Loops and Sparkles

This is a picture of our Lord Mayor Clover Moore, generally regarded as one of the city's greater fruit loops. She is seen as a truly hopeless mayor. Here she is being ushered down the steps of the Sydney Town Hall at the beginning of proceedings to launch the annual Chinese New Year march, part of a fortnight's celebrations to mark the event; one of the biggest outside of Hong Kong and China. Despite her impeccable left wing credentials, shortly after this picture was taken she is settled into the back of that ultimate symbol of Sydney capitalism, a black Mercedes Benz convertable. Mercedes were one of the sponsors, although car owners of the city have absolutely nothing to thank Clover for.She would be better off as mayor of Byron Bay, an upmarket hippy slash alternative haven 1000 kilometres to the north, than as Mayor of a city like Sydney. She is also, controversially, the member for Bligh, supposedly filling both roles. She is better suited as a representative for Bligh, an electorate with huge amounts of public housing, the gay capital of Australia, and with minority problems in enough array to keep any PC guardian happy for years. She wears these atrocious chokers which are meant to be some older woman fashion statement; and are just ridiculous. Once I thought she had courage and flair and sympathy for all the wild boys of Sydney; now I think nothing of the kind.

The debate on multiculturalism continues to run apace; in newspapers, on talkback. Three Labor MPs in Queensland have broken rank with the left and with the Queensland state government, questioning in an extremely well written piece why millions of dollars of public money are being poured into a policy which undermines the mainstream culture and destroys the cohesion of the broader community. Which is creating the very prejudice, narrow mindedness and violence which it was meant to eradicate. Typical of this disgusting bureaucratic public service class were all the sneers at the old Australia, the Australia a generation of soldiers had been foolish enough to fight for, and die for. It's about time these questions were asked; and asked baldly, risking the usual Stalinesque denunciation by the luvvies of racism against anybody who dares to disagree with them. We are plagued with the half-educated; the Useful Fools; so many utterly incapable of thinking outside the square; parroting their first year university courses. I can remember the excitement in anthropology when it was decreed that all cultures were equally valid; a revalation, supposedly, when we had always believed that our own Western culture was the pinnacle of civilisation.

But the endless claptrap of tolerance had in itself become a tyranny. The people were excluded from the debate, because the so-called elites had entirely marshalled the public discourse; particularly in print and at the ABC where they were most comfortable. He was irritated by all of them. The week had passed at last and he couldn't have been more relieved. Col was supposed to show up today and didn't; and his phones were off. I half suspected; as he had said he was going to pay me back some of the money the holiday had cost. I should of known, well I half-suspected; and if I was in this state; if the world had been that cruel; if my own dissolution had reached such an advanced stage; if I had lost my teeth in the surf and was too embarrassed to go outside; maybe I would have done the same. The quiet reserves that could have been ours, the Amsterdam cafes; the world that we had embraced with such gusto; the memories of John Bygate and Lyn Hapgood and Richard Trevaskis and people no one else but us would even remember; we would make the dash in secret and yes, forget to pay a bill, even to an old friend. His craven heart was happier now; a shift; he didn't know why. Perhaps it was just the kids being back and things settling down; after a prolonged hand-over of chaos; watching a train wreck disappearing over the horizon. He didn't care; he wouldn't care; he uttered sympathetic noises and wished he could reverse the progress of time. Swiftly, he became more accomplished; did the jobs quickly, batted the balls back across the court so fast they could barely be seen. And if survival was not a victory, to him it felt exactly that.