I would like to think that our Prime Minister invited me back to her digs for a cheeky, pre-Christmas Australian Sparkling (or 4) because I was so enchanting, captivating and wonderful company the last time we met.
Turns out I was wrong. There was an agenda…. OF COURSE THERE WAS AN AGENDA! or gender… or something.Sydney Morning Herald. January 4 2013
I was going to be LAVISHED!
I love that word. Say it out loud, slowly and with a French accent, if you can.
Now, I am a believer that when you are invited to someone’s house, a hostess gift is in order. I was standing in the playground towards the end of the term last year, gossiping, when the strangest sentence sprung from my mouth and into the ears of my mates as we chatted: “So I am going to Kirribilli House this afternoon to roll a few wines with Julia and I cannot for the life of me, think of what to take as a hostess gift!”
Suggestions were forthcoming which were not very helpful or pleasant, as I live in Liberal-Land where Joe Hockey dresses up as Santa each year and visits the kids outside the local fish and chip establishment. Joseph Benedict Hockey is like a saint round these parts and plays a very decent Santa, I am told. Even I have been drawn under his spell, after a little email banter years back.
But I digress.
My lovely friend Mrs Molloy owns a company called Snowgoose and they do wonderful fruit hampers. She suggested a box of cherries might be a festive touch, and I could NOT have agreed with her more.
Do you know what it is like to elegantly arrive at a fancy house lugging a huge box of cherries?
Neither do I my friends, neither do I. There was a slippery incident on the gravel driveway that I will not go into here.
Standing with Julia eating cherries in her living room, we discussed all manner of topics, from the serious to the ridiculous. I managed to smack back quite a few flutes during this time.
(And because I KNOW you are going to ask, no, she cannot tie a cherry stalk into a knot with her tongue. Neither can I, despite giving it a red hot go…)
On the way home, the phone started ringing. It was no less than eight journalists wanting to know what went down that afternoon. So-called Mummy Bloggers having discussions with the Prime Minister was SO HOT RIGHT NOW (or was, back then).
Why is it so intriguing? I will never know.
I do know that we are on the cusp of the next great gender debate and women, now more than ever, have a voice and are not afraid to use it.
The amount of crap that gets dished up is diabolical. Over the past 12 months women have copped such shit as the median gap in starting salaries for male and female graduates increased from $2000 in 2011 to $5000 last year to women destroying the joint in general and who can forget our most noble SportsWoman of the Year?
I sat on the couch on Christmas Eve and listened as a relative told me that he thought it would be a very, very long time before Australia would risk voting in another female Prime Minister.
Yes. I had to leave the room lest I drown in the steam springing forth from thine ears.
But pushing gender aside for a moment and getting back to festive fruit…
Yes, I bought the Prime Minister cherries and, yes, I was lavished with wine and canapes, but if you’re asking me what me and my new BFF get out of this festive exchange of niceties?
The answer is NOTHING.
I completely reserve the right to be a thorn in the PM’s backside. And she (because she’s been in politics for… ever) knows that. You don’t wrangle a minority government with a few smoked salmon blinis on a silver tray and some delightful banter.
2013 is election year. It’s not going to be all sparkling bubbles and cherries.
Let’s start with the fact, that as of five days ago, single parents have lost between $140 – $200 a week once their youngest child turns eight. That is 84,000 families affected.
Right now. Today.
Jenny Macklin, $35 a day will not pay for your blow-dry.
I will watch with interest the untangling of political spin over the next few months. Because for me, putting people’s basic needs over continual courting and masturbatory fawning of big business, would be the cherry on the top of my sundae.
MORE STORIES BY MRS WOOG
*About Mrs Woog: “I can be found in the laundry, folding laundry, sorting laundry and dropping off the dry cleaning. I am mum to two boys, boss of my husband and master of a cat and two guinea pigs. Come nightfall, I watch TV while tweeting which drives Mr Woog insane. I like to read cookbooks and eat out. During my waking hours I ferry kids around in the Mazda while drinking takeaway coffees and listening to talkback. I think about going to the gym every day. I used to work in the publishing industry before I realised it was nothing like Elaine Benes from Seinfeld made out like it was. Now I write this blog. And I never get writer’s block. It is a gift I have.” You can follow me on Twitter: @Woogsworld.