“My front bench will reflect the best chance to take it up to the Opposition”, she said with manufactured authority.

With due respect to the eminent Ms Gillard… what a load of smelly camel shit!

Talent is the last consideration! The rabid dogs are now transparently fighting over the corpse of Kevin.

Foreign Affairs is the most coveted portfolio of all: An unlimited budget to enjoy first-class Qantas travel, five star hotels, limitless credit cards and endless embassy wanky drinkies. The spoils of war.

The recipients of almost all Gillard promotions in the past 18 months, including the despicably partisan “Fair Work Australia”, have been union hacks… the real prime movers of the Labor machine.

Those same hacks gleefully fell into line behind Rudd when he artfully wrested government from Howard. Once the prize was theirs they immediately set about eliminating him in the most sickening way, via the NSW right faction, without reference to Caucus or Cabinet.
Even Abib suffered guilt.

The reason given for the killing of Kevin? “He was unelectable.” So now we have an even more unelectable Prime Minister! Where are the factions that might now rid us of her? Well, they have been paid off, so she is safe. She is safe as long as she can avoid the will of the people.

This vindictive piece of homework, at the behest of the Greens and union lackeys, has set about gazetting odious, socialist legislation that Abbott can’t reverse. She will continue to do this for as long as she remains. Reasonable historians will analyse this approbrium with shame.

Rudd has to now abandon his tilt at PM. The Labor Party has suffered badly but don’t underestimate the damage done internationally. The US showed interest in the challenge and even China wanted to know what the hell was going on. There have been valuable relationships, forged diplomatic links and support in international forums crafted over the past 18 months.  It will be extremely difficult for the person who now steps into that breach.

Stephen Smith is the obvious choice.

But let’s see how sincere Gillard is in her wish for reconciliation… let’s see how deep the hatred really is… because an even more obvious choice for Foreign Affairs is Kevin Rudd. This will be the acid test for Labor’s sincerity in their wish for unity but it will take an unequivocal, public endorsement of absolute confidence from Gillard.

There is no doubt that Rudd is the best Foreign Affairs Minister possible and he loves the job. I believe he would accept the Ministry, given the statement of confidence in him that was missing before.

It would assist our international reputation because Rudd could simply say he resigned (temporarily) due to pressure from the electorate to stand for PM. He lost. So what? Now he is back where he (and they) want him to be. Where he can resume a valuable charter in the interests of Australia. Where he can no longer be in Gillard’s hair.

Will Gillard show good grace? It would be in her interest because it would take Rudd from the back bench where he will still be a pest. Foreign Affairs could take him right out of the venom loop.

Mmmmm let’s see what Gillard is made of.

So Julia’s staff started writing her acceptance speech two weeks prior to the coup. Big deal!

It was obvious that Abib, Shorten, leading union heads and Richo were plotting two weeks prior, so of course Julia was appraised of that, if not intricately involved in it. To suggest otherwise is a nonsense. Therefore, this is just another Gillard lie.
 
By far the biggest and most damaging report in the 4 Corners program has not been canvassed at all by the media. Not yet.

It was reported that a focus poll was taken by Gillard supporters using only people who were “negative to Rudd”. These concocted poll figures were circulated in the Caucus and hidden from Rudd. This false “poll” showed Rudd was now unelectable.

This “poll” was taken two weeks prior to the leadership vote.

Now, if this report is true (and events suggest it is) then it is the most treacherous piece of intra-Party chicanery ever committed.

Caucus Members’ fear that their seats were seriously at risk was capitalised on. They were fed false information in order to get them to vote against Rudd and for Gillard.

Oakeshott and Windsor will surely now have second thoughts.
 
But the thoughts of those Caucus members, who were so deviously misled, might now turn to mutiny. To replace Gillard with Rudd will mean an election.

Rudd must now be aware of this low act, but he was not then, because he felt certain he still had the numbers when he went into the Party Room the next morning for that already-arranged Leadership ballot.

Had he been allowed to view that false poll he would have known he was a gonner.

You don’t need balls to play dirty in Canberra.
 
 
Dear Ms Gillard,

My Dad sent me up to my room last night ‘cos I told him a lie.

I never knew how dads could tell when kids were lying, then, before school this morning I saw bits of that 4 Corners program on the news.
…
So, I’m writing to thank you for solving my problem, Ms Gillard.

I know I’m only 8, but honest, Ms Gillard, it was as plain as the nose on your face that your eyes were lying.

