SEPTEMBER 11

September 11, 2001. 

One of those moments in history which everyone will be able to tell you where they were when the twin towers in Manhattan, New York, came under terrorist attack.

I was living at Stone Manor.  I had just bought a house in Broadford with Charlie-Albert, and we were waiting for settlement.  So, I was killing time with the rents.

I was asleep in bed when my phone rang.  It was by bffl, Marika. 

‘Turn the telly on! Turn the telly on! You won’t believe what’s happening!’ she yelled.

‘Why? What the fuck has happened?’  I said, still in the fading embrace of sleep.

‘A plane has flown into the Twin Towers!’

‘What twin towers?  What the fuck are you talking about?’

‘In New York! A jumbo jet has flown into one of the towers, and it’s on fire!’

Are you fucken kidding me?  A jumbo?  How the fuck did a jumbo get that close to the city?  ‘Isn’t it a no-fly-zone over cities?’ I asked, staggering into the lounge, fumbling for the remote in the dark.  The oldies were in bed, and I didn’t want to wake them by turning on every light in the house.

‘Yes! The reports are saying it’s a terrorist attack!’

‘A what?’ I asked, as the telly blinked into life, illuminating the room, and making me wince from the sudden brightness.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.  There was the Manhattan skyline, the twin towers standing proud, but one of them was blazing about three quarters of the way up, smoke billowing over Manhattan.

Again and again they showed scratchy, amateur footage of a plane flying into the building.  Then, as we were watching, a second plane hit the other tower.

What the fuck was going on?

I started crying, I couldn’t believe it.  It was 9am in lower Manhattan.  The offices would have been full of people, settling in to start their day at work.  What in God’s name was going on?

Ten years later, I look back at that day with great sorrow.  No matter your station in life, you cannot help but be affected by what happened to all of those innocent people that day.

I recall Charlie-Albert ringing me the next day, saying that he was watching it in the car dealership whilst he was waiting for his vehicle to be serviced.  At that time, I was sitting on the couch with my boss, watching it all unfold on CNN.  Forget work! History was unfolding before our very eyes.  The horror of it all was riveting.

For a lot of people, and really, this goes without saying, there was life pre-9/11 (as it’s become known now), and life post-9/11.  Their lives have been defined by the pivotal change that this single day bought about.

For me, I had never experienced anything like this before.  I’m of an era that has never experienced a war, never experienced a depression and food rationing, never experienced an act of terrorism, never known starvation or famine, never lived through violent, political unrest and has never lived during a time where a significant political leader has been assassinated.

Like most of the people reading this, I have lived a simple, peaceful existence, blissfully ignorant to any international, political unrest or misfortune.  Quite frankly; I’d been living with my head fair and squarely up my arse.

So had the majority of the people in the Twin Towers, too.  Their deaths were the innocent by-product of something much bigger, and much more sinister than we care to think about.

Before 9/11, I didn’t really know what a Muslim was, nor did I really understand what terrorism was.  For me, terrorism was something that happened in Ireland between the IRA and someone else.  I’ve no idea who.  It was out of sight and out of mind.

I didn’t really know anything about the Middle East, except perhaps an understanding that a majority of the world’s oil comes from there.

I didn’t know that those very same Middle Eastern countries absolutely despised western civilisation.  Despised it to their very core. 

That was all before 9/11.  Everything changed after that.  The world stood up and took notice, and these same Middle Eastern countries were suddenly taken very, very seriously.  Those that’d been written off as insignificant, backward, third world countries, effectively exposed themselves as not only a physical threat, but an incredibly well connect and well-funded one.

How brilliant was their plan?  They infiltrated American society, trained as pilots, lived amongst them, and through extensive planning, turned against the US in one of the most violent acts of terrorism this planet has ever seen. 

Let’s not forget the plane that crashed into the Pentagon, or the one that came down in the fields of Shanksville.  Their impact is no less significant, but often overlooked against the devastation of the Twin Towers.

So, the US strikes back.  Revenge in the name of justice, freedom and democracy.  The war that has raged there for 10 years is completely justifiable.  Apparently.  Forget that this war has possibly cost more lives, both military and civilian, than the total people lost on 9/11.  It’s completely justifiable, for it’s in the pursuit of justice, freedom and democracy.  Apparently.

