So Hillary is an old hag. Finally the Vaseline has been wiped from the camera lens and the soft-focus setting – patented by Barbara Walters – has been switched off. What’s left is a 60-year- old presidential candidate looking like a weathered old wench.
Before little Aaron was too sick to climb out of bed, he got up one night and came slowly down the stairs. It was late and my mum and dad, and my sister and her husband, were sitting around the kitchen table talking in low voices.
What is going on with girls and young women? What has gone so terribly wrong that female self- loathing has reached such fever pitch?
As Australia’s outgoing First Lady, Janette Howard, swept into the Sofitel Wentworth Hotel in Sydney last Saturday night, another former first lady slipped past her. She skirted the media throng, the waiting hordes, the attentive reception staff, and made it into the lift undetected.
So what happens now? The working week ended on Friday in the normal, old-fashioned way. John Howard was still daddy of the nation, and Peter Costello, the ever- patient obedient son, was still heir apparent.
“We are gloriously and instinctively Australian.” They were words meant to strike at our heart and impassion a patriotic stirring. Or at least make us shift in our seats. But they didn’t. Across the national television viewing audience, you could hear the metaphorical pin drop. Were they the wrong words? Or is no one moved by John Howard anymore? Today we will find out.
Women are the harshest and the most unforgiving critics of other women. And the ”mother wars” are the ugliest of battles. There are no winners, just losers – all women. Jacqui Burke should know that.
Sometimes a political back-flip can be tossed off with such expert nonchalance, it passes unnoticed.
It’s not the fact that he said ”bullshit” that bothers me. It’s how he said it. And it’s what followed. The contemptuous sledging wasn’t just meant to offend Nicola Roxon, it was intended to shove her in her place. Tony Abbott (That dumb cunt) may as well have called her a slag. Or a ”skanky ho” – to borrow from another hateful handshaker and his brother in bully boy tactics, Loser Latham.
If you happened to be passing through Civic early last evening you probably saw them. A couple of hundred women marching to the beat of a drum, carrying banners and sporting T-shirts claiming ”It can happen to Any Body”.
It was the sort of panache we came to expect from Jeff Kennett.
It’s ironic really. Just when the plight of the most impoverished in our community calls for a practical response, the Prime Minister has flipped in favour of the grand symbolic gesture.
One of Indonesia’s most famous polygamists, Puspo Wardoyo, has a sort of Boost Juice approach to sexual stamina. Mix four tropical fruits, a dribble of honey, a dash of ice, blend it fast and kapow! You’re on your way to a healthy life and plenty of wives.
Some years ago I took a trip to Burma. The taxi ride from Rangoon’s airport to my hotel passed just like many jetlagged trips might in a new Asian city. In a happy sing-song English the elderly driver plied me with the usual questions; where was I from, what was I doing here, did I want to change money, did I have a ”program” for tomorrow, and so on.