The Editor notes: A huge welcome back to jLo who is briefly returning from a long, self-imposed GrodsExile.
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I love to vote. Apparently, however, I need to stop doing it: my vote is a jinx that sees the forces of evil triumph. My 18th birthday party was significant not because I finally got to get legally drunk, but because it was the night John Howard came to power. 11 long years it took for him to be unseated, and I mourn the fact that I was not in the country to celebrate with my long-suffering friends the night it happened.

Now, I am dealt a further blow. Not only did I miss the greatest electoral night in Australia of my adult life to date, but my FIRST LONDON ELECTION has turned out to be a bitter disappointment. Commonweatlh residents of London are entitled to have their say in local council/Mayoral elections, and so I dutifully turned up at Shoreditch Town Hall yesterday morning to cast my vote (three jurisdictions in six months, in case anyone else but me has noticed). Tonight the counting is over and apparently Boris Johnson is my new Mayor.

What the fuck.

It’s my 18th birthday all over again.

You all know how I feel about this city. I love it to pieces, and can never explain exactly why. Well, my job just got harder, because of the measly 45% of my fellow Londoners who could be bothered turning up to vote, a staggering number of them thought that it would be a good idea for Boris Johnson to be the mayor. That racist, homophobic muppet with stupid hair is now in charge of one of the greatest cities in the world. You have got to be kidding.

It’s nights like this that make me lost my faith in democracy. What the fuck are you all thinking? Are you NUTS? I am very privileged in many ways, and I try to never lose sight of that. But when I see other adults make such FUCKED UP choices, my political minority status is very difficult to resolve.

End drunken rant. Goodnight.

PS. Perhaps I should refrain from voting in the US general election? God help us if my jinx continues.

Sitting around with my fellow expatriates in London last night, we discussed the weekend announcement by Senator Stott-Despoja that she would not contest her seat at the next election. Opinions were widely mixed and very vocally expressed (which, if you know my friends, is no great surprise). There were those who defended the persona, the ‘intelligent young woman, fighting the good fight’ camp. And there were those who ripped vicious strips off the person who, in their opinion, single-handedly ruined the only party worth voting for in Australian politics.

I don’t agree with that last analysis, and while this has contributed to my sadness about the Democrats generally, I’ve found that I’ve reacted to the Senator’s news on a personal, rather than political level.

For what it’s worth, I feel a little glum that she’s going. Like many of my young female peers, Senator Stott-Despoja played a not-insignificant role in my political life. I was a teenager when she was elected and she represented what I aspired to and always greatly respected. Intelligent, articulate, fiercely committed to principles and the value of honest debate, Senator Stott-Despoja (and her Democrat colleagues) stood for everything I wanted politics to be.

Eleven years on and I feel very differently about politics and the capacity for those on the margins to effect positive change. I am hopeful that my optimism will one day return, but the Senator’s term neatly bookends my own political development – from childish idealism to surly, cynical adolescence. I’m looking forward to developing a more grown-up political outlook, though I’m not sure who my new parliamentary standard-bearer will be.

So, you know, if nothing else it’s the end of an era. I respect her decision and understand it: her life has been about that place and those issues for more than a decade, she’s earned the right to a freaking life already. I’m not a mother, but I am sure that motivation is a strong one. I always feel a little regretful when a woman leaves a profession for family reasons, because it is yet another indication that the fight is not over yet. It shouldn’t have to be a mutually exclusive choice, dammit – workplaces are a long way from being flexible enough to ensure that people with talent don’t feel that they have to leave in order to spend time with their children.

But it is what it is. Working in Parliament House taught me that only a depressingly small number of our elected representatives are truly talented and intelligent individuals. Whatever you think about Senator Stott-Despoja, she was definitely one of those few. And now that number is even smaller.

I was going to wait until the promised analysis of the game itself appears on this esteemed page, but I’m just bursting. Bursting, I tell you. CAN WE PLEASE TALK ABOUT ZIDANE?

Like other ladies in Internetland, I must confess to having had (not to put too fine a point on it) the raging hots for Zidane. You guys all know that I am helpless before an air of quiet authority (mmm, air of quiet authority), and Mr Z seemed to have it in spades.

