There's a giddy light-heartedness, possibly light-headedness at the pond, as the commentariat drift off into silence for the break.
Today used to be generally grumpy Paul Sheehan day, but the magic water has done its work, and woven a spell of silence.
No more columns, no more books,
No more Sheehan's grumpy looks.
And on RN, the dulcet, long drawn out, vocal stylings of Roy, absent HG, is likely to send the pond back to sleep each morning.
But don't get the pond started, because there's still room for ranting.
In particular don't mention the submarines.
The Collins class sub has been a dismal, tawdry failure on every conceivable and imaginable level, and in the usual way these days, you can have your memory jogged by the wiki here:
The submarines have been the subject of incidents and technical problems since the design phase, including accusations of foul play and bias during the design selection, improper handling of design changes during construction, major capability deficiencies in the first submarines, and ongoing technical problems throughout the early life of the class. These problems have been compounded by the inability of the RAN to retain sufficient personnel to operate the submarines — by 2008, only three could be manned, and from 2009 onwards, on average two or fewer were fully operational. The resulting negative press has led to a poor public perception of the Collins class.
Indeed. And it goes right back to the days of "Bomber" Beazley. And now it seems that we're about to repeat the inane process, having learnt nothing, and there are only a few squawks about it in the media, because it's not about two decades old union matters or assorted slippery affairs.
Even Brian Toohey's mini-rant in the AFR, Import proven subs and save, (behind the paywall), wasn't long on detail, and it's happily apolitical, because the Howard government was also a complete klutz when it came to the issue of ordering replacement planes. The basic argument involves the question of unique Australian government demands for unique designs, which involve waste, feather-beddding via an Adelaide build, and the late delivery of inferior products:
Former submariner Rex Patrick, who now trains crews, says: "For the annual cost of keeping between two and three 20-year-old Collins subs at sea, the RAN could buy a brand new, reliable, deployable, high-end sub every year."
At the moment, it's in the too-hard basket:
A replacement decision for the clapped-out Collins is needed now, but the government has deferred one until 2017. Six unused or near-new European subs could be immediately available for under $3 billion. Six new ones, incorporating advances such as lithium ion batteries, could be ordered later. This would give Australia high-quality lethal subs without wasting $36 billion.
There's more, but already the lobbying for an "evolved" Collins design, or some other unique Australian invention is well under way.
This quest for uniqueness isn't unique. That's why Sydney scored itself a remarkably useless light rail design which is too big and clunky for narrow streets, when there were any number of off-the-shelf systems available. Excluding parochial pride, Sydney could have borrowed from Melbourne, which has been doing trams and light rail for yonks.
But no, we must have our own, which is why squillions have been wasted on ticketing systems while Manhattan or Tokyo provided practical examples. Which naturally didn't satisfy local requirements for uniqueness ...
What's the bet the recently announced Sydney light rail will repeat the folly? No, the pond isn't betting, the odds are too short.
And while this unique disease flourishes, all The Australian can manage is the usual Gillard bashing along generic lines:
The rag is now so obsessed with Gillard it seems they haven't even got the time to dig out a photo of stuffy old Henry, or run an alternative story with the tag, The Opposition leader cannot count on women's votes because he's a bloody misogynist.
You have to go elsewhere to learn Abbott attacks backfire, and Attack dog method bites Abbott.
But since we've mentioned feral attack dog, down in the gutter Abbott, let us note that Dr. Positive is now pretending to be Bob Menzies, and celebrate the empire, in A place built on the rock of ideas.
Oh wait, that link is behind the lizard Oz's paywall, and it's an edited version of the deep thinking of Dr. Positive, and lordy, lordy, you can find it in full and for free, at his web site, under the more proper header Address to The Queen's College, Oxford, UK, along with the stern injunction, **Check against delivery**.
Sadly the pond couldn't check Abbott's delivery, but we'll assume he could read what he or his hack scribe wrote ...
And look, instead of paying for a rather surly snap that looks rather like a grumpy mug shot:
It turns out that Abbott's idea of the rock of ideas is little better than a pub joke, wherein a Pommie bastard, a kilted Scot and a sodden Irishman walk into a bar ...
Think the pond is exaggerating?
As my former teacher, Father Ed Campion, used to say of our country: the English made the laws, the Scots made the money and the Irish made the songs.
As the pond's teacher used to say, stereotypes and cultural cliches - come to think of it any cliches at all - only suggest a muddle-headed wombat or perhaps a gorilla on the prowl.
Gorilla?
Some months later, when I was the successful heavyweight in the annual varsity boxing match and knocked out my opponent after 45 seconds of round one, a less easy-going Englishman commented: what could you expect when we import gorillas from the colonies?
Indeed. The idle boasting of a beefy boofhead.
Meanwhile, inter alia, Abbott delivers a paean of praise to the Poms and to his alma mater and naturally to Cecil Rhodes.
