Wednesday, 16 April 2014

It Takes Bottle To Be Premier

Oh what a gift this government - at levels both State and Federal - is to writers, notwithstanding the miserable curse it is to everybody else.  I have been watching the events of the past thirty-six or so hours unfolding with the bug-eyed, drooling avidity of an eighteen-year-old geek at his first strip show.  Barry has resigned.  According to many, he did 'the honourable thing'.  Methinks 'the honourable thing' is a coy euphemism for jumping before one is pushed.  And it started with a $3,000 bottle of Grange Hermitage.  And ended when O'Farrell told some untruths to ICAC.  I don't care if a pollie gets gifts and incentives, just declare it.  A $3,000 bottle of plonk is a pretty considerable gift to 'forget'.  The concept of a bottle of plonk costing that much just leaves me scratching my head, like some of the lice-infested bare-foot ferals I occasionally see around town.  What on earth makes it worth that much, when it is, after all, merely liquefied, fermented, rotten fruit?  But people do get precious about their wines.  I remember a barrister I knew practically breaking down in tears as he retold the events of the previous weekend when he had gone away and his 17yo stepson had had an illicit party and turned a $2,000 bottle of Grange Hermitage into sangria. Big  Bazza got caught out when a piece of evidence was produced, of the HAND-WRITTEN NOTE he had forwarded to the lobbyist Nick Di Giralamo, thanking him for this exorbitantly priced bottle of booze.  But his mother would have been proud of him for remembering to write a thank you note.  These guys try to look noble in the vein of 'The Truth Will Set You Free', but their personal dictum seems to be, 'The truth will set you free, but if it looks like it won't, then lie like fuck!'  I'm not sure if I'm after any favours from our government representatives around here, but they will not be getting a bottle of Grange Hermitage from me.  I might go and buy a cask of Fruity Lexia, and see how that goes down.  Regardless of how it goes down, it will undoubtedly come right back up via a violent spasm of the alimentary canal.


And now that you've resigned, Barry, can you convince Campbell Newman in Queensland and that dunderhead in Western Australia to go out in sympathy with you?


And God forbid anybody ask ol' Big Ears about it.  Should have seen him speaking to the press yesterday, with his entourage all nodding around him.  Seriously, these goons must think they're looking sage and supportive of their leader, but all I can think of is those nodding dogs people used to put in the back of their cars that looked out the back window, and just, well, nodded.  A female journalist asked him about O'Farrell, and challenged O'Farrell's integrity, and didn't his face just go from patented smirk to 'Oh, God, there's aluminium foil on my fillings!' in nano-seconds!  He just stood there snapping 'Madam!' this and 'Madam!' that, trying hard to keep that lid on the anger that threatened to boil over.


Incoming Premier Mike Baird, kindly don't fuck up the gig, okay?


Well, I'm off to play with my new iPod.  I used it today whilst vacuuming a pensioner's house.  I thought I wasn't going to get a chance to because she kept showing my old photos.  I like old photos, and it would have been rude to shove the buds into my ears in front  of her.  But eventually I got to have a listen to the songs I've downloaded, and as I pushed the cleaner around listening to Ian Hunter, and the Angels, and AC/DC, all I could think was, 'Fuck, I've got great taste in music!'

No comments:

Post a Comment