Government? Who needs it?

So, Australia hasn’t had a proper government for around three years. The Abbott experiment was a mad scrum of throwback ideas, awkward doorstops and daily outrage followed by months of inaction.

The start of the Turnbull experiment was a melee of ideas, broad smiles and a collective sigh of relief that we finally had a prime minister who spoke in complete sentences and didn’t walk like Donald Duck.

But as it turned out, a prime minister who spoke in complete sentences was too much to hope for too. Fasttrack to a year later and we still have a prime minister who speaks in three word slogans and looks like a ghost of his former self but with a manic grin on his face. Meanwhile Prime Minister meekly submits to the schoolyard bullies and nothing gets done; nobody is obviously in charge and the government limps on. At least I think it does – no-one is paying attention.

But it’s got me thinking. Do we need government at all? Maybe we are a self-governing society. People are still going to cafes, going to the beach, going to work and getting paid. They are still getting married, going to the doctor, going to school and catching up with friends. They are going on diets, they are exercising, they are planning holidays and continuing to ignore politics. Life is going on as normal.

In Belgium a few years ago a hung parliament meant that a caretaker government with very limited powers was put in charge for nearly 18 months. And exactly the same thing happened. Life went on! Who knows, maybe it was better with fewer politicians. I do realise Australia has a majority government, but in a way it is similar to a hung parliament – we have a gridlocked agenda and a parliament not able to make decisions.

So, here’s my solution – a plebiscite question as follows: Does Australia need a government? Yes/No.

And … make the result binding, please.

 

 

 

Advertisements

Jobs for Pollies

The politicians of Australia are not doing a very good job. If they were, things in the 45th parliament would get done. But it’s not the pollies fault. Many of them are in the wrong job and should be in an entirely different profession altogether. Like these:

Malcolm Turnbull – with his posho voice, old-man handsomeness, tailored suits and didactic hand gestures, he is like the headmaster at an exclusive boys school on the last day of third term delivering his address. By then students are long past caring. Occasionally he may raise some good points but no-one’s listening.

Bill Shorten – is hard to get an occupational handle on, but Operations & Logistics Manager for Woolworths seems like a reasonable fit. He gets to be the nerve centre of Woolies, but in a behind-the-scenes kind of way. It’s a respectable job that pays well but he gets to deal with truckies and, if he’s nice to them, they sometimes let him drive the truck.

Richard di Natale – Richard loves the countryside, otherwise he wouldn’t be a Green. He’s got acreage, runs livestock and makes his own pizza. I’m thinking cheesemaker. He’d look great in a white coat and, being a doctor, can handle the cheesemaking chemistry. Let’s let him loose with a Wattleseed Gloucester, a Kumquat Colby and Red Gum Honey Runny and he could be the best cheesemaker in the land.

Tanya Plibersek – hands-down vet and a damn good one too. With her short blonde hair that won’t get in the way of angry animals, calm yet slightly worried face your pets are in safe hands. Whack on a white coat and she could have her own TV show.

Julie Bishop – it’s hard to get a handle on what the Deputy Prime Minister and Foreign Affairs Minister is suited to. She looks immaculate, toes the party line, is hardworking and will never be Prime Minister. But there not much personality going on so we’ll stick with the superficial. A brand manager for a high-end make-up company, say L’Oreal, is more her calling.

Let’s break for a minute and chuck in Annabel Crabb who clearly wants to be a pollie’s granny bearing baked goods and wearing weird vintage. Now back to Canberra ….

Penny Wong – another pollie who can rock a white coat AND a suit. She’s private, detailed, boring and good with a precision hit in the senate. She’d make a fine forensic detective. She could have a great future ahead of her.

Barnaby – just be Barnaby. Nuff said. He’s already doing it – Tamworth farmer. Dog lover, actor-hater – Barnaby, stick to what you’re good at.

Christopher Pyne – The Fixer has escaped from the toy box and needs to return! He’s like a jack-in-the box – just when you think he must have run out of batteries, up he pops with his manic smile and recorded message.

Christopher Pyne and Albo – together it’s different. They are like the two old men from The Muppets who sit in the stalls throwing commentary and digging at each other but secretly can never be parted.

Albo without Christopher Pyne is another escapee from the toy box. But he’s the cuddly teddy one, dressed in a miniature footy jersey.

Tony Abbott – is like that mildly pervy guy who is employed by the gym doing no-one knows what and roams around selling big tubs of protein and maybe a rogue steroid or three. Either that or he could be an onion farmer.

Peta Credlin – not strictly an elected official, but someone forgot to tell her. Clearly she is an Amazon, something out of Game of Thrones, riding through the forest, claws at the fore, ready to pounce.

KRudd – with his ever so perfect hair, perfectly round face, bleak eyes and pretend folksiness, he’s like a parson. A parson in a well-heeled suburb in a nice parsonage, that is. Either that or he is Mr Sheen. Or a dentist.

Nick Xenophon –  St Nicholas of Adelaide, the patron saint of Whyalla has the whiff of an enigmatic Greek orthodox priest. He lives a simple life, wears black, lives alone and has a past (but no-one knows what it is) and is champion of the underdog. Amen to that.

Pauline Hanson – Jill of all trades, this one-time fish and chips shop owner, turned pollie/jailbird/reality TV star is in a career rut. What to do? She can’t go back to the fish and chips biz, her shop is now run by Vietnamese immigrants. Perhaps life art model – she would get the attention she craves and she doesn’t get to speak. As for her fanbase of older white men – they’d love it.

Has Sydney lost the plot?

Yes. It. Has.

