Chiming for Abbott

I've gone a tad Martha Stewart lately.  No, I've not served time in gaol, but I have been getting very domesticated.  Believe it or not, I am something of a homebody by nature, but I have had little time to indulge myself in this regard of late.  Anyway, I hung wind chimes out the front, only to have my eleven-year-old complain this morning about 'those goddamn wind chimes' having kept him awake all night.  They are now out the back, and hopefully the Feng Shui of my horrific back patio will be improved outta sight.  Today I hung a print of that photograph by Robert Doisneau - you know - the black and white of a couple kissing in what looks like an outdoor café in Paris, in 1950.  I have always liked that photograph, and it looks pretty good on what up to a few hours ago had been a bare expanse of wall in my living room.  The bloke in that picture looks to be a bit of a babe, it must be said.  Anyway, I'm enjoying my little redecorating jag.  I really want to install a splashback in the kitchen and gyprock a few rooms, but that might have to wait.  You know, money and all that...

So there appears to be some insinuation that the relationship between former PM Tony Abbott and his chief of staff Peta Credlin was a bit more on the carnal side.  You know something? WHO FUCKING CARES!!! I do not really believe they did the Wild Thang, and more to the point: I don't fucking CARE!!! Many workplace relationships do develop into something physical, and why should the PM be immune?  Hey, I'm not saying it's ideal because he's married, but it's not something that's beyond the realms of possibility, and it's also something that's not actually illegal given he and Ms Credlin are adults.  What would give me the cranks if the Smirking Wingnut was actually porking his chief of staff is that he has always presented as a religious family man.  Paging Dr Hypocrite!

It annoys me that because a woman is in a powerful role, there is the intimation that she achieved that role on her back, or her knees.  Peta Credlin always looks more to me like she's been sucking a lemon, not the boss's dick. 

I do not want to imagine Tony Abbott and Peta Credlin in sexual congress; the thought makes my labia pucker horribly.  I have a vision of Tony yelling and shouting in the throes of ecstasy: 'Oh God, I stopped the boats!  I stopped the boats!  I STOPPED THE BOOOAAAAAATS!!'

Yeah.