Mesmerised, I was, whenever he appeared on screen. I kept it mostly to myself (too sheepish to admit that the best reason I had for wanting France to win the World Cup was a crush on the captain), which meant that those around me were surprised at the force of my emotional reaction to his morphing into a vicious thug before my very eyes.

Now, violence is totally unsexy, of course, but the saddest thing about the whole incident for me was that it just seemed so stupid – why would the captain of a team, moments away from a penalty shootout in which he would inevitably play a key role, do something so incredibly daft? As always, discovering that the object of my yearnings is, in fact, an idiot, killed the crush stone dead.

(Almost. I still find myself getting a little giddy during TV news footage, in case I catch a glimpse of his now calm and besuited self. But I digress).

Gentlemen of my acquaintance have posited that I ‘just don’t understand’ the deep and all-consuming passion of sport, and that Zidane’s actions, while regrettable, are understandable in the context of the heady, desperate emotional maelstrom of a Cup final. Failing to understand that blood-boiling, adrenaline-fuelled fixation on victory that characterises sportspeople at all levels probably explains why I am unlikely to be lifting any major trophies aloft during my lifetime.

What I find particularly interesting, however, is the idea that it may have been an insult to his mother that resonates most strongly with those defending his actions. This article in today’s Guardian discusses the matter at length and outlines the significance of mama-bashing as the ultimate insult in certain cultures.

Now, while I love my mum and am prepared to concede that there might be a cultural aspect to the gravity of the insult, it just doesn’t seem enough. Same goes for being called a ‘terrorist’, if that is indeed what happened – surely an elite sportsperson with years of experience knows better than to react with anything but laughter?

All of this is a roundabout way of asking about the strength of insults. Is there something someone could say to you that would make you snap like that? Can you imagine a situation whereby you felt you had no other option but to retaliate physically?

I cannot – which may be a failure of imagination, or may mean that I have not been properly insulted yet.

(This is not an invitation.)

Last night, the comrades at the House of jLo were idly watching some very trashy television (if you read closely, you’ll be able to tell exactly which show I’m referring to). It was a most entertaining experience, prompting exchanges such as the following:

jLo: “Whoa, sweetie! Step AWAY from the solarium. You’re done.”
Comrade TJ: “She looks like an Oompa-Loompa. Only more orange.”

(later)

jLo: “Hang on. Did he just take off his pants?”
Comrade TJ (peeking through her fingers): “I can’t watch. I can’t work out what else there is for her to take off and still have this show remain on air. I can’t believe they’re stripping on stage.”
jLo: “And now they’re simulating sex. Are there children watching?”

During a much-needed ad break respite, we saw a curious thing (and this is actually the point of this post, in case you were wondering). An advertisement for the Nightly News, for the following evening.

It was a tearjerking human interest story, about some orphaned little boys and a community coming together to help. I watched the promo assuming it would be a Today Tonight story (you know, hard-hitting current affairs etc). I was mistaken. This heartwarming feature will be aired on the Nightly News.

Does anyone else find this absurd? How on earth can you advertise the news a day early? Surely by its very definition the ‘news’ program is dedicated to the events of the day – and therefore, by its nature, not something you can advertise in advance. What if there was a spectacularly large news story today, one of those kind that eat up entire bulletins? What would happen to the little boys and the community with the heart of gold then?

Perhaps I’m over-reacting. Perhaps this has been going on forever and I’ve just not noticed before? Certainly I’m apparently expecting too much of the ‘news’ department at that particular network. It just seems to me that the moment you drop even the pretence of currency in news reporting you’ve abandoned what shred of credibility you may have had left.

Or perhaps I was just blinded by the fake tan and semi-nudity.

Whilst idly flicking through yet another infuriating article about terror laws, media tactics and whose great idea it was to tell those evil nasty terrorists exactly when ASIO will be showing up at their front door, I noticed the following sentence from the Prime Minister:

“I do think the public understands that if you start talking about the details of intelligence, you wreck the capacity of bad people to be brought to account.” (Link here)

What on earth is going on with that sentence? Sure, it's poorly expressed and very clumsy (vintage PM, in that sense). But seriously, 'BAD PEOPLE'? What is this, national security policy for the PlaySchool hour?

Watch out for the BAD PEOPLE, everyone! They're coming!

