How many university degrees in music would a fair dinkum Aussie battler need to be able to fathom the messy dance routine that goes under the description of present-day Aussie politics?
At the Commonwealth level, we were promised a whole newly choreographed routine, a new era in Federal-State politics and relations. Our Prime Minister, Hairpin Rudd, selected his dancing partner, Julia Killhard, from all of the pretty girls on the side benches of the house, and promised us that they would dance a dance that had never been danced before. Unfortunately, we, and I assume they, are still waiting for the band master to wave his baton and kick the music along. After all, it is not much fun dancing without music, and, for that matter, it is not much fun watching even a lovely young couple dancing without music.
Hairpin and Julia promised us faithfully that not only they would be dancing this wonderful new step, but so also would be all of the handsome couples from the States. It was to be a ball reminiscent of the balls of old such as the Euabalong Ball where everybody was a winner when they drew the lucky door tickets out of a fur-felt hat made from genuine Aussie rabbits that had migrated from the Old Dart and had done very well, indeed, in the new country.
The dashing young Commonwealth couple must be sorely disappointed as they flick their heads over their shoulders in a pseudo-tango pose, to see that there is none of the State samba exponents behind them, or anywhere else to be seen in the refurbished barn.
If only such a thing as a telegram boy still existed, he could take one of his telegrams to the Federal foxtrotters to inform them that there is a plague besetting the State stations, and that this is preventing the samba exponents from joining in the fun of the dance, to say nothing of a few swigs of bombo down behind the hall when the gala affair is over.
In New South Wales, the sociable and outgoing (well, certainly outgoing) leader of the lads, Morris Dilemma, publically declared in no uncertain terms that if the boys in the band were not going to play his style of music, then he certainly was not going to dance, and they could have their ball without him. Fortunately, young Nothing Rees put up his hand and offered to take the place of Morris on the dance floor, even though the State could not afford to even hire a nice suit for him to wear, since their credit rating was not all that secure. With a sweeping bow, he proposed that the house special, Caramel Tebbutt, might join him as his special partner. They would arrive late at the barn, but that would be better than not arriving at all.
Over in West Aussie, that great, rambling country lad of a State that tries its best to keep us all in tea and tucker, a most unruly fracas was going full pelt. No girls had shown any interest at all in going to the ball. As a consequence, all sorts of unseemly smooching started, in a sort of pig-in-the-middle love triangle. The Liberal leader, with not a liberal bone in his body, Colon Burnitt, started to woo the Nationals’ Bendon Gills. Overcome with jealousy, the Labor leader, with not a laboured bone in his body, Alan Chippy, took it upon himself to offer the poor, innocent Bendon Gills a much larger bouquet to wear if only he would go to the ball with him. Who knows with whom he will go to the ball or if he will deign to go to the ball at all?
Perhaps the ball will be drawn to a premature halt by Hairpin and Julia, because the band master has failed to achieve his performance indicators.
At the Commonwealth level, we were promised a whole newly choreographed routine, a new era in Federal-State politics and relations. Our Prime Minister, Hairpin Rudd, selected his dancing partner, Julia Killhard, from all of the pretty girls on the side benches of the house, and promised us that they would dance a dance that had never been danced before. Unfortunately, we, and I assume they, are still waiting for the band master to wave his baton and kick the music along. After all, it is not much fun dancing without music, and, for that matter, it is not much fun watching even a lovely young couple dancing without music.
Hairpin and Julia promised us faithfully that not only they would be dancing this wonderful new step, but so also would be all of the handsome couples from the States. It was to be a ball reminiscent of the balls of old such as the Euabalong Ball where everybody was a winner when they drew the lucky door tickets out of a fur-felt hat made from genuine Aussie rabbits that had migrated from the Old Dart and had done very well, indeed, in the new country.
The dashing young Commonwealth couple must be sorely disappointed as they flick their heads over their shoulders in a pseudo-tango pose, to see that there is none of the State samba exponents behind them, or anywhere else to be seen in the refurbished barn.
If only such a thing as a telegram boy still existed, he could take one of his telegrams to the Federal foxtrotters to inform them that there is a plague besetting the State stations, and that this is preventing the samba exponents from joining in the fun of the dance, to say nothing of a few swigs of bombo down behind the hall when the gala affair is over.
In New South Wales, the sociable and outgoing (well, certainly outgoing) leader of the lads, Morris Dilemma, publically declared in no uncertain terms that if the boys in the band were not going to play his style of music, then he certainly was not going to dance, and they could have their ball without him. Fortunately, young Nothing Rees put up his hand and offered to take the place of Morris on the dance floor, even though the State could not afford to even hire a nice suit for him to wear, since their credit rating was not all that secure. With a sweeping bow, he proposed that the house special, Caramel Tebbutt, might join him as his special partner. They would arrive late at the barn, but that would be better than not arriving at all.
Over in West Aussie, that great, rambling country lad of a State that tries its best to keep us all in tea and tucker, a most unruly fracas was going full pelt. No girls had shown any interest at all in going to the ball. As a consequence, all sorts of unseemly smooching started, in a sort of pig-in-the-middle love triangle. The Liberal leader, with not a liberal bone in his body, Colon Burnitt, started to woo the Nationals’ Bendon Gills. Overcome with jealousy, the Labor leader, with not a laboured bone in his body, Alan Chippy, took it upon himself to offer the poor, innocent Bendon Gills a much larger bouquet to wear if only he would go to the ball with him. Who knows with whom he will go to the ball or if he will deign to go to the ball at all?
Perhaps the ball will be drawn to a premature halt by Hairpin and Julia, because the band master has failed to achieve his performance indicators.
Battler
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