I'm back from computer-exile. Looking forward to catching up on all your doings. Keith arrives home today, but not quite to the country he left.
There's been a estroegen epiphany! A bosomy blindside! A vag for victory, if you will. (I will if you will...)
Kevin Rudd was still hanging on when Keith left; polling lower than a cane toad, it's true, but surely not expected the kind of brutal, late-night, slug-to-the-back-of-the-neck farewell he got this week. Anybody else find his final press conference excruciating to watch? His teary wife standing by, unable to help. His stoic, shocked teenage son. Kevin's final attempts at lame dad-jokes. Even worse was his demeanor at Question Time yesterday afternoon. Sitting up the back, shoulders slumped and lip quivering, he looked like a boy who'd gone four rounds and lost to the school bully. An incredible little sound grab on the radio caught Kevin coming out of the party room yesterday and asking quietly 'Whaddya reckon just happened?'
I think we all feel a bit like that.
Today I've been settling into home; shopping, washing, sweeping and catching up on some interesting analysis. This radio national podcast paints a fascinating picture of what was happening in Parliament House the night it all went down. The whole thing is a bit scary to me in its Machiavellian, back-room style. If this is the future of politics, what can we expect next?
But I'm a big Gillard fan, and the feminist in me is fist-punchingly excited that we have a woman leading our country. And points to the first pundit who maps her cycle and works out which week she's making her snappiest, most narky comebacks to Kerry O'Brien...