Climate Politics Strictly Ballroom

Well Gosh Bloody Darn. What a week.

The verb 'gutlessed' is set to take the Australian lexicon by storm, thanks to it's use by that fish mouthed crusader we all know and... well... insert word here.

Malcolm-can't-keep-me-down-Turnbull is set to recontest Wentworth. And if you were wondering who for, here's a wink and a nudge.


He said of Monsignor Rudd "He does not have the courage of his convictions, he has walked away from his climate change policy and he now has no climate change policy at all."

And of Rudd's climate change calisthenics: it is "the greatest act of political gutlessness anyone has ever seen".
That word again. Does anyone else think of Strictly Ballroom when they hear the word? Poor little mousy Fran - just wants to dance like Tina Sparkle, but doesn't have the face the hair the skin or the partner.

'You're just a gutless wonder!' she yells in beautiful and successful potential future partner Scot's face, as he pauses mid hop-arabesque-mega-splits-thingie to confront the tirade.

The thing is, though, Fran's next revelation is this:

'I wanna dance with you,' spoken with a truly horrifying Aussie twang.

I reckon Abbot might have a bit of a tango on his mind. Turnbull, perhaps a dinner dance - providing Lucy doesn't mind of course.

And I think the man they all want to dance with is that bloody pirouetting dentist Kevin-insert-superlative-here-Rudd.

He might not have a climate policy, but he seems to have the tightest hold on the media cycle this country has ever seen. He trots out each line at an appointed time, in an appointed place, with appropriate sampling on public opinion up his sleeve and all of a sudden the week is over and all anyone can talk about is the fact that their smokes are going to cost $2.15 more per pack - which is of much greater import to most people than glaciers.

The budget will no longer be the trouncing most people expected this year, and the Henry review, due for release tomorrow, will give ample cushion to the blows that do have to land some where.

So. I'll be looking under the table for a pair of stilettos next time I watch Abbot attack the Labor party's no-more-great-big-tax-on-abso-fucking-lutey-everything. And I'll be watching for a two-step next time Malcolm fronts a press-scrum to talk about the climate change policy the Liberal Party also doesn't have. And, just as an aside, I'll be popping my head in the door at any jazz ballet classes around the traps while I'm in town for the budget, because I've a fancy Greg Hunt likes a twirl in a leotard too.