The Scion, the Wheat, and the Cabinet – Chapter the Last

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TOM LEWIS writes:

Damned inconvenient. Cricket on. You’d think they could spice it up a bit by losing the third test just to get the odds up a bit and increase the take at the gate. Yes, a double, m’dear.

Now, where was I? Don’t really know since I died, but what was it I wanted to say to you lot? Oh yes, ran into Jack t’other day and he’s got a few tidbits of a yarn. Apparently that wheat thing’s over. No James, the massage is at 3, isn’t it?

Um, where was I? Ah yes. Well, old Jack tells me he’s got another yarn and I’m s’posed to see him next week to get the guts of it. Dunno, really. There’s a Chrissie party on and were having a memorial for Harold Holt over at the Chinese down the road at the Cheviot Beach Club so we mightn’t get a chance to get it all down before this bloody mob close down for Christmas. Journalists. I ask you. Always the same: never let a good news story get in the way of a holiday.

Anyway, here’s the last bit Jack gave me about the wheat thing. Happy Hogmanay and we’ll be back in the new year or so. Have to rush – the massage was at 2 after all.

Love to all and remember: vote Liberal. They may be a pack of incompetent bastards, but they’re our incompetent bastards. Mud in your eye.

 

 

The Chronicles of Nadir

As told from the grave by Tom Lewis

 

Tale the First

The Scion, the Wheat, and the Cabinet

Chapter The Last

The Final Report

As clouds of smoke billowed around the Teak Table and the bush firefighters were gaining Labor [sic] pre-selection in droves, other momentous portents were occurring in the land of Nadir. While the snow melted and the water rose, rats were leaving sinking ships like a drawn treader and faster than the increasing drought could reduce stock numbers (or even numbats). Little Lucy’s husband was making a concerted push on the water front and had made so many feel-good announcements that she was, victory over the Lady Jadis apart, clearly flushed with success.

Meanwhile, on this side of the Cabinet, Little Johnnie, in a public relations coup the like of which had not been seen since Mrs Petrov was dragged screaming from a Lermontov airliner in Darwin, the coalface had been closed down as a gesture towards appeasing the lunatic fringe on global warming.

AW Board had escaped by the skin of his teeth and had them firmly sunk into the double board shuffle somewhere in the Channel Islands while his erstwhile colleagues slowly committed suicide pending their respective committals.

With the Christmas hols rapidly approaching, the children had spent useful time relieving the tension of their adventures by installing themselves on their respective thrones in the park outside the Goulburn RSL. Although it had caused a bit of a stink at the time, as is the way of these things, like the coalface, time heals all wounds and things are easily forgotten if not always forgiven or vice versa.

Alexander had become both Queen of the Faeries and Foreign Minister as a fully-fledged member of the Inner Cabinet (price $482 plus GST – the modern equivalent of 20 pieces of silver, or, a pound of flesh as it was known in Treasury, the portfolio the now enthroned King Peter had been given and the only kingdom he was ever likely to rule). As a further diversionary tactic a former Jewish journalist, and Middle East expert, Rosie Rosie (always a red’s red) had been appointed as ambassador to the newly created territory of Palestine, a traditional historical homeland the size of Monaco which now sat on a floating island half a kilometer above the ancient land of Brobdignag.

Queen Amanda, for her part, had become, well, slightly larger than she formerly had been in life, and was given extra responsibility as a new Australian Territory in the Great Southern Ocean about 50º 25’ E, 28º 45’S where she was now inhabited by a colony of lesbian sea lions, all of whom had passed the recently introduced dictation test, knew all about mateship, Australian values, bbqing in cold climates, and turkey basting as well as having promised to vote Liberal for the rest of their natural lives. The turkey basting had initially seemed odd and could have been scuttled until it was explained to Jeanette, a well known animal liberationist (after all she had taken Little Johnnie away from his mum) that there were no actual turkeys involved just a long plastic tube and a thing that looked like the business end of a Klaxon horn on a model T Ford. Jeanette had always had a soft spot for the model T and from time to time had fantasies about Corder and a dickie seat. She often had fantasies about dickie seats but that still hadn’t stopped THAT WOMAN getting pre-selection for Southern Highlands.

