Friday, May 11
Strange to see how quickly it all shakes down into blithering debacle for the Coalition, and how good Malcolm Turnbull now looks in retrospect.
They have lost all chance of a No Confidence-led parliamentary coup now Katter (as I alone predicted) has opted for eighteen more months of his parliamentary wage and time to build his party and both Slipper and Thomson prove not to be sexual beasts and corrupt finaglers but sad, sombre, harmless human beings, and Abbott, in his reply, a fucking fool (goodbye, old friend, adieu; when it ends with friends it ends), by asserting his family man’s credentials and yelling Class War and Moral Stench and urging Labor to do away with Gillard when her achievements have at last reached critical mass. He seems not to know his arse from his elbow and his considerable Jesuitical debating skills have gone a-glimmering as his own dark past as a student groper came breathing heavily and leering behind him in the mirror.
He has a few weeks as Leader, and he is finished. It is he who chose Class War by saying the lower orders would steal their children’s money, and he who voted against them getting, in some cases, two thousand four hundred dollars a year for two kids in high school and two in primary and thus lost a million voters he had on Monday, or perhaps a million and a half. It was he who said he would find, somehow, fifty billion in cuts when he knew, or should have known, and must have been told by Robb or Hockey that this would cost four hundred thousand people their jobs and one and a half million pendant children, aunts and mothers-in-law their hope, life plans, addresses, self-esteem and and peace of mind.
And then came Kroger and what he told Jon Faine. Amongst what he told him was that the Liberals’ preferred Leader, a devoutly esteemed Federal Treasurer for eleven years, thought Abbott, who once took out his wife, was an ‘economic illiterate’; and this on the day after it was revealed he was once up on a charge of, what, inappropriate touching, rather worse than what Slipper was charged with, and righteously suspended for. Page 68 now awaits him, whenever Albo, Gillard or Carr or Crikey chooses to spring it; and he will soon look as cornered as Thomson, as pathetic, sad, abashed and fucked overand pleading in the dock.
Twenty-four hours is a long time in politics, and I ask Fran, Michele, Steve, Laurie, Piers, Andrew and Barrie, who have thought Labor to be on the mat unconscious and being counted out, to apologise in these columns for being so shallow and silly.
And to realise that Murdoch’s fate and the Liberals’ fate were closely connected; and neither will prevail.