Now I know to always shut my eyes before I tell a lie. Then Dad will never know.

Thankyou again and Happy Valentine’s Day, Ms Gillard,

Phoebe

So I’ve been sitting through most of Saturday flipping channels desperately trying to get the best and first view of Jessica Watson sailing her final leg through the heads in Sydney Harbour and returning from her round the world solo sailing trip.

Turns out, as her sponsor, channel One (Tens digital channel) had the best coverage, although technically, it was a little flaky with dropouts. Digital + live coverage = a few headaches.

And this is the day that so many people have been waiting for. I’m guessing first and foremost, Jessica herself. But also her parents, her siblings, her extended family, her support team, the media and every other person who has watched her from afar.

To be honest, I was one of the ones who was flabbergasted when it came to light her parents would allow and encourage her to do something this massive and quite frankly, dangerous. More so, I think because I have a daughter and I know a few sixteen year old girls, and I’d be flat out allowing them to go to the movies alone, let alone circumnavigate the globe. I wasn’t alone in this opinion. The naysayers were out in force. The parents groups, the politicians, the talkback radio jocks. All had something to say and very little was positive.

It probably didn’t help her cause when she ran directly into a tanker on her way down from the Sunshine Coast to her launching port in Sydney. In fact, she only made it as far as the Gold Coast waters, where rather than be embarrassed, she simply went into lockdown, spent every possible moment fixing her stricken vessel and got back on her way to achieving her “dream”.

Followers of Jessicas Blog would know the planning and processing of this World record attempt have been in the works for years. She didn’t simply wake up one morning and think, “Hmmm instead of painting my nails and drooling over Twilight characters, I might just try my hand at sailing solo around the world”. In fact, her parents revealed she had dreamed of doing this for many years but had to work up the courage to approach them and ask for firstly their blessing and secondly, their undivided attention. Whilst they weren’t immediately on board, they clearly understood their daughters’ passion.

So, after her false start, Jess got going and after some 210 days at sea, she returned home. Safe, looking well and having not lost her mind. Brave, brave girl.

And of course this was big news. All three major, free to air channels had full, live coverage of the event, with One, her major sponsor, getting first crack at filming and interviewing her. Unfortunately, Jess was a little late. 2.5 hours late to be exact. That meant Karl and Lisa (Ch 9) had to pad out the minutes with inane conversation and Bill Woods (One/Ten) talking in detail of her eating and toilet habits. Such was the delay; Channel 10 had to leave the live coverage to relay the AFL game of the day, leaving Channel One to continue on. And that my friends, is the new found joy of having two channels for each station.

The thing is, moments like this just have to be seen live. They are pure “had to be there” moments. Like seeing Bindi Irwin make her daddy speech at her fathers funeral or being awake to see the Twin Towers get hit. These moments are the ones you can always remember exactly where you were at that precise time.

And you would have had to have been a very hard hearted person to not cry when Jess was finally reunited with her parents on the dock today. Hugh Rimmington (Ch 10/One) lost it and got all choked up when she officially crossed the line. I like that kind of real emotion in presenters. Oh, but Channel One, a heads up, that Gabriella Chilmi, Women on a Mission song? Not really appropriate for heartfelt homecoming and reunion. Something a little less racy next time yeah?

What I realised after watching Jess today, was just how incredibly mature she is. I mean, apart from talking to people on a satellite phone, she has been alone and not seen an actual human being in 7 months. When I was 16 I couldn’t stand my own company for a day, let alone 210 of them. Don’t get me wrong, she still got ultra excited and giggly when she got a goodie bag with Tim Tams and whipped cream in it, showing that at heart, she truly is, still only 16. Yet, after listening to both The Prime Minister, Kevin Rudd and NSW Premier, Kristina Keneally make speeches, she basically made me forget whatever the hell they had just spouted, because she was succinct, humble and honest. This quote especially makes me admire her “You don’t have to be anyone special to achieve something big. You just have to want it.”

Sure, it was a staggering 5 hours of live television today that really only had enough content for one, and I know we’ll be seeing her over and over and over again in the coming weeks, starting with 60 minutes on Sunday night, but I also know what I’ll be talking about around the water cooler on Monday. And for once, it won’t be about disgraced footballers. Well done Jessica.

So recently, Robin Williams, via David Letterman, told a great chunk of Americans that Australians are, and I quote “English Rednecks”. Really?

Who the hell did Robin hang out with when he visited our great land?