Sydney’s a bit of alright for a weekend fling or as a place to show off to overseas visitors, but basically Sydney is not a place in which to live an actual life.

Here’s why Sydney ain’t working so well anymore:

It’s too tribal – east, west, north, south are all separate kingdoms and never mix.

It’s too expensive – a meal out is the same as a small Pacific Island’s GDP without the smiles. Also finding a park for said overpriced meal will involve yet another mortgage.

People aren’t that nice here – but in fairness no-one who spends at least two hours a day commuting to their boring job is going to act all that nice.   

Speaking of which …. the city is now an apartment ghetto, with none of the requisite schools, transport, roads, infrastructure. No planning. Zilch. How very Sydney.

It has no arts soul. Unlike Melbourne, it is a follower not a leader in the hipster movement, it slavishly follows overseas trends. It hasn’t had an original idea in its life.

It’s good looking but that’s not enough anymore. No conversation, no soul, no originality, no purpose. As a place to visit, there’s no better. I really believe that but living in Sydney has lost its gloss.

Restaurants hardly provide soft furnishings

Every time I go to a restaurant I feel myself becoming more and more like an old person yelling. Restaurants are now louder than Clive Palmer’s ties (and that’s a Julie’s Rant Fact).

Gone are all the stuff that makes you feel at home: carpet, curtains, wallpaper, comfy chairs, paintings and a working toilet. Instead there are concrete floors and walls, aluminium benches and tables, mismatched cutlery and the occasional potplant about 20 metres up a wall (I mean who is going to water that? Hagrid?).

But still I go out, as it beats cooking. And come back with a cricked neck from leaning forward to hearing what gem of wisdom my dining companion has to say (usually complaints about the noise) and from shouting my order at the waitperson. It goes like this:

Me: I’d like the pork and a salad

Waitperson: You need another fork and a side of lard?

This was an actual conversation apart from the bit I made up.

I don’t know who started this minimalist trend. Did it start in a zen garden (no, zen gardens are quiet!). Or did it start by some evil superchefs who wanted to punish people for not pronouncing jus? Yes! Or did it come from restaurants wanting to save on carpet cleaning costs? Yes!

I think we should only go to eating establishments with carpet, curtains and tablecloths and matching crockery. Oh hang on, that’d mean eating at home.

 

 

 

 

Economising on air travel chokes me up

Air travel is not what it used to be. These days it is pretty much just like a Greyhound bus, only not as classy. The food is from a place where the sun don’t shine, the seats feel like they are made from steel and rock and even the space waitresses, sorry flight attendants, aren’t supermodels any more. At least the entertainment is good. My very own movie! But wait, you have to pay for it separately.

It does my head in: queues, security checks and glazed attendants with highfalutin titles, like Customer Satisfaction Consultant. Which is especially ironic, given you have to DIY everything, including weigh your own bag and put on your tag and wish yourself a pleasant flight.

The whole experience has become commoditised, a kind of dog eats dog, the dollar is king, mentality. It is amazing there aren’t more deaths in custody, sorry, mid-flight, the way people are squeezed in like sardines in the back of a truck.

If you want to avoid most of the above, then you have to pay a motza just to be treated humanely (ie not sit in economy).

I don’t know who to blame. Is it the airlines who saw an opportunity for a quick buck via cost cutting down to the last sheet of toilet paper? Is it shareholders wanting a profit (to fund their overseas travel aspirations)? Is it the government for failing to regulate on some pretty basic human rights? Or is it us? Have we, just by scratching around for the cheapest route possible, made all the airlines sink to the lowest common denominator?

They say we get the government we deserve, and I reckon that’s true (a whole other blog for another time). I think we have the the air travel we deserve too, but I also think the airlines have been all too quick to oblige.

Desperately seeking a good groin shot

Thought that would get your attention!

The Oz Open is desperately seeking a new national hero. Sam Stosur has sulked out of the picture and the press never really had a handle on her anyway. The only label they could put on her was Little Aussie Battler, and that only sounds ok when she wins. Which is not much.

Tomic is the next hope but because Pat Rafter isn’t friends with him anymore means he’s lost the heart of any woman over 30 (hey, we are a HUGE demographic and very important.)

But now there is another young gun, James Duckworth. He didn’t actually win, but it doesn’t seem to matter because, as they say in the classics and on Margaret Court Arena, he was all heart. He looks like Ley Ley, only taller and better looking. His parents aren’t maniacs and he smears zinc over his lips and he seems more surfie and pro tennis. He belongs to us. Seven are running shots of Duckworth in an ice bath, warming up, an armpit shot and a groin shot. He’s not even in the top 100 yet but that hasn’t stopped Channel 7.

Ok it is a shame he didn’t actually win, but there is nothing like a post match ice bath for a good groin shot.

And that is what it is really all about.

And another thing about flying pigs

And while we’re at it, (see previous rant) Qantas’s logo “You’re the reason we fly” is very annoying. And a big fat Alan Joyce-flavoured lie.

So that’s why they left thousands of people stranded last year. Ok, the year before last now, but still in recent memory!

That’s why they disrupted thousands of people’s plans and caused people to miss weddings, funerals and pajama parties. Not very customer-focussed Alan Joyce!

If Qantas tells any more porkies like that its nose will be so long it won’t be able to get lift-off. I would much prefer some truth in advertising. Something along the lines of “We are a once-great airline now turned into a notch below Ryanair and we want to scrape together an executive bonus at the expense of staff, customers and anyone who is not called Alan Joyce . That is the reason we fly.”

And that is the reason I don’t fly Qantas.