If you’re wondering what happened to last week’s newsletter, there is no nefarious explanation. I was in the country for more than four days, and didn’t have much opportunity to look at the website or my emails. I did, however, notice that the Herald had managed to sit on another Saturday column, so the only thing I was able to post was a review of the film, The Good Boss. I decided, for the first time in years, to give myself a holiday from the newsletter. But thanks to those people who emailed, asking if everything was OK.
I did have one major crisis in the bush, when I allowed the GPS to direct me down a country road that gradually became rougher and bumpier, then suddenly turned into a bog. I used to think, “How could anyone be so dumb as to let the GPS take them down a goat track somewhere…” Well, now I know. I’ll never trust that woman with the plummy voice again.
While I was planning my next move I was quickly helped out by a farmer who’d seen me drive by, and knew what would happen. Then, while we we were discussing the best way of attaching a to rope to the car, three motorcyclist musketeers appeared on the horizon. In a flash, these three mature bikies from Nowra had got down into the mud and attached the rope. “It’s just part of the adventure,” they said, when I offered to pay the cleaning bills. Then, inevitably, they rode off into the sunset. That left me the happy task of reversing about a kilometre down a bumpy country road and across a small bridge. I suppose it was all part of the adventure.
Had I stayed in Sydney and written about politics, it would have been a depressing tale, given the masterly ability to stuff things up that Albo showed in the first week. While it’s hardly surprising the dreary bugger should put in a lacklustre performance, it’s amazing that he was caught out on a few basic points that should have been committed to memory. It’s like going into the most important job interview of your life and not bothering to prepare.
What’s even more distressing is that anybody should consider voting for Scummo, given his track record over the past three years. Bushfires, floods, vaccines, aged care, ‘womens issues’, dog whistles, China bungles, rorts, and more rorts… there’s no end to it. Now that he’s come down with COVID, Albo should just shut up and stay home in front of the tele for the next month. If he allows Scummo to campaign all by himself he’s bound to commit one blunder after another. By now it’s a habit. We take his incompetence, lies and slurs for granted, but when Albo fluffs his stats the Murdoch media turns it into a week of headlines.
Even as I write, Our Leader has just told Australians that he and Jenny were “blessed” not to have any autistic children – unlike those poor hapless parents who are made to jump through hoops for government assistance. Presumably he sees them as “cursed”, possibly by his good friend, Jesus. Although I’m personally convinced that Jesus gave up on him a long time ago.
Meanwhile, the Katherine Deves saga roles on in Warringah, where Scummo’s “Captain’s pick” has turned out to be a prize bigot who does a nice line in showing revulsion for all things gay or trans. If Australia’s newest Human Headline had only stuck to the issue of women’s sport, it wouldn’t have been such a catastrophe because it’s an open question as to whether trans athletes should be allowed to compete as women when they hold all the biological aces. This is a valid issue. To call people Nazis and pedophiles is psycho.
If Scummo keeps expressing his support it’s not for the sake of voters in Warringah, who have already turned off, it’s for the bigots in all the other seats that he hopes to attract. They’re essentially the people who believe Clive Palmer is going to give them their “freedoms” back, or those who think Scummo’s “doing a pretty good job” – because he keeps telling them so!
There’s so much inflammatory material around Scummo that it should be roaring like a bushfire, but by the time election day rolls around Albo will still be searching for his matches.
This week I’ve returned to the Sydney Biennale for a more measured assessment. A few things lost their edge for me, but the show still had an impressive consistency.
The film column looks at The Northman, a rip-roaring Viking saga, with enough blood and guts to satisfy the most demanding sadist. For all that, it’s a pretty good movie, packed with more Scandinavian mythology than an entire swathe of Mighty Thor pictures. I hope Albo gets to see it, as he could use a few tips in how to wield a broadsword.