Look, if he bunked down with the guy I saw on Thursday night in Big W, scamming 23 items through the 3 items or less checkout, telling his girlfriend “No more fucking chocolate eggs” whilst shoving a mars bar into their screaming 2 year old, while wearing a shirt with the classy logo “All grown up but still fascinated by boobies”, then yeah, fine. But that guy’s in the minority, right? Right?

The Collins dictionary didn’t have a meaning for Redneck, so I moved onto an obviously more reputable source: Wikipedia. They tell us to call someone a Redneck is “referring to the poor rural white Southerner, probably derived from individuals having a red neck caused by working outdoors in hot sun”. There has to be more to it than that. I mean, my husband isn’t all that wealthy (having a spendaholic wife and a penchant for Bunnings) and he often has a red neck, working as a plumber. I don’t generally think of him or his workmates as an uneducated racists with rotten teeth. Not satisfied, I tried another website, titled “YOU KNOW YOU’RE A REDNECK IF”

“Your state’s got a new law that says when a couple get divorced, they are still legally brother and sister”

“The Halloween pumpkin on your front porch has more teeth than your wife”

“you own a homemade fur coat”

To name a few.

So Robin Williams was basically calling us an unhygienic population that marries our direct family and wears roadkill around our shoulders. Uncool Robin Williams. Uncool. For one, I’ve never worn fur.

Then the Kevinator, aka Kevin Rudd, got on the radio and started defending our honour. Saying Robin better look at Alabama before he starts trashing our country. Kevin, take the high road man, defend by all means, but low blows just make us look mean. I mean shit, we know you’re partial to your hairdryer and a 5 star meal when flying but that doesn’t mean we all refer to you as that pretentious, controlling wanker does it? (Insert answer here)

I guess some of our previous Tourism Campaigns haven’t really helped our image. For instance, “Where the bloody hell are you?” Bogan as. Seriously, Butterbingle got lucky with that ad. By rights, they should have used a toothless guy in a flannie, chucking a massive doughnut, screaming into his mobile phone “Where the fuck arrrrre ya????

Baz Lurhmann had a crack next. A mini version of Australia, the movie. It tanked. Partly because it was just too arty farty but mainly because no one knew what in the fuck we were on about. All it did, with a kid, breaking into an apartment, spreading red dirt about willy nilly and creeping about bedrooms, was scare the living shit out of it’s target market.

And what about our most successful campaign ever? Paul Hogans “Chuck another shrimp on the Barbie. It’s starting to make sense now. A guy in a ripped, sleeveless checked shirt, shorty short shorts, thongs , downing a tinnie was asking the tourists to come over, get pissed and eat some cooked prawns. He was representing the typical Australian and yet he was really just one step away from Leo Wanker. But they ate that shit up.

Now, the only thing we could do to make Australia appear even more uncultured, would be to advertise a gigantic swingers party with Warrick Capper and Pauline Hanson as the headliners.

Surely there’s a middle ground?

So hard is it to come up with a catchy and decent slogan or brand for Australia, the government has simply thrown their hands in the air and told it’s population “You fucking do it”. They want us to come up with something about Australia that matches “There’s nothing like Australia”. I want you to go here: http://www.nothinglikeaustralia.net/ to see what some very clever people have come up with.

Quite catchy some of them hey? Irresponsible and uncouth, but spot on the money, some of them.

Last I heard, Robin Williams had apologised and offered to take the KRudd to a strip club to make up for it. Oh, and there’s a whole state of pissed off Alabamians braying for some good ole Australian Blood. Awesome.

Here is my humble suggestion Australian Tourism. All anyone from overseas needs to know really:

There’s nothing like voting in a Prime Minister who drinks so much piss he forgets he was at a strip club. There’s nothing like Australia.

So today, Sunday the 28th of March, is Neighbour Day. Who knew?

Kevin Rudd – that’s who. Along with all those who designed a big fuck-off website dedicated to this very day. It has posters and all kinds of paraphernalia to print out and hang up. It tells us that neighbour day is “Australia’s annual celebration of community, bringing together the people next door or across the street for a beer, a barbie or just a cuppa. It’s the perfect day to say thanks for being a great neighbour and for being there when I needed you most”

Well there you go. I mean, I’m all for getting to know my neighbours, but some, well some you wouldn’t have over your house to cut your toenails, let along give them a free beer and cup of tea. It’s all fun and games until one of them turns out to be a closet nudist or a drug dealer isn’t it?