For Little Lucy, being a Queen was little different to being a Little Lucy really. After all, once one was born to rule, one was born to rule (although there had been a tad of trouble about that combined with being a Roman Catholic in 1688). Still, time heals all wounds, even being thrown over at your fist popular election as Lord Mayor for a bedraggled chook the age of Methuselah with the brains of a herring (and personal hygiene to go with it).

Mr Patel, on the other hand had struck up a clandestine correspondence with Mr Lodhi. Both were planning a break-out known to the law as an appeal. The thin-lipped veinless Ruddock had his eye on them like a, well, not like a hawke, (he, after all, was from the other side) but more like a Caldwell (come to think of it, he was from the other side as well but, it was an old saying: two Wongs don’t make a white and there was no point in playing with a Lodhi weapon.) Of course, every cloud has a silver lining and at least Mr Patel knew he didn’t have osteoporosis – he could now see the bones in his wrists for himself.

So, as the fire gutters and sleep draws on, gathering the loose ends as any good children’s story does, we find the four at the end of their particular adventure, returned from the Land of Nadir, blessed by the Scion and happily ruling over a grateful populace seemingly forever. Yet, while this is a children’s’ story, we live in an adult world with the dangers of war not yet receded. Home by Christmas becomes yet another casualty of realpolitic if not of a terrible war. In fact, in the time it has taken in the telling of this tale, the dangers only increased. ‘Tis but the way of the world (and of tedious, crude, laboured, Christian allegories) that the struggle never ends.

Unbeknownst to them, the children, Little Johnnie, Jeanette, Corder and all their fellow travellers were about to face their greatest challenge since the days of the Communist Party Case.

From the North, suddenly, unannounced, except by himself, had come the threat of Prince Crispian now allied with the Wicked Witch of the South, an evil, fire-breathing, unmarried, childless, whining, grating, gyrating, combinationalist, red both in hair and craw, Jules of the Galliard, who was to Dowland and courtly Elizabethan dancing what the rulers of the Peoples’ Republic of China had been to Tiananmen square. Suddenly, crocodiles were developing Hawke eyes.

Like the endless ebb and flow of the big bang cycle, force against force was aligned and the ever to be repeated battle loomed. Once more unto the breach, the mettle of their pasture was again to be tested: this time it would not just be about wheat.

770 thoughts on “The Scion, the Wheat, and the Cabinet – Chapter the Last”

  2. Cozzie the Shi’tzu-Silky is eating tandoori chicken and the possums are eating plumbago flowers, nectarines and fresh carrots with apple sauce.

    Little furry beggars eat better than I do.

  7. Looks like I’m out-voted, by Tony Abbott. From the Oz:

    PM sorry for ‘holocaust’ gaffe

    2:51PM JARED OWENS
    TONY Abbott apologised to parliament for using the word “holocaust” in question time to describe defence industry job losses under Labor.

    Oh well, better to seek forgiveness etc.

  8. Interesting that your dog Jasper can calibrate to Daylight Saving, BK.

    When I was in my tourism career as SA’s Sydney Manager in the late 70s, I was provided with a house at Dee Why. I used to get up at 615am to leave home for the city by about 715am, usually by bus. That side, the northern beaches, was hopeless for road transport whether bus or car. Over time I worked out that as long as I left before 720am I’d get a good run into the city in <25 minutes. If I left any later, it was all peak hour cars and it would take at least an hour and a half. It meant I was at work well before 8am, but it sure did beat one and a half hours in a bus or driving.

    I got used to that work pattern, collecting and going through the mail, various administration tasks and reading the Adelaide Advertiser, all before other staff got there. In fact it made the day more orderly. I had a cat at home who had got used to this routine. As with most cats he was probably motivated by selfishness. He got a feed as soon as I got up, and liked that procedure.

    If I wasn't moving by 630am, he'd be in the bedroom yelling his head off. His yelling was so persistent that I'd interpret it as warning me I'd be late, and was much appreciated. He adapted to weekends (i.e. he knew I didn't have to get up early then) and to Daylight Saving. The only thing he didn't figure out was public holidays. But pretty impressive overall, and I always thought that he worried about me.

  10. Not a big fan of Wilkie’s but good on him and Greg Barns for doing that.

    I reckon Labor should take the recommended RC as a policy to the next election. No matter that they will cop heaps.

  11. Gorgeous Dunny,

    I always thought that he worried about me.