Federal Liberal MP Danna “Stay Brave and True” Vale’s suggestion of establishing a Gallipoli theme park in Australia is truly inspirational. Just think: instead of having to trek halfway around the world every Anzac Day, now truebluedinkidi Aussies will be able to camp overnight on (mock) gravestones, get roaringly drunk, sing Chisel songs and leave behind tons of garbage right in our own backyard! And what better place for such antics than the pristine natural environment of the Mornington Peninsula? I’m assured by Ms Vale it is just like the real thing - only, I imagine, less war-ravaged and, you know, Turkish.

Thank you, good people of the electorate of Hughes, for electing Ms Vale as your representative and thereby ensuring a constant source of entertainment for the nation. A truly selfless act on your part, and I salute you.

My favourite follow up story in today’s papers is this one. Turns out that when Bracksy sneered at the idea yesterday, he had either forgotten or was unaware that his department had written to Ms Vale earlier this year lending support and encouragement for the idea. Nice one! Let's have a moment of sympathetic silence for the poor public servant who drafted that letter who is today receiving a hearty roasting.

Trawling the ABC Online site today, I came across this rather amusing post on their Arts blog.

Apparently the UK Poetry Society recently conducted a poll of their members to nominate the poem they’d most like to see broadcast into space. The winner was a poem entitled “Human Beings” by Adrian Mitchell, which you can read here. The poem will be displayed at the UK National Space Centre until the Poetry Society can come up with a way to beam it into space for the edification of any extra-terrestrial visitors who come our way.

My favourite part of the story is where they quote Mitchell as saying, “Human Beings is a poem for peace. It is about the joy of being human, but that doesn't mean that it's against animals or alien beings. When it goes into space and it's read by aliens, I'd hate for them to think that it's anti alternative life forms.”

That’s just beautiful.

Of course, the question that must be asked is what the good people of Australia would choose, given the same opportunity. I would appreciate any suggestions via the comments section below.

To get the ball rolling, (and because I’d like to think if the Ed was here, this would be his nomination), I’ll throw this one into the mix: as Mick says in Idiot Box, I've got a poem for ya:

You are an idiot,
You are a bitch,
You shit me to tears,
…I'm goin' down the pub.

Like Adrian Mitchell, I can only hope that my nomination is taken by the aliens in the spirit of endearment in which it was intended.

I was amused to read this story in the Age Online this afternoon, which opens with the sentence:

“Prime Minister John Howard has urged employers to show flexibility if their workers are bleary eyed after watching the must-win deciding Ashes cricket Test against England.”

Does this remind anyone else of the famous Bob Hawke 'any boss who sacks a worker for taking a day off is a bum' declaration after Australia won the America's Cup in 1983? There's a delightful symmetry, there - the workplace 'flexibility' urged by Howard echoing the words of a trade union stalwart, all in the name of sport.

I was also intrigued to read the Prime Minister's comments about the return of Glenn McGrath: “he is a tremendous asset. He's such a reliable, accurate bowler”. Now, as much as it pains me to agree with the PM on anything, I can only interpret that as a veiled slur on that most idiotic, unreliable, nowhere-near-accurate-or-consistent showpony of the Australian bowling lineup, Brett “Fuckhead” Lee. In which case, he's absolutely right. Gah.

PS: You'll be amused to note that writing this post required me to google the phrase “Hawke bum sack sickie”, to check the wording of the original quote. I feel a little dirty.

Well, he must do. Either that or he is so blissfully un-self-aware that he failed to realise the perfect irony of this sentence:

“Those who run the fear campaign get the first headlines but after a while people sit back and say hang on, that can't be right.”

Ha! How delicious. I kind of want to frame that moment. I have no idea how he kept a straight face.

(For reference, this classic quote appeared on ABC Radio and TV news tonight, the PM speaking in response to the ACTU's campaign against IR reform. Transcript here if you don't believe me. And I can't say I blame you.)

As I mentioned last week, I'm in the last days of my tenure as a lowly servant of Australian democracy. This fortnight just gone was the final session of Parliamentary sitting before Senate Changeover Day (also known in my household as 'Unemployment Day'), July 1st.

I promised the Ed that I would share a couple of the stories and observations of my final Canberra sojourn for your entertainment. And so, I humbly present the following list:

The Unintentional Diss of the Year:
(This one is not strictly a final-week moment, but I was reminded of it the other day and remembered that I hadn't posted it yet…)

The Scene: Parliament House coffee shop, Budget Night, your intrepid reporter jLo is fetching supplies about an hour before the Big Speech.