I wonder how the innocent Muslims living in Afghanistan feel about that.  They have a war they didn’t seek, being raged on their front door steps, just like the people of 9/11 did.  They have lost loved ones in this battle, just like 9/11 victims did.  Maybe they too are a by-product from the fall out of this destructive day.  Maybe the list of the dead is not just confined to those that perished on US soil on September 11, 2001.

I wonder if the families of those that perished in the Twin Towers, or the Pentagon, or in that field in Shanksville, felt justified when US troops killed Osama Bin Laden.  Was the price that the innocent paid in his pursuit worth it?

Who cares?  They’re only Muslims, right?  Pffft. 

No; they’re people, just like us.  Some innocent, some not so.  Just like us. 

Just think: if this slight on American soil had not happened, we wouldn’t even look twice at Muslims now, would we?  Maybe this incident highlighted a potential threat (a threat we’re told exists) to light?

However, like we westerners, there are the innocent amongst the Muslims.  They can’t be held responsible for the actions of a few of extremists.  We would demand not to be.

What a horrible day 9/11 was.

In my mind, I can still see the planes smashing into the buildings, the explosions, and the people on the streets fleeing in terror.  I can still hear the commentator on CNN saying very calmly ‘and there it goes…’ as the first tower slowly concertinaed and collapsed into the streets hundreds of floors below. 

What sticks most in my mind, are the images of people jumping from the buildings.  Did you know that 200 people took their lives that way? Trapped, with no alternative, they chose a quick and relatively painless death than the one that the raging flames or a crushing building could offer.  One single step, silent prayers to God thanking them for their lives, their loved ones and everything they had, before they perished.

How terrible. 

I wonder if I would do the same thing.  I think if I knew, with no uncertainty that my fate was upon me, I would simply pray for it to be quick and painless.  What else could I do?

I am, in no way, connected to 9/11.  I do not know anyone that perished in the buildings or the planes.  I don’t know anyone that had a narrow miss.  I don’t know anyone that survived or was pulled from the rubble.  I don’t even know anyone that lives and works in New York or Manhattan, nor have I ever been there. 

Though, somehow, I feel connected.  I feel connected to the shock, to the horror, and to the sorrow of it all.  Yes, even though I witnessed the entire thing unfold from the safety of my parents lounge room that night, I feel connected.

And still do 10 years later.

I watched a documentary the other night; ‘The Children of 9/11’.  I don’t know if you saw it, but it was about children who had lost their parents on that day.  3000 kids lost their parents that day.  From people that worked in the buildings, to the NYPD and the NYFD, these children were the ones left to deal with it all.

Even though their parents are gone, time doesn’t stop for them.  It just goes on, and day in, day out, they carry the pain of it all.  Then, once a year, it’s all bought to the surface again.  Then somehow, they’re expected to be normal.

Whilst we focus on them, I wonder about the innocent Muslims out there that carry the blame for this atrocity, in which they took no part.  For the rest of their lives, they will battle their beliefs and the public conviction against them, all due to the acts of an extreme few.

I wonder what’s worse: living with the loss of a loved one, or being publicly branded and hated for something you didn’t do. 

10 years later, and life has moved on, but now we’re more… aware.  We know that there are forces out there that are greater than us, and wish to make an impact, irrespective of the cost.  That there are deep, political games of chess being played on a daily basis, and we are but the pawns.

And you know what they say about pawns; they’re expendable.

So, I wonder if it will ever end.  One strikes out, and the other strikes back.  One strikes out again, and so it goes on.  Until there is nothing left?

If anything, 9/11 should have taught us to stand together as one, and that hatred is not the answer.  Seeing so many people put their differences aside to survive that terrible day, should be proof enough that peace through unity can be achieved.

However, what it has taught us, is that no matter how much love you have for your fellow man, there is always someone out there set to destroying it.

So, we take each day as it comes, and remember to love one another, and pray that nothing like this ever tarnishes our existence again.

To the lost, to the heroes and to the innocent of the day, lest we forget 9/11.

Peace out

HOW CAMP

School camp.

Awesome.

Although my memories of it have faded considerably, the overall feelings I have around the good-old school camp are fond ones.

I can remember making damper for the bon fire.  I can remember walking along a ‘squeaky beach’.  I can remember sharing a room with four girls, and having room inspections.  I can remember log cabins.  I can remember bush walks.  I can remember the beach.  I can remember holding seeds and parrots landing on my hand to feed.  I remember the bus.    I remember receiving an award called ‘the girl in blue’, because apparently, I wore a lot of blue.  I remember eating in a communal dining hall, and having to clean up after it. I remember concerts and I remember sharing good times with my friends.

