again. The dance of hopelessness, headed absolutely nowhere. Proof of my distinct lack of ability to make these circumstances work confirmed without any doubt.

Topspin required

The Coalition are going to win government later this year. Today was the day I realised this horrible truth.

As I watched Howard, Costello and Hockey wave a leaked Australian union manifesto around in question time I realised they've finally worked out how they're going to win.

Labor: Truly terrifying, Dark Ages union domination + lack of experience at handling a sophisticated, complex economy ("they're just copying our ideas now") = Your financial ruin. Your children's financial ruin. Your grandchildren's financial ruin.

Coalition: Superior economic management ("they're our ideas, remember, and let's be frank, it's about business, Stupid") in uncertain times = Glory days forever, bitches.

The Australian Labor Party would do absolutely anything to win government, so it will be interesting to see what they come up with to counter this. However, Rudd's confidence won't be enough now that Johnny has worked himself up into a confident, excitable lather again.

Ultimately, I don't trust or care for the ALP anymore, but, boy, they've put forward some great stuff lately. It is an awful, awful shame that we won't see them in action. Hooking geo-thermal energy into the grid would have just been groundbreaking and precedent setting at a global level. I don't think anyone realises how big that could have been.

But, Australia, it's all about the money, right? Climate change is bullshit, oil is going to last forever, and, really, all that's important is that you can buy your twelfth DVD player (for the kennel), get fatter on bulk-buy GM pork mince and keep HIV positive, terrorist immigrants away. Awesome.

Whatever. You're buying your kids a front row ticket to the end of the civilized world. Don't think they won't spit on your grave after the show.

In ten pieces, please.

My second coffee had already arrived when she sat down beside me at the bar. I had already sensed her presence. She was alone, she was close and my peripheral vision told of great beauty.

I could feel her looking at me, at the book I was reading, as I too was glancing across from the very corner of my eye to see what she was reading. I sat there trying to concentrate as to how I could interject, speak to her, but nothing came.

Her coffee came and I now I could hear her. Her voice smiled along with her lips as she thanked John. A beautiful smile. She looked again as she had her opportunity to do so.

I continued to read, she pushed her book aside—a classic by the brief glimpse I had at the cover—and began to write in her worn Moleskine. She turned the book upside down – was she afraid I might see what it was? It did not matter to me by this stage – she was reading, she was beautiful, she was next to me and I was intoxicated by her.

As she wrote her body was turned towards me, making the writing impossible to read. Not that I would want to have entered her world uninvited anyway. I wanted to be asked there and I willed her to do so.

Her soup came and she ate. Her slender wrists broke bread and she ate her soup, elegantly but hungrily. The chilli that I too had enjoyed in the soup but half an hour before made her nose run. She blew her nose confidently. She looked again.

Through this I sat impassive. She did not know I had been sensing every move. That I had stopped reading long ago and was instead sitting still in the face of nervous energy, practically begging my mind for a solution to enter into conversation. To know her, to understand who this smiling, beautiful woman was.

I finished my book. I left. I returned home to realise that I had not paid for my lunch. On the way home I had lamented my inaction, and now I had to return. This was fate. This was it.

I returned to the busy bakery. She was there, on her phone. Gone to me. I paid. I left. I was defeated.

“What are you reading?”
“Tolstoy.”
“Are you enjoying it?”
“Yeah, I thought it was time I read some of his work. What are you reading?”
“Flights of Love.”
“Good?”
“Brilliant. I would recommend it. Journal or writing the next great Australian novel?”
“Journal. I was writing about the weather, how I was enjoying the new season. Do you write?”
“I do. Although, I’m not as good at bringing my Moleskine along as you are.”
“I forget, too.”
“I’m W.”
“I’m-

Easier than breathing.