Don's Party, Part One...
November 3rd 2007 11:16
Last night I went with two old friends and a new one to the gorgeous Sydney Opera House, to see the raucous play, "Don's Party". Written by David Williamson, I am always amused that such thoughts can eminate from an engineer, but then again, my husband is one, and he can think quite lofty thoughts, and can write articulately; however the comedy gold in our household, I flatter myself, shines from my pen (or keyboard, as one would have it). Mind you, my husband thinks all his recent strokes of genius are due to his new regimen of Fish Oil and Glucosamine supplements.
This was the obvious year to restage the legendary Aussie play. Like the play's synopsis, our nation is poised on the brink of a federal election, where the Don's of the world, and all his bawdy mates, lust after a Labor Government. The object of their desire is Gough Whitlam, whose image graced the stage alongside the pornographic objects Don requests his guests bring to his election night "do".
Today's leftist's wet dream, to put it as crassly as Williamson might, is Kevin Rudd; though I think most of us are having a secret affair with Peter Garrett, who we will probably ditch hubby Rudd for and shack up with in the future. A fitting analogy, as Garrett is the political equivalent of a mid-life crisis indiscretion. The safe, sensible, steady partner, with whom you dream and plan a future, whilst being the sensible option, suddenly seems aging, way too conservative, and solidly boring in the manner of a Toyota Camry. The lure of the younger, sleeker convertible VW Beetle model with the stereo blaring protest rock, though impractical, seduces. It harkens to your idealistic youth and hippie roots, yet without the inconvenience of constant breakdowns, and with air-con, and better fuel economy. Not quite a hybrid, but certainly running on bio-diesel. Certainly not the Bob Brown Kombi, as you really don't think you could trust your life upon that old beast. However, there's the association there in your mind of protests against the Franklin Dam, and anti-Nuclear rallies.
Like Don and his mates, I long for a Labor victory. And like Don in the final scene, should the party not go the way I had longed for, I fear I will end election night in a rather messy state; desperately scraping around the bottom of the ashtray for one last puff of the drug I'm addicted to; the dream of Howard's demise…
This was the obvious year to restage the legendary Aussie play. Like the play's synopsis, our nation is poised on the brink of a federal election, where the Don's of the world, and all his bawdy mates, lust after a Labor Government. The object of their desire is Gough Whitlam, whose image graced the stage alongside the pornographic objects Don requests his guests bring to his election night "do".
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