What I do not remember, is taking a week to pack, and then packing everything in my entire bedroom into a case that’s as big as my car boot.

Oh how times have changed.

If I have to go away now, there is a shortlist of things I cannot survive without.  Here it is:

Cpap Machine

Purse

Pro Active

Kobo (nothing like a good book)

A clean pear of undies for each day

Medication

That’s it.  Everything else I can seriously survive without. 

However, Jade’s list of things she cannot survive without (not that she’s so organised that she has a list), goes something like this:

Hair straightener

Blow Dryer

Brushes, combs and hairclips

Shampoo and conditioner (optional)

Beauty products & other toiletries (optional)

Foundation

Concealer

Rouge

Powder

Mascara

Eye Liner

Eye Shadow

Lip Glosses and sticks

Purse (optional)

Money (doesn’t have to be in the purse)

Jeans (in several different designs and colours)

Mini skirts (again, several different designs and colours)

Stockings (same as above)

Shoes (need a style and colour for every occasion)

T-shirts and tops (styles… colours… blaa blaa)

Cardies (same same)

Jewellery (again, various styles and colours of necklaces, earrings and bracelets)

Books (not just one… several)

This is her ‘cannot survive without’ list.  Omg.

As I write this, I wonder if she’s packed socks, pajamas, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and clean underwear, because I seriously think she could survive without them. 

I stepped back and let her take charge of her packing, and I just pray that common sense prevailed somewhere, and she’s packed some serious necessities in that monster of a case she took.

She has packed so much stuff, that it took two of us to lift her case into the car.  I have visions of the tail of the bus dragging along the ground, throwing off sparks, because all of the teenage girls have packed like their moving house, not going on a THREE DAY CAMP.

Yes; a three day camp.  AND, and urban one at that.

Everything she’ll be doing will be sight-seeing related, not physical, sporty, activity stuff. So, at least she will look glamorous, although demonstrating a serious case of dunny breath if she hasn’t packed a damn toothbrush.

She said to me one day that the school were providing her with $45 a day to feed herself.  $45 a day! Clearly, I’m paying too much in school fees!  How much do they expect her to eat?  She’s a fucking vegetarian; throw an iceberg lettuce and a tomato at her, and she’ll be fine!

She was so excited, telling me that the school said that they can pair up and venture along Lygon Street, Carlton, and have a meal out. Lygon Street Carlton? 14 year old kids with just one friend?  Are you kidding me?

Clearly, someone must have complained about this, because it went from ‘pairs’ to ‘groups’, and $45 for three days, not per day.  Jade was devastated, declaring ‘how am I supposed to eat for three days on $45?’

I’m like ‘welcome to my world, champ.’  Care factor: zero. ‘If you can’t find meals to fit that budget, then you’re doing it wrong.  The end.’  No sympathy from me, because I remember going to school camp with $10, and coming home with change.

So, as Jade has her holiday in the city, disguised as a school camp, I wonder how many times she’s changed her clothes today, and have visions of a dozen girls crammed in front of a huge mirror, straightening and styling their hair, slapping on their makeup, touching up their gloss and talking at a million miles an hour in a blurred language that I do not understand.  Some of the boys will be doing this too, I dare say…

I can see them sitting in a restaurant in Lygon Street, thinking they’re awesome because they’re out on the town without the rents, texting each other and their friends at the next table, whilst the waiter is wondering if they have enough money to pay for their order.

I can see a group of them strutting down the street, thinking they’ll all supermodels, dressed in the latest fashions, and all so ‘cool’ because they’re not at school and in the big smoke, and all casually glancing over their shoulders to catch a glimpse of themselves in any reflective surface that they pass.

I can see them texting each other as they try not to fall asleep as they are treated to a demonstration by our indigenous forefathers, and shovelling popcorn into their mouths as they sit in a cinema watching Red Dog.

I can see them giggling and squealing with excitement and delight at the views from Eureka Tower, and talking for hours and hours into the night, when they finally fall asleep from exhaustion.

I hope she’s having the time of her life.

I’m totes jealous.

Peace out.

I'M GETTING OLD....

I think a sure sign that I’m getting old, is that I think my 75 year old mother drives too fast.