So what should we really expect from our neighbours? To be best mates? For them to feed the cat when we take a holiday? Or really, do we just want them to stay the hell away, and leave us be? Well for me, somewhere in between those three, would be just perfect. How do you know what you’re in for though? Even staking out a house pre-purchase doesn’t give you the ability to see through walls. We’ve learned this one the hard way. More than once. So here are a few experiences we’ve had.

THE DRUG DEALERS

Paulie & Renee moved into the unit next to us when were in our early 20’s. They were kind of elusive, way hipper than us, and seemed to go out EVERY SINGLE NIGHT. We shared and cared for their very needy Siamese cat and waved whenever we saw each other. I think we realised we weren’t going to be best mates with them, when we found a packet of white powder, dropped accidentally outside of our front door early one morning. Not long after, the cops came and raided their unit and a very shifty Paulie was escorted away. Turns out, they were drug dealers.

THE NUDIST/GUN LOVER

Our very first house was a in a street my brother, a local policeman, warned us about. But we were undeterred, I mean it was near the water and it was in our price range. How bad could it be? Turns out – Pretty bad. There was no way we could have predicted we would soon be living next to a semi-professional nudist slash, pervert though, but that’s what we got. I don’t even know this freaks name, but his wife arrived on the first day we moved in, with some Bundaberg Rum fudge and a Cactus to say “Welcome”. She should have just given us a gigantic novelty card saying “Welcome to the neighbourhood, Fresh Meat”. We found him on various occasions, on his roof, with binoculars and a esky, presumably for his coldies and lube, sans underwear, watching the teenage girls in the unit block behind us. Or just casually hanging in his back doorway, fake coughing, so I would look over and see his bare crotch waiting for me. Gag. I guess by rights, we should have been tipped off by the “I BARE ARMS AND I VOTE” sticker on his car. We live and we learn.

THE RACIST

Ahh, Shirley. Shirley the 80 year old racist. I’m not entirely sure who or what would have made Shirley happy. It surely wasn’t the “coons”, “faggots”, “gooks” or “Dagos” she constantly banged on about whenever she got lucky enough to corner me. Man, I cannot tell you how uncomfortable she made me. We eventually sold our house, but not before she had the chance to tell me, that, because of my “Jap” car, I was a disgrace to my nation. Sure I wanted to tell the old bag to get rooted, but sometimes retreat is easier than attack.

THE SCREAMER

This particular woman rented the house next door to us. She and her husband apparently couldn’t stand the sight of each other because about every third night, they would have arguments that would escalate into full scale riot situations. The cops came, the cops went. The next day, they would be all loved up, walking down the street hand in hand. Annoying.

THE OVERSHARER

Recently we had a street party. We let the kids to the letterbox drops. Mistake Number 1. We have one guy who lives up the street with a hotrod who likes dropping massive burnouts in it, whenever the moment takes him. Which is often. He’s abused the host of the street party on an occasion, a couple of years ago, because she told him to slow down in the street. A week later, he wrote off his SS Commodore Ute after going 150 in a 70 zone. So, it was by the biggest mistake, that he received an invite. You would think he would have no interest in rolling up to a party full of haters. Oh no. He rocked up, drank about 50 beers, told each and everyone of us how much we must hate his guts (Roger that dickhead) and then, by the end of the night, was telling all the guys how, after numerous visits to a certain establishment, had acquired a rash that just WOULD NOT GO AWAY. He then proceeded to show it to our husbands, on the front lawn. Too much information mate. Far too much.

THE JEHOVAHS WITNESS

These guys were pretty harmless. Until we spoke to them. Then it was ON. They had a little girl around the same age as our daughter and with only a gun toting nudist and 80yr old racist as other alternatives, we were stoked we might finally have some decent neighbours. Ahhh, we should have known better. See we kind of did follow the “neighbour day” ethos and invite the new neighbours over for a beer or a cuppa. They turned up, 2 hours late and we offered them a drink. His response? “No thanks, we don’t drink”. Alarm bells. Fair, not everyone drinks. That’s when I noticed the copy of the Watchtower she’d casually placed on our coffee table. Fucking sirens. It was over before it began.

THE GOOD ONES

Then there are the good ones. The ones you find that are one of your kind. The ones you are happy to have met. The ones you’ve shared a beer and a cuppa with and it has made your life that little bit brighter. So Scott, Deb, Mike, Julie, Jen, Nick, Caroline and Damian. Thanks guys. Happy Neighbours Day. Help yourself to the fridge anytime you like.