Pin the Tail on the Shonky Donkey

In my final (Wembley Primary) school year, the most exquisite girl in our class had an impossibly large birthday party. I remember this vividly, for I was not invited.

There's nothing like being invited to a rocking good party. In Australia, we're totally lucky because every few years (or few months, depending on one's keenness for pin the tail on the political donkey) we're all invited to two parties. At LEAST two parties. Of course, we have a slight problem here in that they're invariably on the same day, at the same time. But our job is to elect one to attend.

For example, a little while back Julia Gillard's party was sort of or not really ok. Tony Abbott's party was not that gay either. No one really liked either and most of us ultimately went to one so we could prove we didn't go to the other.

And the third half was busy scamming illicit tickets for a boat ride out of the country.


Pin the Tail on the Donkey

He invited everyone to come to his great party.
Every kid in every class, he thought he was a smartie.
Problem was that she did too, she asked them all to come.
She’d pin the tail on donkeys and they’d have just loads of fun.

He said it would NOT BE HOT! No hotter than last week,
But he’d give them sunscreen and nice party hats with peaks.
She said they would play indoors on her WHIZZ BANG COMPUTERS!
Plenty fun for everyone, even distant commuters.

He soon heard his plan was flawed because some thought him dud.
She soon heard he might have scored because she was not Rudd.
On the day they sat in wait in fancy schmancy clothes.
His mum asked, ‘How many Tony?’ He replied, ‘God knows.’

Tony’s mum said, ‘Ask Him then, I’m baking sausage rolls
and fairy bread -’ Tone interrupted, ‘Can’t have them Mum, no!’
‘Tony!’ his mum glared at him. ‘OK, Mum, just this once,
but fairy bread’s for sissy’s and I ain’t nobody’s dunce.

Meanwhile, out at Julia’s, her mum tried being enlightening,
saying, ‘dydd Sadwrn, gwlad, cors.’ My goodness, Welsh is frightening.
What happened to all the vowels? And when does it not rain?
Anyway, this is digression. What’d she say again?

Oh yes, that’s right, young Julia’s mum said, ‘It’s party day, my dear,
and, as you say, they’re all your friends! I’m sure they’ll all appear.’
So Tony had his fairy bread, despite his inclination
and Julia had done her hair and taken up her station

of standing at the front door, the gates of chance now open
as Tony cycled round his yard, his nerves of steel unbroken.
And soon they all arrived. The guests come out to play.
Some they went to Julia’s and some the other way.

Then some more to Julia’s, then a bunch to Tone’s,
‘til there were just five kids left and THEN kicked in the groans.
‘But Muuuum,’ whinged Julia out loud, ‘why didn’t they all come?
Near half of them are all next door at Tony’s place. Not fun!’

‘Oh stop your whinging little girl, your strine’s like blackboard nails.
Maybe there are others coming, drifting in like snails.’
And Tony, well, now he was sweating, seventy-something counted.
Sort of Mr Popular, his campaign fully mounted.

‘I guess you’re right,’ said Julia, to her mum as kids played,
‘my friends, they all have spoken but who knows what they did say.’
Tony scanned down to the fence upon which five friends sat,
right ‘tween his and Julia’s and he thought…bottom, drat.

The celebrations dwindled and all the kids they left,
quite bored with both the parties, the right one and the left
and waved out to that fivesome perched as if it didn’t matter,
still deciding which to choose, including BobKat Katter.

And there they perched for days and weeks, sore bums, ‘twas rather odd.
Jule’s she offered lemonade and Tony offered…God?
And finally, they all decided which party best fared,
by which time it was footy finals, so no one really cared…




© Elise Batchelor 2010

My Money's on MasterChef

So, it's time! And it's been a long time coming. The final chop for the final two MasterChef Australia contestants, Adam and Callum. And the biggest question of the day is not who will win, but who gives a stuff about the election debate between Jules and Tony on the other channel. I'm in WA too, which means that not only is the election debate set to come a poor sorry second (or 17th) in viewer ratings numbers, but that here, with our time difference with the eastern states, it's on at 5pm.

5pm on a lazy Sunday afternoon? A fine, sunny, 26 degree Pilbara day? Watching two dullards fight the fight for the battle of the boring?

I think I'll be in the kitchen, whipping myself into a frenzy of eggplant, pear and prosciutto pizza and preparing the champagne cocktails for the drawn out MasterChef spectacle about to ensue. And it will ensue and it will be drawn out and drip with drama and bleeding phalanges and dollops of Callum's oily, pubescent sweat.

And I will love it.

So, bring it on.

