There’s a new government in Macquarie Street, and so we’ve decided to do our own reshuffle at home. Jocasta has been appointed Premier, but her grip on power is subject to constant challenge. In any family the kids soon have the numbers, especially when they start having their own children – or “adding to their majority” as we tend to put it.
I’m her loyal deputy: the Keating to her Hawke, the Gillard to her Rudd, the Rudd to her Gillard. Come to think of it, maybe these are bad analogies. I really am loyal, although I question Jocasta’s election pledge to subscribe to Apple TV since we already have Stan and Netflix. As incoming Treasurer, I find the budget is in a state of disrepair, due to unsustainable spending by a previous incompetent and corrupt Treasurer (also me).
Despite the grim state of the books, Jocasta has reached out to those in “the other place” – Pip and his parents – and appears set for a win on the whole Apple TV splurge. The availability of the film Babe appears the winning factor. An incoming administration and already the shameless pork-barrelling.
There’s a new treasurer in town!Credit:Suppied
The dog, Clancy, continues in his role as Minister for Toast, conducting inspections whenever toast is prepared, and exercising his right to check the quality of whatever toast is being consumed. He also heads a quality control unit, composed entirely of dogs, who conduct similar spot checks on any treats being offered by dog owners at the local park.
Like any incoming Premier, Jocasta intends to “hit the ground running”. Her transport policy comprises a decommissioning of the pram in which we take Pip to the park, as he’ll never get into the damn thing, meaning you end up pushing it with one hand, holding his hand with the other, with the dog lead clamped between your teeth. She’s marked the pram for disposal under an “asset recycling program”, which may also include the electric guitar I bought in 1986 and haven’t played since.
Jocasta also has a policy of “Stop the Boat” – pledging to complain to the council about the bloke who’s got his rusty boat parked outside our place for the past eight months. And a policy of “Retain Sydney Water”, by which she means I should finally fix the leaking cistern in the back bathroom.
Two-year-old Pip, as expected, has been confirmed in his role as Minister for the Arts, despite his controversial policy of drawing on walls. His tea parties – often attended by a diverse crew of stuffed animals – remain a key part of this administration’s attempt to build support among the fluffy community.
As Treasurer, I’ve pledged a return to surplus “within the next 10 terms”. The fact that I’ll be dead by then adds to my confidence that, at the very least, I won’t be held to account. I’ve borrowed this idea from many past Australian treasurers.
Meanwhile, I’ve formed a razor gang that consists of myself and myself, and am going through the accounts. The first thing the razor gang has noticed is the cost of razors. Anything that costs $47 and is labelled a “value pack” makes me realise the attractions of a beard. Also, the local IGA has now put the razor blades in a locked glass case, like jewels, which may be a hint that Gillette is charging too much.
I also note, while forensically examining the credit card statement, that a person called Dan Murphy is overrepresented in the current account deficit. It’s at moments like these when the Treasurer must take a good long look at himself.
There may be savings to be gained from a consideration of those in “the other house”. Pip’s delight in eating blackberries and raspberries by the punnet load would please any dietician, but the Treasurer can only shake his head in disbelief. The Premier appears to be operating under a “whatever my little Pip wants, my little Pip gets” policy. She carelessly throws the punnets into her shopping trolley, never looking at the price, as if she were an Australian defence minister buying submarines.
Our environment policy needs work. Due to Pip-related policy changes, all forms of pesticide, weed spray and mousetraps have been banned from the jurisdiction, with the result that the place is now in a state of ecological collapse. Mosquitoes buzz past like small planes, cockroaches march through the kitchen like busy commuters, and rats – or “mice” as Sydneysiders prefer to call them – chew their way into the compost bin.
As Premier, Jocasta has decreed that only non-chemical means can be employed to regain control, which is code for her Treasurer running around in his shorty pajamas with a rolled-up copy of The Economist. “At least it’s exercise”, she says, referring me to her signature policy on “Ending the Obesity Epidemic Among Men Over 60.”
Will Jocasta retain the numbers and hold on to her Premiership? Already she faces a challenge from “the other place”, where there are questions about her decision to sell off the pram, since Pip enjoys pushing it, while pretending some other kid, a baby presumably, is inside, needing to be pushed.
For the moment, Jocasta’s leadership is safe. And like that other new leader, the one in Macquarie Street, we wish her every success.
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