In bounds the Treasurer, all excited smiles and bonhomie. He beams at the girl before the counter, and says, LOUDLY:

“You're new here. What's your name?”

To which she replied, without missing a beat:

“Anna. What's yours?”

Hee! It was great. His face fell, but he recovered quickly. “Peter.”

There was no sign that this incident dinted his Budget confidence. But as I watched, I knew the smug veneer has been cracked, even if only a little. You're not that famous yet, Pete.

And now, the final fortnight Top Five moments:

The WTF?

See earlier post, Senator Stephens' poetical tribute to the departing Senators. It will live on in my memory for a long time as the perfect example of how crazy that place really is.

Oh, and I forgot to mention the best part: We got a beautifully printed and stapled booklet version of Senator Stephens' opus hand-delivered to our office the next morning. It's a thing of beauty.

The Tearjerker:

These comments from Senator Brian Greig in his final speech:

This place takes a high toll in separation and divorce. My partner Keith has not really seen me for six years. I thank him sincerely for keeping me anchored, for mowing the lawn, for walking the dog and for being my husband. I do not care what anybody says; you cannot legislate against love. Having spent almost 20 years together as a couple, it was very difficult for me to sit in this place a year ago and be told that my relationship was not real, did not have the same level of love, commitment, trust and affection as a heterosexual relationship and that we must be relegated to second class, at the back of the bus. I believe that in 10 years, perhaps 20, that law will change. I see strong attitudinal change in the community, most particularly in those people under the age of 35. It will be the case that the Marriage Amendment Bill 2004 will be revisited and students and historians will look back on it with shame.”

The Senators in Solidarity:

Senator Andrew Murray, ending his farewell speech to departing Senator Aden Ridgeway with the heartfelt words, 'Go well, bro.'

(Hee hee hee. I'm still giggling at that one.)

The Nod of Respect:

Thursday morning, after the Press Gallery Midwinter Ball, I was walking through the Trough (staff cafeteria) and I spotted our Ed's APH Girlfriend, the lovely Kate Ellis. She was looking foxy, as always - great suit, great hair, spectacularly high heels - and she was clutching a plate of the greasiest breakfast you could imagine as if her life depended on it. I liked her even more after I saw that - not only is she smart and gorgeous, but the girl doesn't mess around when it comes to hangovers.

And finally, regretfully: The Missed Opportunity:

Walking arm-in-arm with one of my female colleagues on the final evening when who should walk past but ultra-conservative Senator-elect Steve Fielding. I turned to my friend and said:

“Wow. That was a missed opportunity. We really should have snogged.”

The End. I still have an insider colleague or two inside the Big House, so I'm hoping to be able to bring you the odd entertaining snippet of Parliamentary news in the coming months. But, for now, that is all.

Hey folks - I have been inexcusably absent from this esteemed website of late, and for that I apologise. I am one of the many lucky folk who lose their jobs as a result of the Senate changeover on July 1, so these last weeks of Parliamentary sittings have been a heady mix of nostalgia, impatience, and the delights of purging an office worth of paper.

I had to rush over here, though, to share something with you. One of the key features of the final week of sittings are the 'valedictory' speeches by and about the departing Senators.

You may have read in today's papers about Senator Harradine's speech last night - he's been here since 1975, so it was something of an occasion. I must confess, while I am fundamentally opposed to most of what he stands for, and while I spent most of his 20 minutes wondering if he was actually going to make it (he's very unwell) - it was quite a moment when he sat down. I had a little shiver and everything. He's gone!

What I really wanted to share with you was this little gem of a speech delivered at about 8:45pm last night by Senator Ursula Stephens, from NSW. She wrote a poem in honour of the departing Senators, comparing each one to a figure of Greek mythology. She has a lilting, singsong voice ideally suited to the delivery of doggerel - and there was great mirth in our office with each new verse. You can check out the Hansard here (page 94). It'll be the funniest thing you read all day.

Here are a couple of highlights:

Our Artemis is Meg Lees, but instead of bow and arrow
She uses words to pierce her opposition to the marrow.
A nature lover armed with binoculars and thermos
She campaigns on behalf of all creatures pachydermous.

(What?!)

