In which the pond awards a very special man the very special royal order of the most worshipful budgie smuggler ...

(Above: there's a new recipient of the royal order of the budgie smuggler hovering into view today, and instead of the usual link to Rowe's cartoon gallery at the AFR here, where today he deals with Syria, we should mention that Rowe is also at Twitter here).

Sheesh, the pond takes a very short break amongst the radicalised 'roos and the wobblies, albeit of the wombat and the wallaby kind, with the alternative music pounding away, and what do the reptiles do but bung on a giant-sized do?

Best of all, the man who announced he wouldn't indulge in wrecking, undermining, sniping, leaking, backgrounding or white-anting of any kind, couldn't help himself and neither could the reptiles of Oz:

He (Abbott) emphasised that no one had raised policy changes with him during the leadership challenge. “The fact that the new Prime Minister and the new Treas­urer are saying exactly the same thing today that the former prime minister and former treas­urer were saying only a fortnight ago shows that we got it right,” Mr Abbott said . 
“Interestingly, just as nothing has changed on economic policy in the last fortnight, nothing’s changed on climate change policy in the last fortnight, nothing’s changed in respect of same-sex marriage in the last fortnight and nothing’s changed in respect of border protection in the last fortnight, and I don’t imagine anything will change in national security policy more broadly.”

And so on, as the mad monk managed to sound like a Labor stooge trotting out the current line on the Turnbullians ...

It was so obviously a "wasn't I a great PM", coupled with the wrecking ball routine, that the reptiles hastily cobbled together a rebuttal, as did gorgeous George, who turned up on The Insiders to plead that things had changed:

Naturally the dog botherer was on hand demanding fundamentalist rigour, because that's what barking mad fundamentalists always demand:

And Miranda the Devine got herself into the wars by announcing that it was all the work of rough working class slags that they got bashed because gentlemen of an upper class kind never resorted to domestic violence ...

And Akker Dakker took the Abbott line in a way that was as offensive as possible, because when it comes to a hard-line warrior, nobody beats the corpulent Billy Bunter when it comes to pounding the keyboard:

Apparently kumbaya means don't go snorting that line of cocaine ...

And  late last night Paul "the magic water man" Sheehan rushed into print to warn that Islamics were raping the women of Europe, because white men don't rape, oh no they don't, they truly don't ...

And then there was a heartfelt plea of alienation from Angela 'why doesn't everyone have large families like me' Shanahan:

Because, it turns out, the greater populace is actually her spawn, and they're divorced from politics, and that's enough to produce a great keening and wailing about the way that politics is divorced from the Shanahans, who are, let it be said without irony, the greater populace ...

And then there was an anxious Polonius sounding like a Fairfax headline in the matter of the rough Brough ...

                                

And then there was a deeper, unholy fear ...

Naturally George of the deep north was on hand to explain that extreme far right fringe lunatics were his natural constituents and they should be welcomed into the party ...

Truth to tell, the pond was overwhelmed.

Oh sure, the dog botherer is on hand this day to rabbit on about the ABC at interminable and tedious length; oh sure Moorice has turned up, wisely forsaking climate science to go union bashing; oh sure, knowing Moorice wouldn't want to alienate the fraudband man, the Oz editorialist has taken to the keyboard to warn against the devious, clever Chinese and getting sucked into climate science; but the pond realised that it would take a wonderful effort from the leader of the pack to produce a dominating effort, one that would show leadership qualities and stand head and shoulders above the rest ...

Who is that man?

Can the pond give a hint? Lately the Bolter has been in deep mourning. This has led to some classic opening lines:

A true mark of the man. Malcolm Turnbull had just told Tony Abbott he was about to take his job, yet Abbott honoured a promise to meet girl guides rather than hit the phones to save himself.

Cue photos of a total doofus blissing out and doing high fives because he knows know to do it, and surely that's enough to continue the leadership:

And then there were the Bolter thought bubbles that required only a headline to understand. Such as ...

Turnbull: the man Paul Keating wanted to keep in the Liberal party ... which concludes that the general left benefited from this sinister conspiracy by Keating to keep Malware in parliament ...

And Turnbull sells optimism when pain is on the agenda, which is recycled Terry McCrann, a man so foolish that the pond never mentions him ...

And Conservatives should not sell themselves so cheaply to Turnbull, which was recycled James Allan ... say no more ...

