Day 4- Cuts, Boats & Celibacy

There is fallout this morning, from a man dressed only in a pair of dickstickers (in the colour of what Pantone have now patented as Abbott Rouge) who accosted the Opp leader in a mall yesterday afternoon. Apparently the man, one Conrad French, is a Labor staffer on leave, and thought he’d pop in to ask the Opposition if he liked the cut of his Speedos. Nothing political, nothing incendiary. Just one man reaching out to another, perhaps a man of low self esteem, looking to have his sartorial decision authorised by the nation’s most famous model of the smuggler. Something which could be seen as an outstretched arm across the political divide, a Labor man reaching out to his enemy and saying –to heck with politics- this shit is about something more- for I am a man, and you are a man, and we can be men only covering maybe 12 4%** of our bodies in bright stretchy man made fabric together. And for this, the Prime Minister is being asked to sack Mr French.

That’s the spirit! Any sign of colour, Abbott Rouge or Gillard Green (kinda wishy washy, looks like something else in better light), get rid of it! For this may well be the hidden campaign- the one the parties fighting it don’t actually want you to see. That explains the scheduling of the one and only debate - against the most popular TV program in the land, of the year. Worm or no worm, we’ll be watching one amateur cook battle another amateur cook for the right to be Channel 10’s bitch for one year and maybe launch their own range of colanders, thereby seeing the debate in sound bytes on the news, and the Monday news at that, close to 24 hours after the thing screens.

Isn’t this a little odd? If Rudd was at the helm, you might forgive his fear of a gaffe, or his folksy shtick wearing thin (“I remember, as a boy growing up in a place called Queensland, just a little north of here” *Make gesture with raised thumb, move swiftly toward opposite shoulder blade-smile-adjust glasses*). But Gillard is the best dead ball performer in the comp, the Xavi Alonso of the political free kick. Why wouldn’t she take the opportunity to crush Abbott, to do him slowly as another, braver Labor man once said. What’s she frightened of?

Later in the day we learn that the debate is shifted forward one hour, to 6:30 Sunday. Thou shalt not trifle with the scheduled broadcast time of the Masterchef finale. Thou shalt know thy place and work around it.

Abbott manages to quell WorkChoices talk by banging on about the big spending Gov, pledging to cut the cash on Community cabinents and bureacracy. Joe Hockey, alongside Abbott in Melbourne, attempts some zingers (the last Labor surplus was in 1989, when the Bangles ruled the charts… Wayne Swan is to surplus what Paris Hilton is to celibacy) Crappy one liners that get set upon like Joe in a room full of pies. Yum yum. At that presser Latika Burke asks Abbott if he thinks it is right to use a woman’s sexuality to make a political point. It could’ve been messy, but Abbott says something about colourful turns of phrase, of which Hockey is a master, and there’s nothing to see here. Hockey is stock still during this, probably imagining something. Paris or a pie? Too close to call.* The image reappears on Sky Bulletins and gets a run on the Agenda program, but the damage seems minimal. Certainly not the carnage of a man wearing Speedos, who is admonished by the PM later in the morning.

Gillard keeps the pack waiting at a school somewhere and manages to drone on for a bit about Trade certificates, then appears at the Casula Powerhouse at lunch to talk about how Western Sydney is the heart of her sustainable Australia pitch. Can we expect Western Sydney to take the brunt of the hundreds of thousands of people moving to the city? Can we tolerate a future where workers spend more time in traffic than at the dinner table with the kids? No! Are votes really really important out here? Yeah! And is this a horrible simplification of a challenge that should be grasped with spirit and vigour, not played safe? Hmmmm.

Abbott does an exciteable presser in Deakin with a choral accompaniment (and on three- ‘Shame!’) after lunch, going for Gillard’s throat (the most incompetent government in living memory….school uniforms… green preferences… carbon tax….stop the tax… stop the boats…ah….ah…ah). He’s there to spruik Phil Barresi, who lost his seat in 2007 but wants it back. He has, I think, the shiniest bald head sighted in the campaign so far. Buffed like a bowling ball. Amazing.

Then it got a little messy for Mr Abbott.


The SMH reported a stop off at a fruit shop in Deakin, apparently to check out some migration success stories, only to learn that the place where the photo op took place was owned and run by Hayden Tran, who arrived in 1986.... by boat. Oops.

As the night wore on the news was all about Courtney. Poor Courtney. Felled by a mystery box challenge written by the smirking, close to unlikeable Jimmy. Claire of course, she thought it was her turn. She wept. Indeed, she blubbered, and maybe she's as ashamed as Kevin was all those...days ago. But Claire prevailed and Courtney is gone. Gone.

Labor's Laurie Ferguson admits that the party is being 'squeezed on both sides' on boat people (you can substitute squeezed for another doing word if you wish), and the possible rising of interest rates lurks on the horizon, but it's not really the news tonight. Tonight it's about Masterchef and absurdity. A Donkey is parachuted in Russia, causing children to freak. A Current Affair's Ben Fordham is slammed in court. And most ridiculous of all is word that one Tony Abbott will be a guest judge on Hey Hey's Red Faces tomorrow night. Way to appear fresh big guy. We can only hope he does it in blackface.

*Yes, I think it’s ok to use a person’s weight to make a pointless point on a blog. Because I am shallow and thin. Suck it up.

**Thanks to DR DHD of Inner Melbourne, who gave a little too much thought to the math in this equation.

Original images via the SMH and Phil Barresi's official site.