Has Turnbull out-manoevred Rudd on the ETS?

The Blowfly's week has been rip-snorting to say the least.

You will remember that last week The Blowfly had managed to penetrate the inner sanctum of the PM---his boudoir!

Unfortunately The Blowfly got so settled there with all the goings-on you simply have not been able to pull yourself away and escape back into the real world.And this was on top of all the normal bedroom activities that you have not been previously exposed to. You realise that the PM and his wife are consenting adults but they certainly go at it hammer and tongs when they get going. At least the PM now cleans his ears regularly at home, at Therese's instigation,rather than in Parliament.You can also admit to being a little fond of the PM's ear-wax. It seems to steady your landings when you have a little on your feet.

The whole world, this week, seems to have revolved around climate change issues, the ETS and the turmoil in the Liberal Party. You have participated fully from your excellent possie on the PM's bedhead. In fact you have had some insights that probably few others have been exposed to.Your little brain has been challenged to the full.

Let The Blowfly relate this voyeuristic scenario to you.

It's 3am and its a relatively hot Canberra night. On the bedhead above the PM's head you are slumbering with purpose.You are dreaming a little fly-sex and you are really on a roll. You feel a little stirring below you and you sense the PM is awake. He is laying on his back and looking at the ceiling.You think he may be restless because he is off to another world leaders' conference and he becomes very concerned when he travels. Especially about how his hair looks, whether he has the right-colored ties and whether his shoes are shiny.Sometimes he even practises Mandarin in his sleep.

But tonight you sense he is concerned about something a little deeper. You extract yourself from your sordid and colorful dream and wiggle your antennae to tune into the PM's quaint little thought processes.His thoughts manifest themselves to you immediately.

"That damned Turnbull worries me. I originally thought that I had him by the short and curlies. And when you have someone by the short and curlies their hearts and minds usually follow.I boxed him in really well. I knew that he was a supporter of the emissions trading scheme all along. He served the Lying Rodent so well in that field and I knew he could belt those other Liberal dickheads around the ears. He's never short of 'balls' our Malcolm. S'pose you can afford to have 'balls' when you are as wealthy as he is.But this thing about Goldman Sachs really worries me! Malcolm may make more money out of the ETS than anybody else."

" I wonder how many other people read that article in Rolling Stone magazine? Inside The Great American Bubble Machine was really well-written. Better than any of my essays! Has Goldman Sachs really engineered every major market manipulation since the Great depression? Is the next bubble really in carbon credits? I guessed I knew it would be a 'booming trillion-dollar market' but I did not know that Goldman Sachs gave over $4 million to the Democratic Party to push its 'environmental plan'."

"I know what that little champagne-sipping silver-tail is doing! He's out-manoeuvred me! The bastard! I'll bet,as a former Goldman Sachs operative here in Australia, that he was in the know.That's probably why he is wealthier than me. He's got better contacts into the big-ends of town. I've just got a wealthy wife.Oh woe is me!"

He looks across lovingly at his sleeping wife."She's such a genius.Not only has she made a lot of money but she also chose me. She has/is a real asset."

"I wonder whether Hockey will become the new Liberal leader. It'll be just like old times. Me and Joe together on Kochie and Mel sweet-talking each other."

You see a smile on his face just like the one you have when you are having fly-sex.

He gradually drifts back to sleep. Your eyes close and you resume your enticing dream where you left off.

Australia is in capable hands!

Are there any votes for KRudd holding an inquiry into Scientology?

You know you are alive when you hear the shrill voice of the Prime Minister's wife screaming at him to "get that damned fly".

The Blowfly had realised the biggest coup of his intelligence career. He had managed to penetrate the PM's boudoir.In the inner sanctum he would be able to understand the quality and nature of the pillow talk and the extent to which Therese influences the thinking and decision-making of her husband,the illustrious Kevin07, otherwise known as KRudd.

The Blowfly initially nestled on the inside lip of his bed-lamp while the PM he did his ablutions and readied himself for the Sandman. This is always the best place for annoyance because ,as the Sandman approaches, a good blowfly can start his forays around a bedroom and antagonise his victim to the max.