And then there was A Ruddy light streams on this government, about a leak celebrating Julie Bishop suddenly scoring a lunch date at the UN to discuss climate change, which concluded darkly, If the UN welcomes you, time to check your bearings ...

And then - let's skip over the bizarre I really like Sam Newman - so we can get to the surly bitterness of China ticks off Turnbull. But media doesn't care because he's not Abbott ...

And then there was the truculent unhappiness of More Abbott achievements now credited to the great Turnbull ...

The pond could sense it was all building, and soon the volcano would go off, spewing grief and bile in good measure ...

Now some will be charmed by the folksy illustration in the Bolter's blog ...

But the pond would like to thank the reptiles of Oz, who have now faithfully taken to regurgitating the words of the Bolter, and in the process provide some splendid illustrations ...

Oh well, it's the HUNsters really, but what a splendid joining in with the 'hanging of the onions' meme of recent times ...

As for the rest, well the pond must bow to the master ...

You can imagine that by this time, the Bolter had managed to induce tears of remorse and guilt in the pond. So much suffering, and all caused by the pond's indifference.

Misty water coloured memories of the way we were ...

Oh sheesh, ye ancient feral cats and wild foxes - the pond saw a few, along with an ambling ant-eater - and the pose alongside a statue of Churchill. 

As if there hasn't already been enough delusions of grandeur ...

Oh yes, surely in time, the great man will be remembered as the Churchill of the antipodes ... as the Bolter's line in alternative history and sci fi takes hold ...

But let us go on ... because surely the girl guides will get another run ...

Yep you can't get a better scribe than that in your corner. 

Now please, no trawling through the archives ...

You see, when he said he was threatened by teh gays, he meant only in the sense that it was a kind of tricky spin bowling, a googly the pond is given to understand, or perhaps a Johnny Gleeson Tamworth special ...

Yes, you need to forget the girl guides, and admire the Bolter's tremendous skill in bowling up such poignant lines as ...

No, the country before politics, he declared. I could have shaken the silly bugger, who played politics like it was cricket when everyone else was cage fighting ...

You know, cricket like this ...

Oh indeed, indeed, real style and a flashing blade and rapier wit. 

The pond had to turn to a cricket expert to help interpret that classic moment, much loved by all who saw it ...

It seems what Tony Abbott was doing that day was a classic display of Bill Lawry skills, though those who don't fancy pigeons apparently might propose he was imitating Trevor Bailey or Geoff Boycott ...

The pond had no idea what it all meant, and had to resort to a cartoon:

Sorry, contenders.

The pond has to award the hagiographic royal order of the budgie smugglers, with bar, to the Bolter.

The man is a cricket tragic of the first water, an exemplar of all who aspire to the tedium of the great game ... and let it be said that he understands and plays the game with all the renowned skill of the Dutch ...

While it's a recognition of great past achievements, it's also an encouragement award. There should be more days like this, more pieces, more keening and wailing, more berating of Malware, more sackcloth and ashes, more doleful tunes about the misty water-coloured memories of the way we were ...

Because cricket might be as tedious as all get out, but when the Bolter steps up to play the game, it produces comedy gold.

Vitai Lampada 
There's a breathless hush in the Close to-night - 
Ten to make and the match to win - 
A bumping pitch and a blinding light, 
An hour to play and the last man in. 
And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat, 
Or the selfish hope of a season's fame, 
But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote 
"Play up! play up! and play the game!" 

The sand of the desert is sodden red, - 
Red with the wreck of a square that broke; - 
The Gatling's jammed and the colonel dead, 
And the regiment blind with dust and smoke. 
The river of death has brimmed his banks, 
And England's far, and Honour a name, 
But the voice of schoolboy rallies the ranks, 
"Play up! play up! and play the game!" 

This is the word that year by year 
While in her place the School is set 
Every one of her sons must hear, 
And none that hears it dare forget. 
This they all with a joyful mind 
Bear through life like a torch in flame, 
And falling fling to the host behind - 
"Play up! play up! and play the game!"

Thanks Sir Henry Newbolt. You might have died in 1938, but your vision lives on in Abbott and the most worshipful Bolter ...

And so to a couple of Rowe cartoons from the archive, because they're Rowe, and they resonate with the Bolter's keening and wailing ...