We'll always have Copenhagen..

.18th December 2009, Copenhagen:

The tiny wheels crashed down the steps to the pavement. On the ambulance trolley a silver haired figure lay silent while all around him was noise and confusion. A dark suited figure, running alongside, raised a hand and spoke into it,

"Blue Ostrich is down! I repeat, Blue Ostrich is down!"

A reporter approached the ambulance, jostling to reach through the pack as the trolley slid noisily onboard.

"What happened Doc? Is he going to make it?"

The doctor nodded towards a sober-suited scrum of Austrayan Secret Service men.

"Ask them."

Pushing through the pack as the ambulance moved away the Danish journo tugged at the closest dark sleeve,

"Hey fellah, what happened? Was he shot? Was there an incident? Who is he?"

"'He' is the Prime Minister of Austraya. There's no incident, and I'm not a fellah.""

You're not with A.S.S?"

"What's the matter? You never seen a Chinese-Australian lesbian Senator before?"

"Umm, well, no, actually."

"Well, you bloody-well have now. Back off! That man's had just one hour of sleep in the last forty* trying to save the planet from politics, greed and self-interest. He's just burned out a few fuses that's all. Show some respect." (* true, actually)

Wong, Penny Wong.

In the meantime the Opposition, having extracted a promise from Tony Abbott not to eat any more children let him have the Leader's shiny seat, mostly on the grounds that no-one else wanted it, or didn't think quickly enough once the music had stopped.

Tony Abbott, bless him.

But they couldn't quite re-build Kev. They didn't quite have the technology. And it was more than a few fuses. When he got back to Australia he couldn't mention climate-change without breaking into a cold sweat.

"Take a holiday, old mate. Recharge the batteries" they said. "The first polls on Tony Abbott are in. He came in fourth after,

• 1. Wouldn't piss on him if he was on fire. (50%)
• 2. Would piss on him if he was on fire. (20%), and
• 3. Let's set fire to Tony Abbot. (15%)

We'll call the double dissolution election for March, campaign in February and have another three years with control of the Senate."

And that was when things really got weird.

Ignoring all advice from his colleagues (pretty much as usual) he mumbled something incoherent about,

"ETS? Never heard of it. Maybe next year, or next decade, or well, y'know, later mate, fair suck of the thingy, sauced, bottlo. Get away from me. I bloody saved you from the Giant Frightening Catastrophe (GFCTM) already. Stop being mean to me. You're not my friend anymore, stupid-head. I'll work harder, yeah that's it. I'll work even more harderer than anyone's ever worked harder before, or since, or ever, ever, ever.."

Then he launched a children's book, because:

"Bunnies are nice. Encouraging our young ones to have a responsible attitude to looking after furry creatures is, I think, a really good thing,"

Clearly Kev had lost his marbles, or had them pinched in the schoolyard by one of the bigger kids. He retreated more and more to the Fuhrer-bunker, doing more of the same, only louder, faster, harder. Whether it was working or not. Tony Abbott, meanwhile, stopped calling himself a liar quite as often as before, stopped parading his gonads on public beaches, put on a darker suit with more gravitas (sewn into the lining) and took up the old Tory battle-cry of,

"We're in debt! Aaahh!! Millions and billions and trillions!! Aaahh!! Aaahh!!Oh-my-gawd, we'll all be rooned! Aaahh!! Boat-people are coming to eat your children! Aaahh!! We're in even more debt! Aaahh!! Only electing me can fix it! Aaahh!! "

By mid-2010 Kev was starting to show signs of strain. As times got tougher he became increasingly autocratic and abusive, with control needs as big as all outdoors. Senior public servants would be called to meetings at 11.00 pm on a Sunday night, and abused if they said anything Kev didn't like.

Ministers who asked the wrong question would be given a cold shower in hot shit, liberally sprinkled with the f-word, the p-word, the b-word, the other b-word, and other words too naughty to give you the initial letter of. Other members of the government, like Ministers and stuff, couldn't even get his attention long enough to be abused.