As he climbs into bed he grabs his reading matter from the bedside table.Therese is already in bed reading.She looks across lovingly at her charge. "What are you reading , darling?".

"I got one of my staff to go to a second bookshop and get me a copy of Ron Hubbard's book, 'Dianetics'. I thought if I was going to come under pressure from that do-gooder Xenophon to hold a parliamentary inquiry into Scientology I should know something about it.And you know what Jo Bjelke-Petersen use to say ---'If you are going to hold a Royal Commission you should know the answer before you agree to it'."

"That's very broad-minded of you darling,"she said, "I don't know why they call you a wanker! You always take civil liberties issues very seriously."

A moment of silence ensues. You can hear his brain click into gear and the wheels start turning.The Blowfly's antennae emerge and the PM's meagre thoughts start finding their way into your minute brain.

"Shit! She always does this to me! And just when I'm trying to wind my poor little brain down so I can get a good night's sleep so I can cope with the day ahead.It takes a lot of neurons and energy to understand what Wayne and Julia are going on with.What civil liberties issues? I thought it was just about giving tax-exempt status to a bunch of loonies who all look up to Tom Cruise for inspiration.Imagine jumping up on Oprah's couch and declaring his love for Katie Holmes. Christ, I cringed when I saw that."

"Civil liberties? Civil liberties? I'm already being a good Christian and extending the school chaplain's programme that the Lying Rodent started.When I give that speech to the Australian Christian Lobby next week I hope they appreciate that.Who could believe that 2700 schools have hired chaplains under this programme?"

"Ah!Maybe that is what Therese means. Gadzooks! Why didn't I think of that? We need to make sure that the Church of Scientology is represented in this programme.Many school students would still see Tom Cruise as he was in 'Top Gun'.There are a number of high schools around with specialities in the science area.We should ensure that they have Scientology chaplains! Hmmm! I wonder if there are any votes in it? There must be a stack! The Lying Rodent was desperate for votes when he dreamed this one up."

"Darling! I just had a wonderful idea. How about we appoint Scientology chaplains to Science high schools?"

The Blowfly notices her brow crease. She looks at him wistfully over her reading glasses.You can feel the deep soul-searching going on within her. You can feel the deep desire she is resisting to strangle the stupid bastard beside her.

"It's been a big week darling! Edward Woodward died. Peter Cundall was arrested.Ireland was knocked out of the World Cup qualifier with a French hand.You're tired! Close your lovely Queensland eyes and go to sleep.Don't inflict that idea on your adoring public just yet. Let it fester a little."

He smiles a puzzled smile and puts his book down.

And that's when you decided to make your move.

Can Malcolm Turnbull learn from Sir Neville Marriner?

This morning The Blowfly is firmly esconced on the shoulder of Malcolm Turnbull as he reads what the weekend newspapers are saying about him and the situation he is in.

He is coming to grips with Michelle Grattan's article in Saturday's Age.It is headed "Can Turnbull survive?"

He is focused on the insert "The Liberals are jammed. They have a leader who can't cut it with the public."

The Blowfly prepares himself for the flow of thoughts channelling their way from the brain of the 'ex-Goldman Sachs stalwart turned politician' into The Blowfly's massive brain.

It takes a little while for the flow to commence. You sense Malcolm is a little depressed and he may be trawling through his grey matter trying to work out why he even got into politics, but then it comes.................

"My father told me," cogitates Malcolm, " that the best way to get into politics is to find a crowd that's going somewhere and get in front of them. At the time it seemed like the Coalition was going somewhere. And then the Lying Rodent gave me that water portfolio and got me all excited about climate change and all that stuff. I thought I would be able to change the world."

"I still don't know whether climate change is caused by carbon emissions but it wont hurt to reduce them. Why are those damned farmers being so obstreporous?Why wont they listen to me? I am their leader!"

He smiles a knowing smile because he recalls the line that "to be a leader you need a lot of people dumb enough to follow you".