Now, those of you that know me understand that I can get a little cranky at those drivers that insist on travelling at 80 km/ph in a 100 km/ph zone… or if cars cut me off and I have to brake… or if they cut in on me in the traffic without waving a thanks… or if they don’t let me merge in… these things I have no patience for.

However, I’m paranoid about speeding.

No; correction: I’m paranoid about losing my licence.  A by-product of that is my paranoia about speeding.

You see, when I moved up to Tooborac, I got pinged by the police about 4 times in as many months, and my licence points went from 12, down to 3.  I near had a heart attack, and was completely terrified that I would lose my licence. It is fair to say that the governments introduction of the licencing points system worked on me.

If I lost my licence, I think I would just die.  Seriously.  I wouldn’t be able to get to work; I wouldn’t be able to get Jade to the bus stop; I wouldn’t even be able to run into town to grab something from the general store.  I’d be stuck in the middle of nowhere.  I would just die!

I believe there are three types of speeders out there.  The first one speeds everywhere and never gets caught.  The second one speeds everywhere, gets caught, loses points and just doesn’t seem to learn.  And the third one is the person that doesn’t speed, but has a momentary lapse in concentration, because they’re possibly distracted by sparkly things, and gets pinged for doing a few km/ph over the limit.

I would be the latter of the three.  Not a habitual speeder; just a dumb arse.

So yesterday, Iris and I head down to Essendon to pick up her funky new car (please see picture below!)  It’s a pretty exciting time for her, because she’s never had a new car before.  The last one she bought 20 years ago, and it was a demo model.  So, it’s kinda knew, but not really, if you know what I mean. 

This one is a brand spanker.

So, we leave home, and heading through Tooborac (the town where one of Victoria’s high ranking police officials was pinged for speeding!), and she’s doing like 80 km/ph in a 70 km/ph zone!  I’m like ‘slow down Mum.  The coppers are everywhere up here.’

She’s not 100% familiar with everything yet, so she’s more concentrating on where she’s going than the speed she’s doing.  With me in the passenger seat, she doesn’t need to worry about the speed; I’ll tell her *hangs head in shame*

So, she’s hooning down the Northern highway… ‘Mum, slow down…’ she’s hooning through Kilmore… ‘Mum, slow down…’ she’s hooning through Wallan… ‘For fucks sake Mum; slow down!’

We passed no less than four police cars between Tooborac and Wallan.  Great.

I have visions of a 75 year old woman driving a hotted up 1991 Commodore S Pack giving a stern lecture about her driving record to the police offer that pulls her over.  The last speeding fine she got was when I was 16; 24 years ago.  Pretty good for a hoon.

Could you imagine if her vehicle was impounded because she’s a hoon?  I could see the headlines now: A 75 year old pensioner of North Central Victoria is the oldest hoon in the state to have her vehicle impounded and crushed under the new hoon laws…

*rolls eyes*

I explained to Mum my paranoia about speeding, and as I said it, I realised that it’s not just my paranoia about speeding, it’s the thought that she would lose a bit of confidence driving if she was booked for speeding.  That if the points added up, she could lose her licence.  If she lost her licence, she would be devastated.  Would it be hard for her to get it back? Mmm…. My paranoia running away with me again…  is it about me, or my need to protect her?

*sigh*

So anyway, we literally hoon down to Essendon; me ever thankful to touch terra firma when we get to the Hyundai dealership.

Then Iris is handed the keys to something that resembles Kermit the Frog, and we’re off!  So, as I climb into the passenger seat, I’m wondering how she will handle the difference in the vehicles.  She’s going from a big, beasty V6, to something that, although it doesn’t have the massive power of the commodore, goes like the clappers.  And looks like a frog.

 

However, driving home is the complete opposite to driving down to Essendon.  She’s like doing 90 km/ph in a 100 km/ph zone, and I’m thinking ‘thank fuck it’s not peak hour.’

However, by the time we got to Wallan (30 minutes) she’s comfortable, and back to normal, and I’m resigning myself to the fact that Iris is a hoon.

Don’t doubt for a second that Mum is not a good driver; she is.  She’s the third type of driver; the one that gets distracted by sparkly things and forgets her speed.  Apart from that, she’s an excellent driver.

She’s just a 75 year old lead foot.

Good driver.  Lead Foot.

