Thursday, August 27, 2009

Miranda Devine, Brendan Nelson, the seat of Bradfield and the hounds of hell after Nathan Rees


The other day I was wondering why Liberals never target media types as candidates, or for that matter why members of the conservative commentariat never put up their hands for the gig (while carrying on about the ABC's 7.30 Report offering up Labor party candidates).

Within the barest whiff of time passing, Miranda the Devine has provided the answer in Dare not sip this poisoned chalice.

The truth is of course that sitting on the sidelines shouting at everyone about how they've mucked things up is much more fun than trying and mucking things up.

It's the ultimate in paid social irresponsibility. All care and no responsibility, except to keep things stirring in the pot and ensuring attention is paid to the journal offering up column writing as employment. Thus controversy and extremism is its own reward.

So when the phone call came asking the Devine if she lived in the federal seat of Bradfield, the answer came 'no, no'. As the Devine points out, being a politician is not so easy:

There are few worse fates than being a politician. Having to be nice to people all the time. Having to endure the single-issue obsessives who turn up to every electorate event. Spending evenings attending branch meetings and community functions, making small talk with bores. Unable to freely speak your mind, having always to compromise, to bow to party discipline, and withstand the white-anting of Machiavellian colleagues. And all the while being humiliated and scrutinised by journalists.

As one jaded state Labor politician said yesterday: "I discourage as many young people as possible from going into politics. And if they do, I tell them 'make sure you have a career you can come back to'. Most political careers end in tears."

Who'd want it?


If you flip this, it'd be the perfect job description for membership in the commentariat. Never having to be nice to people. Never having to endure single issue obsessives. Never having to indulge in small talk with bores - you can always ignore the feedback in the comments section. Always freely able to speak your mind, in as mindless a way as you like, never having to compromise (unless your editor deems you've gone too far or strayed into litigious waters), never having to worry about discipline (unless that's your sexual preference), and always willing to white ant anyone about whom you form a disapproving opinion. And best of all of course endless opportunities to humiliate and scrutinize politicians.

The Devine then tries to get out of jail by praising politicians who do it for the noblest of reasons, and spends a few words extolling the virtues of Brendan Nelson, but what's the bet that she'll be back to bashing the bandicoots in short order time.

Then it's a few kind words about the main contenders for pre-selection, Tom Switzer and Sophe York, with the judgment that each is "successful, normal and fun, with a fine mind, good judgment, loving family and clear moral compass."

Normal? What on earth does that mean? Does that mean commentariat columnists are part of the great unwashed known as the 'abnorms'?

Quick, back to the bandicoot bashing before we forget what it's all about. So the Devine finds time at the end of the column to include a few short paragraphs looking at the state of disrepair of the NSW Labor government, as if the Devine had or has any interest in the repair of that government.

Instead she promotes the virtues of Frank Sartor. Presumably he's normal:

The former Sydney lord mayor, Frank Sartor, now languishing on the backbench, is the only viable option, with the ideas, experience and ability to get the state running. He wants the job, yet has not the support of the hacks who saddled NSW with the dud Premier, Rees.

Whether Sartor would win the next election is another question but he would at least give Labor dignity in defeat - and given enough time he might even impress voters. But he has all but given up his ambitions. Like Nelson, he has other options.

Good, I'm glad Mr. Sartor has other options, because if the Devine is selling Sartor, then there's surely something not normal about the deal.

Meantime, you can see the pleasure to be had in being part of the conservative commentariat, as opposed to actual involvement in doing things (perhaps it's just a high class form of brothel work, unlike bloggers who do it for free).

Arthur Sinodinos was once touted as an early likely contender for the Bradfield gig, but the ashes have barely grown cold on his press release denying any interest when he's got a column running in The Australian under the header Doors haven't yet closed on Costello.

In which he proposes that the smirking one known as Peter Costello turn into Gwneth Paltrow and become the next premier of Victoria. With a triumphant return to federal politics in due course when presumably he will then become the next PM of Australia.

Enough already. Let the caravan move on.

Well I guess that leaves Ted Baillieu just enough time to do a Nathan Rees. Surely the time has come for any further speculation on Peter Costello's future to be punishable by death, or at least ten years in jail, or failing that, losing the right to post a column on any subject for a month. If it's good enough for footballers to sit out a few games, how much more appropriate a sentence for those beguiled by the clap happy smirking one wanting to Nostradamus his new career. When he has an old one, bagging the ABC.

And speaking of Nathan Rees, the SMH has been doing a fine job of bagging him and his metro folly, conveniently grouped under its transport header here.

Which is perhaps part of a circulation war with the Daily Terror, who now bag Nathan Rees on such a regular basis, his only feeling of relief must be that he's not Ricky Ponting.

Perhaps the most incisive tearing apart of the Rees vision has been offered up by Mark Coultan in Electorate waits to punish NSW Labor's incompetence.

Not a word out of place, as he dissects the pachyderms galumphing around in Rees' mind.

Frank Sartor is lucky he only has the Devine's support, because if he makes it to the top job, what a feasting of crows there'd be on his carcass.

Yep better to stick to commentariat commentating rather than risk the righteous ire of the media and the public, especially when they're as incisive as Coultan.

Meantime, I'm thinking the time is right for me to suggest that Mark Latham is wasted writing bilious columns behind the paywall of the AFR. Surely it's time for him to step into the breech and run NSW?

I keed, I keed, but ain't it fun, all care and no responsibility for us 'abnorms', while the 'norms' go about the business of politics.

(Below: you can catch more Tom Tomorrow at Salon, here).

Ah the good old days. Remember Senator Alston? His mission taken up by Peter Costello. Everything changes so you can stay the same. You can catch more Nicholson here, where you can find memorabilia and help him alleviate his dependency on The Australian.


2 comments:

  1. Sorry, not on topic, just found it weird that you don't get many loon-lovers commenting here. They usually sniff out similar blogs fairly quickly and as they are so entertaining in full battle mode, does that disappoint you? Do you feel unloved by the loon sycophants?

    Oh and happy birthday for last Saturday. 106 and still full of beans.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Yo dude, I'd actually be terrified if the loons turned up in force (as a guy called Jim Treacher did a few days ago for some reason). Loon pond by name but if they all fly off for the winter and the summer, who minds.

    I'm happy looning away as therapy and if that amuses a few people that's a bonus. I'm not into the blog scene or building a readership or being serious and solemn like Pure Poison or having lots of readers who debate things in depth. Life's short and pretty silly. And you can get all the debates by going into one of the regular homes for loons. (Or sensible if that's your taste).

    I started writing because like the real Dorothy I'm not above a glass of red at night, and then I began scribbling comments on blogs, at first nervously, then boldly, then drunkenly.

    And then I realized I was a certified loon. Better to isolate the infection, put it up on a remote corner of the intertubes, lance the boil, let it all out, and go about the day's business uncluttered by info rage.

    Now I'm much kinder and yes full of beans, but how silly to forget my birthday - though I do like Humpty's unbirthday system whereby I can demand 364 presents from my partner or 365 in a leap year.

    But I do appreciate you dropping by and I have found a few blogs I enjoy - like Nick's - out of the scribbles, so it's all good.

    ReplyDelete

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