"Maybe that's the point! Boy, are the National's dumb? That Barnaby Joyce is as dumb as dog-shit.Did you see him on '4 Corners' recently strutting his stuff for the cameras? Lucy would never have let me do that. Speak of the devil!"

At that point Lucy emerges with a duster in hand. She is whipping it over his study.
She looks over his shoulder and sees the article on the opposite page about Sir Neville Marriner, the 85 year old British orchestra conductor, who is in Melbourne for a series of concerts.

Aware of his pain due to the look on his face she injects herself into his head.

"Now there's a thought darling! Why don't you think of yourself as more like the conductor of a musical rabble? What would Sir Neville do if he was in your shoes?"
She then disappears on her domestic rounds.

His nimble mind embraces the concept deftly.

"Well for one I'd exercise more patience with the rabble. I'd probably not threaten to resign if weren't going in my direction. But then he recalls that some have been unkind enough to refer to a conductor as "a man dressed in a magician's outfit who is deluded enough to think that by waving a wand at an orchestra he can make it play".

"Ah she cracks me up Lucy does. She does that all the time.Distracts me so I may become a wiser Opposition leader! I hope she does it when I'm PM. Michelle Grattan doesn't think I'll get to PM, but I'll show her."

He drifts off into a fitful sleep , baton in hand.

The Blowfly smiles a knowing smile. His charge from Vaucluse does not even think about defeat.He does not look back.He is, after all, a leader who prevailed over Kerry Packer.What more needs to be said?

Who says Kevin Rudd is not possessed of a sense of humour?

The Blowfly is grinning from ear-to-ear presently. For some time you have been an ardent supporter of the view that KRudd has perhaps the sharpest sense of humour in the Parliament.

Recent events , such as the the appointment of Peter Costello to the board of the Future Fund, have confirmed your opinion and your little chest is bulging at being right.

Down the halls of Parliament House you roam heading for KRudd's office.You swing past Wayne Swan's office and rest on the wall for a moment because you think you can hear KRudd's mono tonal voice. But it turns out to be Wayne doing the economics homework set for him by Treasury.

"Macroeconomics is about the economy as a whole, microeconomics is about specific economic units;Macroeconomics is about the economy as a whole, microeconomics is about specific economic units;Macroeconomics is about the economy as a whole, microeconomics is about specific economic units,..........". You leave him with his pain and move on.

You find KRudd in his ante-room relaxing with a book you read years ago, "The Wit of Sir Robert Menzies".He is chuckling to himself.The one that has struck his fancy is "Prime Ministers are always being blamed for something.It's fair enough, because they are given credit sometimes for things they didn't do".

He stops to reflect a little just as you land on his shoulder. You instantly latch onto his thinking process with your psychic prowess.

"Oh this has been such a good week! I loved the look on Paul Keating's face when he held that press conference about Costello's appointment to the Future Fund board.Being PM is quite a lot of fun really.I know why Howard was so reluctant to give it up.And the way Paul called Costello a 'policy bum' was sheer genius.Paul Lyneham used to say that policies 'were carefully devised Government strategies often dreamed up by Prime Ministers on talkback radio shows'.I wonder what Paul's definition of a 'policy bum' would be in that context?"

"It's a lot lot of fun pretending to be bipartisan.All the former high-profile leaders except Howard are now in positions where they have reasons to say nice things about me.I'll soon be ready for my next brilliant moves.This is better than sex! No-one will be able to keep a straight face after I appoint John Howard to the UN. And wait until they hear about Downer's appointment!"

"And Paul called me a 'goodie two shoes'.Malcolm called me a hypocrite.Therese told me that I must've been doing something right.I just love this job!Therese has always reckoned I have a perverse sense of humour. She's a smart woman that one. She sure is lucky she married me. She's never looked back".

" I wonder if I could find an appointment for Wilson Tuckey when he retires? It must be soon. He's the oldest MP. Maybe Andrew Robb should be next though.He's taken some leave recently. He probably needs it more than Wilson."