So, but the time we pull up to the supermarket, my paranoia of speeding, combined with the constant ‘if we’re going too fast, you’re too old’ reel running through my head is leaving me nothing short of nauseas.

I have visions of my cousin and I in her Club Sport hooning around the massive round-a-bout in Heyfield when we were younger and stupid-er, and I wonder where those days have gone.  Those days where we were free and we had stupid, harmless fun in our cars.

Just reflecting on that makes me feel old. 

What the hell has happened?  I tell you, my father, who was one of the biggest rev heads I’ve ever known, would be hanging his head in shame and wondering where he failed as a father.  Poor Nev.

Is it because I now cart around precious cargo (Jade)?  Or is it because I just can’t justify the fines?  Is it because I don’t want to lose my licence, or is it because I can’t bank on other drivers out there, and don’t want to lose my life?  Who knows?

Maybe I should take up some form of vehicle racing to release my inner hoon?  Dodgem cars would be good…

Either way, if you see me on the road, plodding along at the speed limit, I won’t be offended if you overtake me.  Just keep in mind, as I wave at you as you leave me in a cloud of dust, that my paranoia is driving the car, not me.

Well, the paranoia or the old woman.  One or the other.

Keep safe out there.

Peace out.

HURRY CURRY

Harakiri; the commonly known Japanese word, which refers to a form of seppuku.

Originally reserved for the honourable samurai, seppuku was either used voluntarily by the samurai to ‘die with honour’ rather than fall into the hands of the enemies, or as a form of capital punishment for those samurai that committed serious offences, or performed in a way that bought shame upon them.

This usually involved the samurai plunging a short bladed sword into their abdomen.

Harakiri; ritual suicide.

Over the years, western languages have seen harakiri morph into hurry curry.  So, instead of it sounding like something traditional and symbolic, it now sounds like something we would eat at our local Indian Restaurant.

However, the meaning is not lost, and most commonly used these days, to refer to people that may commit ‘professional’ suicide to save further embarrassment and shame.

Such is the case for our current Prime Minister.

Yesterday’s devastating High Court ruling against her Labor Government’s controversial Malaysian ‘Swap’ Deal, could well have handed Ms Gillard the sword she needs to finish the job.

The Malaysian Solution has collapsed, and that was their only hope after the PNG and East Timor concepts failed to even make it to the proposal stage.  There is no Plan B.  It’s back to the drawing board now, and whilst we wait for them to admit failure and return to the Howard Governments Pacific Solution (which, although controversial, clearly worked), the people smugglers are rubbing their hands together, and loading up the boats before the ink even dries on the High Court’s ruling.

Then, we’ll pile on top of that the Carbon Tax that we, the punters, did not vote for, but somehow are getting because 1 out of 150 representatives in the lower house seems to have more power than we do.

Let’s not forget the Mining Tax, which has seen mining companies band together and produce their own advertising campaign to show us, the punters, exactly how important mining is to this country.  We are so reliant on income from our natural resources, that we would be a friggin third world country without it.

Billions and billions of dollars have been wasted on great ideas that the government just can’t successfully implement.  Fuel watch, grocery watch, pink bats (that burn down houses), green cars, and education revolutions have all failed, and clearly indicate that this government cannot deliver.

At least we have a paid maternity leave scheme.  Yay. *rolls eyes*.  Don’t even get me started on that…

Then; the Thomson affair.  What a sordid mess that is, and Ms Gillard has been dragged into that one kicking and screaming.  However, Thomson’s arse is still sitting on a comfy, green leather back bench, with his mouth super glued shut.

In fairness, I think that Gillard has inherited a lot of bad policy from Rudd, however, that’s what happens when you knife someone in the back, and claim ‘we’ve lost our way’.

Man, I don’t think this government could get any more lost, to be honest.

It’s now irrelevant whether you’re a Labor or Liberal voter (fuck the Greens); I don’t think anyone wants to see a government not governing.  This government is more interested in playing politics for the sake of politics, as opposed to creating good policy for the betterment of Australia.

If we thought Rudd was a show bag (all pretty and promising on the outside, but in reality; full of shit), he’s nothing on Gillard.  At least Rudd gave the impression of being in control.

Personally, and for just a nano-second, I have felt sorry for her.  I think she has her own agenda and is possibly well intentioned, but the hungry, controlling powerbrokers are pulling her strings, and she is happily dancing along.  Unfortunately for her, she’s finding out that dancing to someone else’s tune is not necessarily that pleasant.  Again, that’s what you get for knifing someone in the back.

