This edition of pcbycp is proudly brought to you from the G20 Summit. A summit where happy faces and old friends have a chance to meet up, talk about trade blocs, old empires and promise with the utmost sincerity….. absolutely nothing!
We return to our saga. Our heroes find themselves in hot water once again.
Its akin to arriving at a G20 summit and finding that apart from the nice t shirts, the ethnically themed dancing, and photo ops there’s nothing on offer.
No big picture.
No global re- alignment.
Just wealthy, spoilt politicians and A-listers pretending to do something. And the conga line of suck holes pretending to really care. Like the good policemen and women at ‘Camp Rolfe’, (formerly Yuendumu) who really are quite sincere about their duty, their remote living allowances, their special allocations, their entitlements, and somewhere at the bottom of their priorities a secondary and almost sincerely expressed concern for native indigenes.
But as our heroes wait for the Rotodyne to descend, they realise that for all the struggle there is contentment in knowing that at the very least, they are being looked after by those who seek to enrich themselves by making obscene profits from our collective resources. And in doing so, the status quo is kept intact.
An opportunity to have a nice cup of tea, with or without polonium.
A comforting thought indeed.
Irrespective of their own well- being, they stand as representatives of the Democratic Process, the Commonwealth, and the August power of our Sovereign King Charles the Turd.
Now read on….
The sound got ominously louder, and Quent the first to spot it pointed to the horizon; ‘and there it is’! Surely enough the Rotodyne, insect like, touched the horizon as a pallid dash of white and crimson, before merging closer, and closer. Hovering and circling over the very spot where our three heroes resignedly waited.
For mates to talk about house- keeping, shirt- fronting and pan global strategy on a domestic scale and hope that no one else is paying attention.
They wondered what kind of a greeting they’d get, how they’d construct a reality, what options they could offer when all they expected was a hail of bullets or summary incarceration. Terry being an ex copy-boy for ‘The Truth’, was optimistic. ‘Whatever happens don’t let TRUTH get in the way of a good story. If its overblown enough, they’ll buy it. No one wants to be made to look silly’. And with that the three anti-heroes glumly awaited the arrival of whatever or whoever was on that aircraft.
What if it’s Gina and Nev, have we got a snowflake’s chance in hell or a parliamentary internees chance?
Is Gina the sort of person who understands compassion? Can Nev think beyond Gas, and his naked self interest, or are they more loke Benny Boy, drawn to a higher calling. Can we look to them for a reconciliation of sorts’. With the word reconciliation there was a pause, the Rotodyne , harpy-like hovered, reconciliation as a word had a sense of impending doom.
An opportunity to dress- up and demonstrate you have heard of poverty and third world countries cos you’ve read about ‘Camp Rolfe’ in the pages of the Australian.
‘I dunno’, Ces demurred, ‘perhaps they want to make amends and do the right thing. Both of them (Gina and Nev) are very much public figures of stature and like Gina, want to show the public by funding netball teams why it’s reasonable not to pay tax and keep Australia’s bounty all for themselves. They might see losing the ingots as altruism and we who’ve done the right thing by looking after it as saviors’.
Ces had a point, perhaps by hanging around this might be their redemption. Perhaps in the end Gina and Nev might grant them a royal pardon or some sort of reprieve?
But Quent was deeply worried about the whole affair. It was messy and there were too many loose ends. He knew from his brief association with Angus ‘s Cayman Island Murray Darling investment funds that some people in real positions of unanointed power don’t like it messy. It makes them anxious, and liable to erupt. And, in the end slot the little people who had nothing to do with it. Because in the end as is axiomatic with obscenely rich people and the rich and powerful, the little people of no significance must always pay.
‘But what happens if they find the gold is fake and the real gold is hidden right under their very noses?
I dunno, probably do nothing, as it’d embarrass them to admit they stuffed up, and King Charles will just ask for another 30 ingots’, Ces paused, ‘Gina makes that much in a day, so whose gonna be upset?
To establish an outstanding legacy that will be long remembered.
Yeah but, well but’, Both Quent and Terry stood flummoxed.
‘Well in that case’, Quent had formulated a response of sorts, ‘in that case whatever we do, however we plead it makes no difference as in the end it’ll be up to those in power’, he pointed to the rapidly descending Rotodyne,, ‘they’ll do whatever they do because’ … he paused for effect, ‘THEY CAN’!!
With minutes to spare, (as Rotodynes) are not as fast a Gipsy Dragon rapides, we re- arranged the gear and made it look like we were having a big barby. For extra punch we threw a dead kangaroo carcass onto the hot plate to make it look like we’d been feasting on bush tucker. The fact we were miserable, hungry beyond measure, and would happily have just put our hands up and been shot than have to go through another round of the emotional torture of Brendan Nelson and his dreams of a ‘Sons and Daughters of Anzac Lazer, Light and Sound Extravaganza’ was immaterial. We’d been hard worn by too much ‘Anzackery’ and just didn’t have the fight left in us.
‘Camp Rolfe’, (Yuendumu) Internees await life- affirming leadership from the G 20 summit.
‘Well this is it’! sighed Ces. ‘It’s been good knowing youse’,
We winced at Cec’s grammatical inexactitude and realised how he’d given up. Terry handed us the last of his Camels, and for the very last time, clutching the naked flame we lit up, and exhaled grey blue whisps of smoke into the midday air. We’d achieved one thing, and that in itself was sublime, the freedom to drag on a Camel, without worrying about the guilt associated with the packet,
“Smoking Kills” and the amputated eyeless baggage that stared out at us from the crushed and discarded carton, offered caution and anxiety in just being a piece of rubbish. In a way it symbolised Australia in the 21st Century. All anxiety, not much passion and generally speaking whichever way you looked at it…..Rubbish’
Our nadir, or a new beginning? As the dust swirled and flayed our creased and desiccated countenances, we had little time left to wonder, and in that there was a measure of peace at last.
What will happen to our heroes?
Like G.20 summits,. the Rotodyne requires significant spin in order to achieve lift.
Will the Rotodyne, whisk them away?
Or are they slotted for something much worse? Find our next rotational episode, “a Rotodyne in the nick of time’, or….
‘Who the hell is Nick? And if he’s not into mining, he shouldn’t be here in the first place’