Just then you feel a little breeze and the deputy-PM appears at the door. Julia has a new hair-do and gets straight to the point.

"Are you going to sit there chuckling to yourself all day? We have work to do!"

You hear Kevvie say to himself "Spoilsport! She always wants to work rather than have fun.She doesn't spend enough time at the hairdressers.I could ring up Trinnie and Susannah to ambush her for a makeover. Heh!Heh".

It is time for The Blowfly to take his leave. You circle the half-eaten cranberry sauce and turkey sandwich the PM has left on the table and adroitly land. As you take your fill you ruminate on the words of the American comic of the 1930's that stuck in your minute brain some years ago:

"As our Government deteriorates our humour increases".

The transparency of Wilson Tuckey: If you look hard you can see straight through him!

Recently Wilson Tuckey charged that terrorists were gaining entry to Australia in the refugee boats by acting as asylum-seekers.He insinuated that terrorists would subject themselves to such deprivations in order to perform their martyrdoms.

The Blowfly raised his eye-brows in mock horror, much the same as John Howard used to do. The Blowfly knows that Wilson Tuckey has never been a shrinking violet.Wilson first assumed his Federal seat of O'Connor in October 1980 and is now the oldest member of the Parliament at age 74.

Nicknamed "Ironbar", after being convicted of assaulting an aboriginal man with a length of steel cable whilst a publican at Carnarvon in 1967,Wilson has never been 'backward in coming forward' and has tested the mettle of all his leaders in and out of government.

The Blowfly is well aware that just as red wines mature with age it is possible that some politicians follow the same route. Ever the adventurer you decide to see what makes Wilson tick. Paul Keating once called Wilson 'a piece of criminal garbage'. To your humble brain this means the best chance you have for finding him is to scout around those garbage bins outside the Parliament House kitchen.And Cousin Fester also saw him there once digging up dirt on Kim Beazley.But alas no Wilson there!

These days he is more likely to be holding court at the entrance to Parliament House and that is where you find him today---- waxing lyrical!You gently settle onto his shoulder and latch your germy little feet firmly into his shirt.In a funny sort of way you feel 'right at home'.

Your expectations are high. You remember an old friend telling you that if you were choosing between a slow clock and a stopped clock you should choose the latter because at least a stopped clock was ' right twice a day'. It could be the same with Wilson, you think.

An alert young journalist asks him a particularly astute question about climate change. You sense his feigned interest as you tune into his thought process.

"Why do these gooses ask me intelligent questions", he thinks "don't they know I'm from Western Australia?"

"Intelligent questions should only be asked of that smart-arse from Queensland, Barnaby Joyce", he thinks. "Now there's a yokel if ever there was one!" He chuckles to himself as he remembers Paul Lyneham's quip that a yokel is 'someone who sees the Nationals as the driving force of the Coalition'.

"Why do these gooses keep on asking me questions about things I know nothing about? My mouth just goes into overdrive and anything seems to come out.Gee it must be embarrassing for my Party. Why don't these gooses ask me about subjects I know something about? How to pour a good beer.How to deal with the Stolen Generation.Cupcakes.The weather in Carnarvon.Paul Keating's former girlfriends.What drongoes are.How not to get your son off a traffic charge.What a dickhead John Howard is. Malcolm Turnbull's weak spots.The Min-Min light.Malcolm Fraser's inadeqacies.The meaning of the word 'sorry'.Humility.Economics.Where UFO's come from."

You see his eyes glaze over and you decide that this is a good time to get into his ear. You hover near his right ear looking for the right moment to enter. It is then that you feel like Malcolm Muggeridge when he 'saw the light' on his 'road to Damascus'.

You too can 'see the light'.As you stare into his right ear you see the beam of light emanating from his left ear.It's like the light at the end of a tunnel. Could it be a freight train coming? Surely not!

The Blowfly's impulsive urge gets the better of him and you hit the throttle and go for it. In what seems like a nano-second you are out the other side and into the air coming into Wilson's left ear.

And--------- into 'the light'! Your understanding of Wilson has been advanced.