Simon Crean MP
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Journal of an aspiring PM
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Thursday, October 10, 2002
Mark's still in Cunningham, making sure they behave.
He wanted our byelection slogan to be "We decide to comes into the Illawarra, and the circumstances in which they come". Nice ring, but we decided against it.
Wednesday, October 09, 2002
In the NSW Bearpit in the early eighties, two men commanded universal respect. One was a Country Party bloke who's name escapes me. I say "Country Party" because he left the party when it became the National Party. The other was Jack Ferguson, Nifty's deputy from the Left, who died last month.
Both these people were admired for the sincerity with which they held their beliefs and the courtesy they showed others. They were seen to have Integrity with a big I.
Jack's sons are, of course, my good friend Martin and his brother Laurie. They too yearn for a golden age when Labor boasted the cream of the working class etc.
I bring all this up because it helps to explain Martin's attitude to things like immigration and Aborigines. He's often said to me that the " .. gest stake yever dwas ting dof Tstray lis" [The biggest mistake we ever made was getting rid of White Australia Policy- see Deciphering Martin]
You may call this racism, but to him it is just upholding the values dear to his father and "real" Labor. It also explains his fascination with Pauline Hanson. When she was an MP, and Martin from time to time said things like "Mate, 'd ke to ver blood ood ving" [Mate, I'd like to give her a bloody good serving], it was not just physical: it was a meeting of minds.
As I've said before, I love him like a brother, but he's a worry sometimes.
Don't judge him too harshly, though.
Ok, off to do those laps. You should try it, it gets the oxygen to the brain.
Everybody knows what's best for me. Ms Hewett in the SMH, for one.
Ever been to Wollongong? This week with Bob and Mark, walked through the mall. Scrawny undesirables hanging around the public phones, scratching their pocky skin. Mark hates junkies, really hates them, wanted to go over and have a word. We restrained him.
The place to reveal to the world our crusade against crime. (Nothing to do with the federal government, but who cares?)
Martin says Laurie Brereton's un-strayn ("un-Australian" See deciphering Martin.)
I'm pretty dark on him myself. As, I imagine, are the opinion page editors in the Sydney Morning Herald and the Fin Review. Running the same column in both is verboten.
Tuesday, October 08, 2002
I must say I'm rather annoyed with our fourth estate. We did this conference for them and them only. This was to create a Whitlam-like momentum towards victory.
Now, instead of tales of my heroism against the forces of inertia the general theme is that I almost got rolled and it doesn't mean much anyway.
Did 57 laps today. Wanted to stop at 53 but pushed myself.
Monday, October 07, 2002
Martin just phoned. Reckoned he'd come up with a solution to mandatory detention. "Shoot morl, un-strayn stards" [Shoot them all, the un-Australian bastards] (see deciphering Martin) he said, before dissolving into fits of laughter and hanging up.
Not sure if he was referring to the refugees or ALP members who were advocating a less tough approach. I think both - that was part of the joke.
He is a character.
Factions
Our factions are pathetic parodies of their former selves.
There are three Lefts.
We have the Hanson-Left, who hate economic and social liberalism and yearn for the ALP of Cocky Calwell. My good friend Martin and his brother Laurie are leading lights.
Then there is the chardonnay Left - enough said. (Well, just one more word - Carmen.)
And the sensible Left - Lindsay Tanner.
And then there's the once mighty NSW Right! A versatile punchline for any joke you can think of.
I'm sending Mark into Cunningham. That'll teach 'em to consider straying from the path.
It's official: Greens and Independent Peter Wilson are swapping preferences.
Ooooh, I'm really scared. As that bloke at the Parliament House Library has shown, Green how to vote cards make bugger all difference to how their voters number their ballot papers.
I am a little scared, actually, about that Peter Wilson fellow's preferences, as his voters are more likely to follow the card.
It's a little scarey, yes.