Being positive, Dr. say No to No only has kind words for that utopian educationalist, which is just as well, because by any conventional reading, Rhodes was a colonial nightmare, who spent his day job hours ripping the heart out of Africa, and helping shape it into the mess it's in today.
You can read about Rhodes to your heart's content here but let's for the moment be satisfied with his complaint when his expansionist dreams were thwarted: It is humiliating to be utterly beaten by these niggers.
Was he a repressed homosexual, in a way common in Queen Vic's time? Possibly, or probably.
Was he as mad as a meat axe? Most definitely. After he departed the world, he wanted his vast wealth deployed by a secret society, as explained in his first will:
To and for the establishment, promotion and development of a Secret Society, the true aim and object whereof shall be for the extension of British rule throughout the world, the perfecting of a system of emigration from the United Kingdom, and of colonisation by British subjects of all lands where the means of livelihood are attainable by energy, labour and enterprise, and especially the occupation by British settlers of the entire Continent of Africa, the Holy Land, the Valley of the Euphrates, the Islands of Cyprus and Candia, the whole of South America, the Islands of the Pacific not heretofore possessed by Great Britain, the whole of the Malay Archipelago, the seaboard of China and Japan, the ultimate recovery of the United States of America as an integral part of the British Empire, the inauguration of a system of Colonial representation in the Imperial Parliament which may tend to weld together the disjointed members of the Empire and, finally, the foundation of so great a Power as to render wars impossible, and promote the best interests of humanity.
Talk about lebensraum!
Abbott calls Rhodes idiosyncratic. Is this a nod and a wink, hinting that Abbott is a member of the Rhodes' secret society?
Like about a million other Australians, including Prime Minister Gillard, who also came to Australia as a child, I was born in Britain. As well as people, the British Isles have given Australia our language, our system of law and our parliamentary democracy. The conviction that an Englishman’s home is his castle and faith in British justice, no less than the understanding that Jack is as good as his master, have taken strong root in Australia.
Eek, he is, he is, it's the British rampant.
Of course if the pond had taken a dose of Dr. No's kool aid, the report card for the British, and for Cecil Rhodes, might not be so sanguine. It might even be a tad negative, a lot of No's:
Ireland: still fucked.
Scotland: discontented, fractious and difficult
The middle east: epically fucked, and much thanks to the British
Pakistan: fucked
India: once fucked, but now throwing off the shackles
Canada: well at least you can tell Canadian jokes in the United States, and everyone loves you.
Africa: still fucked.
New Zealand: only a gorilla would make sheep jokes, but hey, if the Irish sing songs, what did the Scots do in NZ?
And so on and so forth, stereotypes and cliches rampant, and let's not forget that the war to end all wars was inspired by anxious, envious Europeans wanting to get into the imperial British act, and loot and pillage the world, and perhaps at the end set up a nice scholarship to absolve any incipient guilt about said looting and pillaging ...
But you won't find any of this in Dr. Positive's tugging of the forelock, Bob Menzies style:
A good way to cope with the inevitable slings and arrows of public life is to keep counting one’s blessings. My blessings include loving family, perceptive teachers, inspirational mentors, capable colleagues and committed staff. By no means the least, has been my time at Oxford. I have forgotten much and lost contact with many from those times but hope I will always keep an Oxford cast of mind.
An Oxford cast of mind!
Dear sweet absent lord, it was the pond's profound pleasure to study Eng Lit at the hands of a gaggle of Oxford-trained dons (they sent them to the colonies in batches, don't you know), and what a sweet, hopeless, whimsical, bunch of navel-gazers they were.
Every day the bewildered pond looked at them and wondered how the British had managed to gain and hold such a vast empire and rip off the world blind, and yet at the same time, make them feel grateful and honoured for the privilege ...
The answer? Why hypocrisy of course. Mouthing platitudes while picking the pockets of the natives.
Take it away Dr. Positive, mouth a platitude or three:
In the classic movie, Saving Private Ryan, Tom Hanks admonishes the rescued soldier to “earn this”. To whom much is given, from whom much is expected. To study at one of the world’s greatest universities is an extraordinary privilege. Our duty is not to rejoice in our good fortune but to be worthy of it. That way we will “earn this” and ensure that others are grateful rather than resentful at our chance to enjoy this enchanted place.
Uh huh. The Rhodes scholarship, built on the misery of millions of black people, kind of like the Nobel prize, built on the joys of blowing shit up with dynamite ... but given the way it goes these days with Britain under Cameron, where's the harm in reminiscing about the glories of the old days?
So it goes ...
(Below: so here's a fine Victorian map from 1897 showing the British empire. Click on to enlarge, check out and correlate with today's trouble spots.
Oh wait, we really should include the Middle East, quick, let's update it to the 1920s)
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