Word of such crazed, obnoxious behaviour began to leak. And people began to notice. And as the fickle Australian public slowly lost faith in Kevin the Magic Pixie, Kevin the Magic Pixie got worse and worse. Stuff piled up on his desk until the daylight was blotted out and he peered out through a slit in the paperwork. He had to personally see and approve everything. No-one could be trusted! No-one! Whenever he went overseas the entire cabinet drew breath as J Gillard, (flame-haired Welsh siren of the left) took the chair and immediately began signing, approving, delegating, clearing the backlog of months.

Then the Tories outed the infamous Gang of Four. Rumoured to be running the country octuple-handed they were named as Gillard (flame-haired Welsh siren of the left), Lindsay "two-fer-a" Tanner, Swannie (How I love ya, how I love ya..) and Kevin The Magnificent. Not to be outdone the ALP also outed the infamous Gang of Four. Kevin, his Chief of Staff, Alastair Jordan and two mirrors. Outside this four-sided magic circle all was desolation, with tumbleweeds rolling across a barren landscape and the bones of policies long dead lying bleached in the sun. Parliamentary Secretaries could be seen in the distance, waving ideas in a futile attempt to make a difference, their voices too far off to be heard. Completely crapped-off they began firing in arrows wrapped in flaming resignations all with the same wording..

"I [INSERT NAME HERE] having had a gutful of being treated like an idiot; ignored, abused and pissed on from a great height will not be standing at the next election, and instead will take up bashing my head against a wall. It's been a time. Stuff you and the horse's arse you rode in on, you paranoid megalomaniac. Yours sincerely, [INSERT NAME HERE].

Still Kevin worked harder and harder, still the polls got worse and worse. Desperation is never pretty to watch. The Government, unassailable only months before looked like it could lose the next election. Journalists began asking whether Kevin the Cruel, the Unpopular, could turn back time and save the day, whether Der Fuhrer had any miracle weapons that could avert catstrophe. Well, just one, as it turned out.

A Great Big Super-Duper New Tax On Holes In The Ground (GBSDNTOHITGTM.).

At last, a winner!! With the manic brightness of the chemically enhanced Kev the Mighty would take on the Mining Industry and Win! Win! Win! It would be,

"40% of their egregiousness, non-negotiable, starting yesterday, I saw that, you can't hide anything from me! Of course we'll consult them. Matter of fact, I'm doing it now, I can do that you know, I'm in two places at once! We know where you live! Ah-Ha-Hahahah!!! "

Tax the mining industry's obscenely large profits? A good idea, maybe, but introduced as a take-it-or-leave-it macho piece of nonsense, picking a fight with the deepest pockets in the country? Not so clever.

Then came the last act of the Keverdammerung.

Taking careful aim, he drew a bead on his deputy, and shot his foot off.

For months Julia Gillard (flame-haired Welsh siren of the left) had been watching her popularity rise as Kev's fell and Tony Abbot's set the benchmark for self-confessed liars with only a fear campaign as a policy. For weeks as the PM twisted in the wind she laughed off, swept aside and cheerily rebuffed all attempts to cast her as the next PM. Until last week when it became horribly apparent how that loyalty was viewed by its chief beneficiary. When the PM, Kevin The Magnificent had his Chief of Staff do a head count in the Labor caucus to see if his boss could hold off a Gillard (flame-haired Welsh siren of the left) challenge.

When she found out about this she was furious. Her honesty and integrity were being impugned (and no-one likes that). She, Julia Gillard (flame-haired Welsh siren of the left), ever the devoted deputy. Shrugging off the press, sidestepping the factional number-crunchers, ever willing to back up her boss no matter how loopy he was becoming.

Bill Shorten, I think it was, who informed her that he had switched his support (an old jock-strap containg the whole of the Labor Right) from Kevin to her, that crisp Canberra evening last week.

I don't know which factional leader was quoted excoriating Rudd,

"This crypto-fascist made no effort to build a base in the party. Now that his only faction, Newspoll, has deserted him he is gone."

But once he had repaid loyalty with suspicion Kevin had pulled the temple down on himself.

"Blue Ostrich is down! I repeat, Blue Ostrich is down!"

.