Harold, liked to be in touch with his constituency

We left on where we left off, our heroes in a perilous position between moral authority and the chance to make BIG MONEY…. read on

The chopper set us down on a beach, the surf was stupendous, with the blindfolds removed we had time to sniff the air, and blinking we noticed the landscape, it seemed eerily familiar. ‘Do you recognise it boys’? We thought, the waves were furious, and here and there along the cliffs and among the dunes the odd pill box and crumbling gun emplacement. 

‘Thought you’d like it. It’s Aussie day, and right here on this spot back in 67 another little mate very dear to me, took a dip and disappeared’. 

‘You mean Harold Holt’? 

Harold, up close and personal with Dame Zahra

‘Yep, and he and I were in business. Not in an official way, but business just the same. It was during ‘nam’, and we had high hopes for breaking into the sth east asian printing market. As a front for narcotics, smuggling of any kind and converting whatever was left of Angkor Wat to cash. A little side-line I had going between newspapers.   Harold was a whizz with figures, and right under the yanks noses we were making gold out of ‘printing’ in Nam, Thailand, Cambodia, the Phillipines’, until he karked it. Sort of ran outta steam, but as they say in the classics, he patted Jerry’s well proportioned bottom, ‘the show must go on’. 

And then from behind, the horizon was blotted out by the hull of an enormous submarine. No sooner had it surfaced we observed waving from the conning tower and ageless man.  Sun- tanned, surrounded by bikini clad models of an asiatic appearance. ‘Gday fellas, been talking to me mate’?

‘Yep MR BIG’ Rupert waved enthusiastically, you could tell there was a deep bond of affection.   We were busy shielding our eyes from the reflection of his perfect white teeth. 

Irony personified, the Harold Holt Memorial pool.

‘Onya mate, Im well and truly the original Mr Big’, and with the deck guns manned by crack marines from the Peoples Liberation Army, a Chop-Suey attack fighter circling overhead, and the shallows swarming with torpedo shaped sensory probes, (the ones typically found in Indonesian waters) we recognised the man with the voice, and we weren’t going to question his bona fides. This Mr Big, the REAL MR BIG, had us by the testimonials. 

He’d come back

HAROLD HOLT

Ming and Harold, before his defection

‘G’day boys, and thanks Rupert, the spent uranium you delivered will keep the fat-choy class submarines streets ahead of the Collins class. And since becoming party member number one, since Mao karked it, I’ve gotta say I’m enjoying the prestige that comes with absolute authority and a second chance.  Life begins at 90, aint that right Rupert?  And for a life denied?  Nup, since Zarah’s, ( he was referring to the gracious former wife and widow of arguably Australia’s most famous drowned P.M)  left the scene I can really have some fun.  And there aint nothing wrong with crushed Rhino testicles, I don’t look a day over sixty. 

We had to admit, Harold looked fitter than ever, and there was something about him that reminded us of Sam Newman, but without the facelift. 

‘All the way’, and he REALLY MEANT IT!

What will happen next? Will this Strayla day be SPECIAL! Will it avoid the mire of the Culture Wars and Murdoch’s very own press? Have Rupert and Harold got something more vile than Angus’s water rights and Cayman Island scam to deal with? Find our in our next Sino- soviet despatch, “Five eyes of brown eyes all round” or “Harolds Halt’!