    You’re talking about a cat?

    While I hate to demolish your fond delusion, the only thing that cat ever worried about was himself.

    Remember: cats rule. Humans are staff (or, in abbott-speak, slaves).

  12. Gorgeous, West Side Story still awaits your next visit to Sydney. In big-screen Cinemascope, glorious Technicolor and 6-track stereophonic sound.

  13. I have had 30 cats in my lifetime.

    I had one that really did worry about me. He worried about me not feeding him.

  16. No, that’s not true. Tom was my mate. My best mate at times. It was the saddest day of my life when I had to say goodbye to him. He had lived seventeen happy years, and one week of being really sick.

    Tom was the sweetest cat I’d ever met. Cruisey, docile and loving. Except once when a girlfriend brought her budgie over for the weekend. Tom walked up innocently, just for a pat (he knew she hated cats), and then when he saw Henry the Budgie there in his cage Tom’s eyes narrowed, his mouth went into an Abbott-like twitching fit as instinct kicked in and he started crawling towards the cage like a cheetah on the Serengeti.

    I was shocked. I’d never seen him like that before. Tom even tried to make friends with a possum with disastrous results (two teeth lost). Whenever he heard my voice, even from afar, he used to start caterwauling. Then he’d mosey up to me wherever I was, curling his tail saying “G’day Pop!” and start purring.

    Tom stuck to me through thick and thin, good times and bad. He shared the glittering prizes and the impecuniosities with equal aplomb. He welcomed strangers, befriended kittens and slept on the pillow next to me.

    He was the greatest cat that ever lived.

  17. Yes, you may be right, Fona.

    But if he was in charge he was a pretty understanding boss. He never troubled me to get up early on a Saturday or Sunday morning, not even for a feed, which was usually foremost on his mind.

  19. What business does the Chief Plod have to do authorising or approving the release of evidence which, if it had not been for Parliamentary privilege, would have been in contempt of Court?

  24. The writer of “Hiding” was quite interesting about the development of the program… (starting about 5m20s).
    I did have family in witness protection at one point, and yes they did do some things that they were told not to do. Fortunately it was not quite as fraught as the premise of this, but it was an interesting time in their lives, but some of the outcomes have been less than ideal *sighs*

  26. PuffyPMD, well if you recall our esteemed leader Mr Abbott, when in Canberra, apparently lodges at the Australian Federal Police barracks/training school? Instead of at the swish pad the Public Service rented at some expense for the incoming PM because The Lodge was being renovated.

  28. Baird’s Knightmare ‏@SpaceKidette · 2m2 minutes ago
    The Rolling Omnishambles continues. #Abbottoclypse #nswvotes

    WTF does *that* mean?

  31. Ducky,

    I don’t care whose magic it was. I just hope both gentlemen (plus their families) get the hell out of Egypt pdq.

  33. All the NatGeo Wild channel on Fox shows is animals eating each other, eating humans or animals/birds/insect males fighting over females, Not a word on habitat destruction, global warming, mass extinctions, illegal fur/body parts/ivory/captive animals/canned hunting/illegal fishing/whaling/overfishing the seas/pollution or logging of wild habitiat/mining or development of Amazon/fracking/drying up of waterways.

  34. Fiona, now I shall have the mental image of slight wisps of steam emitting from a certain person’s careful comb-over every time I see their blue tie.

    Thank you! I think … 😉

  38. BB,

    The Rolling Omnishambles is Tony Abbott. He just rolls on stuffing up in every single way, whilst Baird clutches his poor dear heart in absolute fear of the damage Abbott creates.

    I have predicted that Abbott will be rolling omnishambles until the 29th March, when the LNP will declare their next libspill!

  42. Fiona, BB,

    I knew Abbott would be under a degree of pressure after the attempted spill but never in my wildest dreams did I hope he would self-implode so gloriously! lol

  43. Spacey,

    We ain’t seen nuttin’ yet!

    More seriously, I hope nobody gets hurt.

    The potential is there, unfortunately.

  47. I don’t suppose he’ll be hoist by his own Peta; more by its absence.

    Then again, one never knows, do one?

  49. I knew Abbott would be under a degree of pressure after the attempted spill but never in my wildest dreams did I hope he would self-implode so gloriously! lol

    Worthy of a Downfall parody.

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