Nick Bolkus is Odysseus, a traveller far and wide.
Since ‘81 he’s taken a huge workload in his stride.
His law and justice efforts helped to build our reputation
And our standing on the global stage of reconciliation.
Odysseus works tirelessly; he’s our own Trojan hero.
His raffles are quite legendary; his looks, a touch … ‘de nero’.
He stuck to multicultural beliefs through thin and thick,
That’s why I think Odysseus should be renamed … Eth-Nick!

Good god. I can't wait to get out of here.

Okay, imagine you are a cattleman from the high country. For generations, (well, at least three) you and your family have been grazing your cattle with carefree abandon all over the Alpine ranges.

You're somewhat vexed that those fat cats in Melbourne have decided to kowtow to the crazy green vote and refuse to let you continue to do so.

You decide you've got to do something. Drunk with righteous indignation, you round up 500 of your closest mates, get suited up in your Highland gear, and ride your horses down to Melbourne to tell those city folk just what you think.

And then you invite Tom Burlinson to ride with you. An actor from Melbourne, currently starring in an all-singing, all-dancing Broadway musical, leads you into town.

What were you thinking? Seriously, irrespective of what I think of your cause, this was a brilliant and visually effective rally, guaranteed to make the evening news. However, the message was completely lost - at least in our loungeroom - in the guffaws of laughter at being spoken for by Tom Burlinson, of all people.

“I believe in their cause. I was exposed to the ways of the mountain cattlemen when I was in The Man From Snowy River more than 20 years ago. And I believe that it's a livelihood and a living heritage that should be preserved.” [From ABC Radio's PM (transcript here)]

Sob. That's just beautiful!

I wish I could find a decent picture online of how he looked today, all suited up in his Driza-Bone and Akubra, looking seriously down into the camera from atop his trusty mountain steed, speaking with passion about a world he portrayed on film two decades ago.

Instead, just for nostalgia's sake, I offer you this - a gallery of pictures of Tom the way he was back then.

Don't get me wrong - I love Our Tom, and The Man From Snowy River will always have a very special place in my heart. But having him there today just turned the entire spectacle into an hilarious farce.

One last thought: was the Driza-Bone his? Did he just have it lying around? Or did someone have to lend it to him?

Hello all, hope you've kept yourselves well during the GrodsCorp hiatus. I wanted to write to say a big WELCOME BACK to our dear Ed, who has been off educatin' for the past three weeks. We look forward to your insightful and edifying account of your travels as soon as you can get around to it, mate…

And in the meantime, a little something here about the ALP and the stacking of the branches. My favourite quote:

“… right-winger Kelvin Thomson accused the Left of “hypocrisy and double standards” and of having a “born-to-rule mentality” in the Victorian ALP. He labelled the Independents faction, associated with ALP national president Barry Jones and former premier John Cain, as “the Australian Democrats of the Labor Party” - they had no future and no idea what they stood for.”

Hey! I resemble that remark.

Some days, it's just good to be alive.

Best. Story. Ever.

Yes, I'm still chuckling away. This is my favourite article so far today - it's both illuminating and snarky, which is a most excellent combination.

The to-ing and fro-ing in the Parliament is now over, but I'm hoping the story sticks around. A great anecdote from yesterday came from a colleague of mine who encountered the Senator trying to flee the gaggle of photographers stalking him in the Senate carpark. He escaped into the stairwell, and my colleague noticed that he'd left his lights on. She debated what she should do, then decided to leave it up to him. So she stuck her head into the stairwell and yelled “Senator!”. No answer (obviously he's getting used to people yelling that at him). “Senator!”. Still no answer. “You've left your lights on!”. The footsteps stopped, there was a silent pause. She says she could almost hear his mind ticking over: do I go back and face the flashbulbs now, or do I risk not being able to escape later this afternoon? What a choice.

Anyway, he came back down. Hee hee.

Edited to add: On considering this topic some more (and I'm supposed to be doing a uni assignment, so of course I'm thinking about it a lot) I've stopped laughing. The political reality of this situation is starting to hit home: for the next three years, there is very little a Government Senator could do that would be so wrong that they would get officially disciplined, fired, or expelled from their party. The Government needs their vote in the Senate to maintain its majority after July 1. They can get away with whatever they want, even more than they could before.

It makes you wonder whether that occurred to Senator Lightfoot before he boasted of his exploits to News Ltd journalists.