So, with everything collapsing around them, with the instability of this minority government becoming clearer, with the ‘alliance’ between the Greens and Labor clearly not functioning properly, with policies being developed on the run and failing, where does that leave our government?

More importantly, where does that leave our country?  Whilst policy is forgotten, and politics and power rule, we will suffer. 

So, what options does the government have? 

Interesting you ask that.

Gillard could throw herself on her sword, and commit political hurry curry.  She could resign her position as Prime Minister, and step aside ‘for the betterment of the party’.  She could let someone like Simon Crean (my money is on him) to take over the top job, and get the country moving forward again (forgive the pun).  He could step up, and wipe the slate clean. 

He could declare that he’s not going to introduce the carbon tax until there is a more solid, international agreement, or until the economy is much more stable.  He could return to the Pacific Solution that was clearly working, though this would be a knife through the Labor heart.  God forbid that the party that fought so hard against the Howard Government’s introduction of this policy, admit that it actually worked by re-implementing it.

He could refocus on the economy, health, education and family.  Get back to the Labor roots, and reconstruct the government again.  Start reconnecting with the people of this country, and the workers that have supported them and put them into office.

I’ve blogged about the broken Labor heart before, so you know where I’m coming from on this one.

At least, by doing this, they would have a chance at retaining power at the next election.  If they keep Gillard, they will be slaughtered.

Hurry curry: possibly the most democratic way to remove Gillard from power, and possibly the best way of securing the support of the independents, who have very cunningly based their agreements around Gillard being PM, not around the ALP being in power.

So, if Gillard is ‘removed’ from office, K-Rudd style, how will that go down?  I don’t think the public will be overly upset.  She is the most unpopular Prime Minister in the country’s history, after all. 

That brings us back to the independents.  They have threatened to remove their support of the government if the ALP knife Gillard.   If they remove their support, we have a hung parliament, and off to the polls we go.

But, will they do this? 

I seriously doubt it.  Why? Because Oakeshott (independent), Windsor (independent) Bandt (Green) and possibly Wilkie (independent), will lose their seats.  The punters have seen how these idiots have put the government over a barrel, and don’t like it.  Democracy will have its day, and they’ll be out of politics quicker than a dog shot in the arse.

If you think the ALP are desperate to hang onto power, they’re nothing compared to the Greens and the independents.  The ALP know they have a chance; the others know they’re fucked.

So these four clowns will probably support an ALP/Green government with someone like Simon Crean as the new PM.  Gillard’s career will be in tatters, and she will possibly linger through a slow death in the back benches, and fade away after the next election.  Lord knows she can’t resign from politics yet; not without sending the country back to the polls.

Or could she?  Would be an interesting act of revenge, wouldn’t it?  Knife her in the back, and she’s out completely, throwing the government into complete turmoil.  Mmmm…. Nothing like a woman scorn…

However, would she want to resign?  Would she want to walk away, admitting defeat, acknowledging the polls, and be remembered as one of the biggest political failures in Australian history?  Hurry curry indeed… just without the death thing.

Then, there is the Wilkie factor.  Mr Andrew Wilkie; the independent MP for the federal seat of Denison, Tasmania.  Tasmania; the state we mainlanders like to make fun of.  Tasmania; the place we forget to include when we draw a picture of Australia.  Tasmania; the state that holds the fate of this pokie-loving country in its hands; or should I say, Mr Wilkie’s hands.

You see, his support of the ALP government, was based upon massive reforms to the legal gambling system.  He’s concerned about the grip that poker machines have on the good people of Australia, and has negotiated the introduction of a mandatory pre-commitment system which will require pokie players to set limits on the amount of money they can spend/lose.  Noble cause.

Personally, I think if you’re stupid enough to gamble and lose, don’t complain about it.  Suck it up and move on.

Anyway, Wilkie has given the government a deadline of either June or July 2012 to introduce this legislation, with its implementation in 2014.  If the Gillard government don’t meet this deadline, he’ll withdraw his support. 

Hello hung parliament.  Hello early election.

So if the Thomson Affair doesn’t get her, if Wilkie doesn’t get her, and if her own party doesn’t get her, the voters at the next election will.

Like Julia Gillard’s immigration policy, I think her political career is all at sea.

Fancy some curry?