Abbott went to Gallipoli and in a fine speech praised the Turks for ‘stopping the boats’ at the Dardanelles and urged the EU to do likewise in the Mediterranean. ‘Those ingrates fleeing DAISH-style mass murderers in Africa,’ he said, licking his lips, ‘should be sent back there, to take their medicine.’ Julie Bishop, in Paris, called these comments ‘moronic’ and promised ‘better speeches under my administration.’ Adoring survivors of the Charlie Hebdo slaughter hailed her as the ‘chained duck’ of South Pacific policy and looked frankly down her dress.
Abbott went on to praise the boat people, or ANZACs as he called them, for ‘proving themselves’ and ‘showing fine character qualities’ in the minutes before their several massacres in the worst-planned military campaign since that of Richard the Lion Heart versus Saladin, the Attaturk of his day. ‘Though they died in vain,’ he said, ‘and set in train the deaths in subsequent battles, flu epidemics, air raids and gas chambers of two hundred million more, they showed fine character qualities they did not, alas, bring home with them, owing to their frequent slaughter in ill-judged battles we are here to celebrate as triumphs of the human spirit. Let’s hear it for the boat people of April 1915!’
Prince Charles in a beautiful voice resembling that of Jeremy Irons then read a letter suggesting the whole thing might have been a ‘military error’ and Abbott looked at him astonished. ‘If you think you’ll get a knighthood after that, son,’ he whispered, ‘you’re mistaken.’
Nepal fell in; and then, in aftershocks, fell in again. Everest avalanches buried, or may have buried, some Australians on the lower slopes. Abbott, jet-lagged, rapidly thought he might send in an army to undermine that iconic mountain, find corpses and ‘bring them home’ and give them all state funerals at a cost of billions then call a snap election before the Budget failed in mid-May but was rapidly dissuaded by Credlin, who brewed his special tea and spoke to him sternly but kindly. Millions, he was told, not billions. He sent in five million, enough to buy Turnbull’s back yard, and fell into a swither of jet lag and road rage and number counting on the way home.
He was having a hard weekend. It worsened when he heard that two Australians would be shot on Tuesday and Widido was adamant about this and still not accepting his calls and Bishop and Turnbull were plotting against him and Hockey, a closet Armenian, proposing to bag the Turks for exterminating his ancestors the day before Gallipoli after he, Abbott, had lavishly praised them for murdering Australians when they landed, heroically, on the wrong beach and failed to pull out immediately though Winston Churchill begged them to, and so died in their thousands needlessly. He told Joe ‘Don’t mention Armenia’, and Joe cancelled his address, aggrieving his relatives, and began to plot against him also.
He was having a hard weekend. Some regulars on Insiders praised Shorten for announcing, prematurely, good, costed policies and bagged Joe for asserting that negative gearing was ‘keeping house prices down’, though they went up by a record amount on Anzac Day, and the day after. ‘Bad policies lose votes,’ Cassidy said grimly and the nation believed him. ‘And this fool government has no other kind.’
An Adelaide doctor proved to have flown to Syria to tend the sick and the wounded of ISIS undetected by our new friends the Iranian spies a mere month ago and Abbott asked Angus if we should shoot him or not. ‘Shooting an Australian doctor while pleading Australian drug dealers not be shot?’ Angus pondered. ‘Not your best idea thus far, Prime Minister.’
And so it went.