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The Scion, the Wheat, and the Cabinet – Afterword
The Chronicles of Nadir
As told from the grave by Tom Lewis
Tale the First
The Scion, the Wheat
and the Cabinet
Afterword.
See Chapter I, Chapter II, Chapter III, Chapter IV, Chapter V,
Chapter VI, Chapter VII, Chapter VIII, Chapter IX, Chapter X, Chapter XI, Chapter the Last.
[Image of Tom Lewis supplied by Malcolm B Duncan, or vice versa]
The battle had been fought. Sir Alfred Deakin looked down on the carnage. It had come to this: Amanda had escaped and now ruled in Rome on a diet of pasta and chianti. Peter had decided to take his balls and go home or go home to a ball or Tanya or something. Alexander was bored (well he’d been bored a number of times actually but Oxford was like that). Little Lucy was looking forward to the move to Kirribilli House but she didn’t know how long the children would have to spend in storage before they got there and she wasn’t completely certain they should go to Shore anyway. St. Ignatius was more her style and she had no objection to Loretto for the girls.
But the carnage was truly terrible. Severed limbs, red everywhere (particularly under beds), even on the head of Jules of the Galliard and Ruddy was the colour of the day. The Lady Jadis was packing and the Dwarf – well the Dwarf was so depressed he just couldn’t stop powerwalking – round and round the harbour he went closely followed by a soon to be unemployed Corder who now regretted signing the AWA. Still, he thought to himself, with the super, if he had his choice, he wouldn’t work.
A long line of former Senators and Members of the House of Representatives queued outside Centrelink in a line over a kilometre long (what with their STAFFERS and a few cats trying desperately to avoid Little Lucy’s husband). The Cabinet Secretary was close to suicide and a pall of smoke rose from Menzies House. Those of the Party who were left Pyned for the old days.
Was this the end of an era, the end of an Empire, the end of the Land of Nadir?
Sir Alfred thought not. There would always be a Nadir – it just depended who was the incumbent. After all, there had been a Nadir in the time of Keating. Sir Alfred didn’t like Jules of the Galliard, in fact, he hated everything she stood for and he could not stomach Prince Crispian so he was terribly frightened for the future of the land he had adopted as his own and ruled for a time. Yet he would wait with trepidation and see what that future held. Could that future see Prince Crispian lay charges over - wheat?
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So Many Crimes, So Little Time
Will Big Kev be investigating all the misdemeanours of the Howard era ?.
One should hope so or hope at least there will be some members in the current government who will be demanding answers not only about the AWB fiasco but every other stuff-up that has happened over the past few years.
The illegal Iraq invasion is one matter now that one of the prime movers Richard Perle has admitted it was an illegal war. Howard is very vulnerable here-he alone made the decision without a vote in Parliament. Still, he sleeps soundly at night ( but for how long ?)
Others need a grilling over this. Especially Denis Richardson the last boss of ASIO whose parting gift to Aussies was that they should "give up more of their freedoms". To him. Yeh sure. He either fed Howard bogus information or was in on the whole charade or was used like a puppet by our allies.
Richard:.. and then he became our ambassodor to the "Land Of The Free!
Mick Keelty-who really should have been put out to pasture years ago needs a thorough looking at as well. Gross incompetence is what springs to mind with this joker.
Heheheheehehehe
The piece was a bit of fun, that's all. Malcolm's motives for creating same are his own and of no interest to me. I ingest MBD's stuff for what it is and have yet to suffer indigestion, rather I find it like a rather nice dessert.
I enjoyed it, and I'm sure MBD enjoys the fact that someone else enjoyed it. More joy, and that's good methinks, it think we call it entertainment don't we?
No more to it than that I reckon, so no need to get ones egotistical nuts in a knot, just giggle....hehehehehehe....
Literary Geniuses Abound, In Their Own Minds
No, Mr Avent
These tedious arguments really ought to stop. Can we just accept that I think you are a pain in the arse and v v? With the minor exception that I'm funny. I have been making audiences laugh since I was about 8. I've gone head-to-head with Warren Mitchell (at age 13). I've been put down by Noel Brophy (age 14). I pizzled Billy Sneddon when he was Leader of the Opposition, I've done Revue, etc.
Look at what I said, not what you think I said: I did not compare my wit to Swift, in the cretinous language of the NSW HSC, I "appropriated" him.
I am a literary critic. I have the piece of paper. It lets me do it.
Then again, I suppose you are just another one of the Houyhnhnms. Now, I need to go and wash my hands. (Gulliver's Travels Part IV).
Note for moderators: elegant literary abuse should, in the finest traditions of the 18th Century, be allowed.
Fiona: Only when the elegance coincides with refinement.
The single desk
Sow before he sues.
Let us sow the stuff before he tries to sue over it. Otherwise we'll 1080 his crispies if he pokes his nose into the bush.
But he won't. They never do. Scared or rodents I suppose.
Arthuriad
Spelling.
Don't get me started on merkins again, Malcolm. Fiona set me off the other day, and guess what I was inadvertantly calling the bloody thing? At any rate, after skimming through Crowley the last couple of days, I think this kitten qualifies to be named after a practitioner of the mystic arts.
He's got a bloody big M on his forehead, so what was I going to call him... Malcolm? Actually, there's a thought!
Anyway, the Talking Beasts have made their decisions, and seem happy to graze mutely in corporate farmyards. And this year there's truly a Christmas.
Jenny, my heart goes out to you.
Forget me, we're chicken feed
Richard, forget us. We only did ten grand on a small crop area. Others did hundreds of thousands. Everything is relative. We are letting the cropping part of the property, that is most of it, go back to native grasses. Less potential income, but also losses, and an easier life.
Now I wonder if the Prince knows the difference between a wheat, a barley, a tricticale or an oat crop. He calls himself a farm boy, but I think he has been too long off the farm. He no doubt needs to do some homework himself, and send his boys out to visit at least one farm.
What is the bet he does not chase those AWB guys. What are they all doing now anyway. New jobs somewhere? Where's the Flug?
Now 2007 was a write off for me, so now it is 2008 when we hope to get down to SA. As for me it is mostly time out on everything. Cheers and thanks.
What's your point?
Weird
Funny, witty or poignant?
Wheatgate? What about Wheatgate 2?
Malcolm, why don't you take this whole idea a bit further? Was our abuse of the Iraqi people (Wheatgate) worse than that of the Americans (Wheatgate 2), who distributed US GM-modified seeds to all the Iraqis and allowed the national Iraq Granary to burn down? Now the Iraqis are all hooked on US "terminator-seed" grains. Now a whole nation has to go back, each season, and pay a US corporation so that they can grow their crops.
Our part in this scam, has, without a doubt, been despicable. But the real crime is hidden. Wheatgate 2 is the real crime. And it has been hidden from the world...
The split brain
Which side of the corpus collosum are you on, Ian McPherson? Reconcile these two statements:
The second seems to imply poignancy. It doesn't seem to accord with the first, posted later.
In answer to the question: I'm the bloody author son.
The last wave
As the rodent rows over the wave at the end of his world, it will be into Crispian's eyes that the wheat-lovers must gaze. How many more will sacrifice their sentience that they may graze docilely, exposed as the true animals that they are?
Aside - fair warning to Claude ... my Merlin has mastered the arts of the samurai, and can already propel himself vertically to more than twenty times his height. As I write he is atop the kelpie, slashing at the jugular. A more natural politician I've never seen.