Today’s Guest Poster is Puffy The Magic Dragon. Thank you, Puffy, for sharing – and please don’t hesitate to let us know sometime what you really think of Our Dear Leader . . .
(Image Credit: SBS)
The birds were chirping, the Adelaide sky was a lovely blue with fluffy white clouds floating, a cool breeze chasing away the heat, the next door’s dog was engaged in the usual slanging match with one of my terriers. It was a glorious Sunday morn that greeted my wakening. A sense of unease tugged at my lazy morning comfort. I had the feeling that there was a blemish on the face of the beauty but I could not quite pinpoint it. Did I have a bad dream; were its tendrils displacing my comfort and lassitude?
I am a slow waker. The warmth of sleep and the weight of terriers delay my rising; I rarely leave that cocoon without a twinge of regret. It is very primal, finding a secure and comforting sleeping place, where cold, wet and danger are at bay. I love the sound of heavy rain on a corrugated iron roof while I wriggle further down under the covers, and throw their warmth over my dogs as well.
Then it hit me, that thing, that crawling up the spine feeling of acute embarrassment, much like remembering that you blundered at the vegan dinner by asking if the fantastic roast spuds were cooked in duck fat.
In Lock Down Brisbane there was a knees-up for all the world leaders. The populace displayed great courtesy and grace by deserting the city for the weekend. Restaurants were empty. The brothels worried that the visitors would not make up for the regulars who would stay away. The roads were like a scene from a post-apocalyptic film set. I expected at any time to see a Mad Max rage across the empty roadways. The protesters were polite, refusing to start a riot for our media (won’t someone think of the headlines!) with a few token arrests of people for refusing to give their names to a police officer without being suspected of a crime, or some such right that we have had since the Magna Carta or some such. The police overtime was fantastic, just in time for Christmas spending.
OH CRIPES. Now I remember. Oh dear, oh my, oh NOOOOOOOO! This chance to bring twenty of the world’s leaders to our beautiful country, to showcase our innovation, our commitment to justice, our fair dinkum-ness, our willingness to lead in the face of overwhelming odds in areas of global significance just because it is right and needed, this chance of the decades, was torpedoed. It was blown out of the water by an egotistical, petty, small-minded, weak-willed, inept fool.
This man, who styles himself as a Man’s Man while the Women of Australia Do Their Ironing, The Abominable Shirtfronter, this Theon Greyjoy of Australian politics, whinged, in a stirring reminder of the epithet applied to unwary English migrants of the post WW2 who expressed their separation anxieties through complaining of the shortcomings of their new antipodean home. Jokes about jet engines come to mind. He whinged that the true blues of the Great Southern Land would not accept his ideas of a discredited economic theory. The colonials object to the dismantling of Medicare and university education fee increases that would impoverish a generation.
He boasted, as a school bully boasts about blocking up the school toilets, to the world leaders wondering how to avert a millennium climate disaster, that he dismantled Australia’s earth-saving carbon pollution reduction scheme, and replaced it with a free and unaccountable handout to our biggest polluters, all funded through whatever taxes are left after his expenses for various weddings, bike rides and office fit-outs are paid.
This little man, Tiny Abbott, who prevents people from attending the funerals of their friends, belittled our guests. These very important people, the most powerful in the world to ever visit Australia together, were guests in our country, but Tiny likes to pick leaners and lifters, likers and losers. Like a bad host he made sure some were seated below the salt, visibly so, when an experienced diplomat or dignified wedding planner would have ensured salt cellars at every setting.
How clever to demonstrate to the world that petty vindictiveness and infantile scheming are the heights of one’s skills, and the shallowness of one’s character.
Tony Abbott is a man who believes he is the Imperial Governor of Australia, the man sent to teach the colonials how to live, to put away their grandiose ideas of a peaceful, fair and progressive land that attends to its inequalities and recognises their First Peoples, and strives for something better than all the countries that its immigrants left behind in sadness and hope.
I remembered what was spoiling my pleasant Adelaide morning: that boil under the Australian armpit, Tony Abbott, the Prime Miniature of Australia.
But then, I remembered. Nothing is forever.
(Image Credit: Getty Images)