I'm lying in bed with my lappy watching Lateline: Wayne Swan and Barry Jones rabbiting on about what rules were and weren't passed.
I'm reminded of a decade ago, the the 1993 election. Our last taste of the elixir.
Barry Jones, ALP Prez at the time, made a very underated contribution to that campaign. Voters lumped Keating and Hewson together as the same unabidable cold economic fish, and Barry provided a human point of differentiation.
His noggin on ads saying: "you won't ever hear John Hewson talk about anything other than money" went down a treat.
Actually, Barry's electoral appeal during the Hawke-Keating years was always underappreciated. The blue-rinsers watching ' The Midday Show' adored him. As did many in the populace at large. He was human, and a rarity in Australian public life, an intellectual the punters felt affection for.
Machine Men like Chris Shacht hated him; we knifed Jones of course, and haven't looked back since. With these troubling thoughts I bid you ...
Night night.
PS. Martin can't stand him, so keep this to yourself.
Time for beddy byes. I feel good about the weekend despite the unfriendly press treatment.
I managed to nobble Glenn Milne on that agreement on refugees by stirring the old News v Fairfax rivalry. Often worth a try, though not too often. But he was still less than enthusiastic.
I give today's press coverage 3/10.
I didn't get a swim in today. This may account for the flatness. Ok, time for an early night; the future begins tomorrow.
Catchyas.
Sunday, October 06, 2002
I wonder what Carmen's doing today? Is it a public holiday in Perth? That's the trouble with this bloody country, you can't keep tabs on people when they're on the other side of it.
Martin tells me to 'watch t unstrayn .. tch, safter job' [watch that un-Australian woman, she's after your job] (see deciphering Martin)
But caucus wouldn't be so silly.
Would they?
The count is in: Howard to go
I, however, can count, and just did a few sums. Malcolm Fraser was Prime Minister from November 11 1975 to March 5 1983, which is seven years and four months, give or take.
Bob Hawke, from March 1983 to December 1991. That is eight years and nine months.
John Howard was elected March 1996. If he wants to beat Mal he'll have to stay 'til July 2003. That is, until his sixty-fourth birthday (26 July), when he's said he'll think about it. Coincidence? I don't think so.
To beat Hawkie, he'd need to hang in for another year and a half. That is, he'd have to contest the next election. This would make him the second longest serving PM ever.
The somewhat eccentric psephologist Malcolm Mackerras is quite friendly with the PM. When Howard had the jitters during the '96 campaign Mackerras calmed him down, assuring him he'd win by at least 30 seats.
I ran into Mackerras in a newsagency a few weeks ago and he loudly informed me me that he has told Howard in no uncertain terms that there is no way he can win another election.
This is why John Howard will put logic before ego and retire next year.
Looks like it's me versus The Smirk again!
Typical Sydney-centric column in The Australian today. This one by Michael Duffy. He thinks we need to capture - you guessed it - the aspirational voters in Sydney's west.
As a political analyst Duffy makes an excellent book publisher. For one thing he gets the name of Jackie Kelly's seat wrong. For another he thinks elections are decided in Sydney's west. That is, he can't count.
Still, I always appreciate advice from conservative commentators because I know they really do have the best interests of the Labor Party at heart.
A small preference kerfuffle in Cunningham. Less than two weeks to go now.
I needed this like a hole in the head. Boofhead Steve Martin apparently called me, sotto voce, a 'little c*nt' at his press conference a month ago.
Geez, I'd like to clean his boofheady clock ....
Mustn't let these things overcome me. Conference behind me, it's all go go go from now on.
There's a film that I've never seen called "Weekend at Bernies" where these two guys cart around a dead body all weekend pretending he's alive.
Boy, am I glad no-one came up with that one in anticipation of last weekend!
That unreconstructed old Keynesian hippy John Quiggin
Which is nice.
The conference was a ripping success, I reckon. And I got my 43 laps in at lunchtime.
