hang tough

That's what it seems the Rodent and the Apprentice are going to do. Why not, they've played the entire electorate for suckers for ten years without a sufficient majority waking up, so why not press your luck. Who'll notice?

The disengaged aren't interested in either the theatrics or even the very notion of leaders and deputies having the confidence of their party. As the little general has torn up pretty much every other vestige of the Westminster system, no reason why they shouldn't take an axe to this bit either.

Listening to some random platform polling at Toowong on the radio this arvo, there are plenty of punters out there who still think John's the ticket. Poor fellow my country indeed.

I can see why many think it's just a sideshow and that they should just get on with governing the country except that I'd rather they kept away from this as everything they do, in my eyes, sends us down a path that will hurt us in the long run.

Anyway, there's a lot more and far better commentary everywhere else so I can't add to the noise. Megadeath do it so much better.

Update/reflection

geez it's hard to let go of this stuff. How many times have I said I'd let the rodent go and write about something more...meaningful?

It was interesting having a little trip down memory lane the other day to the home town, and thinking about the notion of memory, what and how we remember and what it means to us. And even while I write this, in true stream of consciousness style, to thinking about how this stuff stands up against the very informed and often academic discussion of similar themes or topics on other blogs.

Then I have to remember - it's not a competition...

So, back to the hometown memories. They are quite happy in general. Playing cricket on a Saturday afternoon, even though I was a hopeless cricketer. The hometown was sport mad, so there was no escape and all my friends played sport, in the main extremely well. We all swam and I used to get up and train before school. The bloke next door used to coach me - he was a natural sportsman, holes in one, all that stuff - and in return my mother helped his young wife out with their babies as they came along. He coached me at golf, where I was even worse, and never really got much better over the ensuing forty years.

Our street was gravel, with a couple of corner store type shops at the bottom - a general store, a butcher and one other I can't remember. I remember the stinking hot summers and the hours I used to spend up one of the pine trees, pretending to be a bomber pilot.

It was only 15 years after WW2 had finished and Australia was still quite militarised: we used to have to march once a week at school, which I used to hate. In retrospect, it was insane: if anyone invaded, all the children would immediately be out marching in rectangles. That should scare the piss out of any invader, or at least bamboozle them with the surreality of it all.

Naturally every morning we lined up and recited, "I honour my god, I serve my queen, I salute the flag." At the time - this was when I was about 8 or 10 - I didn't think about it all, that was just the way things were. After I'd grown up enough to develop at least some critical faculties, it made me a confirmed agnostic (well at least opposed to all organised religion), a republican and deeply suspicious of all those politicians with an unhealthy fixation on the flag. And at this point we will manfully resist temptation, and...

..move on. Life certainly was simpler, but we weren't well off so I imagine that life was a bit more complicated for my parents. I can remember talk of the credit squeeze of 1962 (? can't be bothered googling to check) and the newspaper. I cannot type its name or else we will lapse into ranting again. Any poisnal friends can ask me at an appropriate time...