Adam, Callum and not Claire

My money's on Julia Gillard nipping off quick smart after her droll altercation with Mr Um...Ah...Abbott and finding herself a little tele of her own in which to indulge in the real main course of this evening's entertainment fare.

And she'll be, like, uh, GO MARION! MOVE FORWARD! 

So, to my poem of the moment. It's Julia, it's Tony, it's Matt Preston in a green and gold sparkly cravat, it's the vibe. It's the great debate, with cameos from the esteemed Laurie Oakes, Kevin Rudd and an auspiciously suspicious pair of budgie smugglers.

Wonder what they're like grilled?

He said, she said

KRudd, formerly
 www.twitter.com/KRuddPM
now www.twitter.com/KRuddMP

He said he liked Twitter

and speaking in Chinese.

She said she supported him

(like dogs support their fleas).

He said she was on his side.

She said that as well,

right up until smoko

and although she’d never spill,

she said that she wouldn’t.

Then she went and did.

Then when Laurie Oakes piped up she

Current PM, Julia Gillard,
Captain of the Red Team

went and shut her lid.

He said that he wouldn’t                                                 

shy away from questions.

She said, ‘I am speechless

I have nothing more to mention.’

He said, ‘Back to Tony,

the matter of the day?’

She said, ‘Least I’ve shared too little;

what about him, hey?

‘He said that he wouldn’t.

Then he went and stripped -

swam out with his budgie smugglers

Laurie Oakes, ball breaking,
boss busting journo.

in the tidal rip.’

She said, ‘He got carried,

carried right away,

or maybe, well, he should have done

to stop that flesh display.’

Laurie said, ‘I’m Laurie Oakes

and this is all deflection,

then said, ‘Tell us, what of Tony

in this dull election?’

She said her election

would make sure Abbot loses,

for he said, she likes flirting with him.

She can take his bruises.

But Abbott said she’s sneaky

with blood upon her knife and

she thinks he’s a sexy thing,

Vote 1 Marion Grasby from MasterChef!

a truth that Tony likes.

She said, ‘We should both debate

The issues here at hand.’

Tone said, ‘Yep, too right we should.’

She said, ‘What’s the plan?’

He said, ‘Well, a nailbiter.’

She said, ‘Sunday night?

I’m still voting for Marion

for MasterChef, all right?!’

He said, ‘You don’t cook!’

She said, ‘Helps digestion.’

He said, ‘What? A croquembuche?

MasterChef's

MattCravat

You fancy that Matt Preston!’

She said, ‘Hah! Ridiculous.'

He said, ‘Let’s move on.’

She said, ‘Let’s move FORWARD.

I think you got it wrong.’

She said, ‘My hair’s better.’

He said, ‘Mine’s more fluffy’.

She said, ‘I’m Altona bred

and you’ve become quite stuffy.’

He said, ‘My voice resonates.

It’s...ah...sort of...more refined.

She said, ‘Mine’s the people’s voice,

it’s Kath, it’s Kim, it’strine.

He said, ‘You’re a heathen.’

She said, ‘Thank the Lord.

You’re a bible basher

Before dirty Julia, there was dirty Tony,
who did the deed on not so fabulous
Malcolm. tsk tsk.

but your scriptures haven’t scored.’

He said, ‘I believe in stuff.’

She said, ‘Tell me what?’

He said, ‘Better stuff than you.’

She said, ‘Bloody rot.’

He said, ‘Why should I tell you,

you’re not the real PM?’

She said, uh, try deja vu,

you’re Malcolm Turnbull, then?

He, he blushed a little,

to match Ms Gillard’s hair.

She thought she’d one up on him

and gave her bestest glare.

He said, ‘It’s irrelevant,

you’re Welsh, what can I say?’

She said, ‘You’re a Londoner,

you drongo.’ Ah…touché.

He said, ‘Oh, you’re right.’

She said, ‘Yes I am.’

And off they sailed in a sinking boat

from dear Van Diemen’s Land.

Tony and the budgie smugglers.
A little underdone.

He said, ‘We are sailing.’

‘She said, ‘Far away’.

He said, ‘Will they miss us?’

She said…’Can’t quite say.’

He said, ‘This boat’s sinking.’

She said, ‘Better row.’

He said, ‘Glad I bought my Speedos.’

She said, ‘Bright red? No!’

And as they were drowning

all was left to see:

two small dots of crimson

sinking in the sea.

She said, ‘I am sorry.

Appears we’re off to Heaven.’

He just smirked, his parting words,

‘Looks like we’re back to Kevin.’

Elise Batchelor July 2010

Mini MasterChef

Adam, Callum and not Claire

Photo: Pilbara Poet in MasterChef apron courtesy Leonie Palmer