It feels as though I have just stepped off the plane from Brisbane where I worked with the hugely successful Fluffy festival, and walked straight into a full plate of work.
Displaying all the symptoms of a seven-month-pregnant lady, I sit, bloated, head throbbing, feet screaming with blisters and bunions, and try to collect my thoughts and knuckle down.
Before I dive straight in, I have to say to all my Queensland brothers and sisters, thank you for looking after me so well. It was great to see the gay and lesbian community is alive and well in our Sunshine State, and they really know how to party.
As for the rumours that I was so intoxicated I was found swimming in the rooftop pool clad in only a pair of underpants with my face covered in makeup, they are totally false until I have been proven guilty (you will need video footage to prove that one).
Through the dust, smoke and glitter, Australia is gearing up for what seems like a major turning point in all of our lives – it’s election time and the question is hanging over all of our heads: Who do we vote for?
Are there really good ones and bad ones? Do all politicians sign an agreement to include at least one or two fibs to keep us all on our toes?
I think voting is a personal thing which usually starts with a “shit, we have to vote today, don’t we?” followed by a mad rush to the local church or school. A bucket-load of How To Vote cards are thrown at us – which sort of seems ironic from those parties that are environmentally driven – and we get to mark a piece of paper.
Depending on where you are voting, there’s usually a 15-20 minute line-up before you get a lovely old lady to mark your name off the roll, then you’re sent to a cardboard booth to mark your X on a piece of paper.
Your heart goes out to those poor electoral workers as their fingers scan the thousands of names in the big black folder. You know they do it every election – though you never remember any of them – and can probably understand why they lack patience at times.
So once you have your tablecloth sheet of candidates and are sent to the booth, you have to start reading. If you’re like me, you usually mark a 1 on the metre-long sheet of paper, fold it into a tiny square, and pop it into the slot. A quick laugh, then out to the sausage sizzle, that always seems to be close by. The future of our country is safe with the stroke of just a small HB pencil … well, for another couple of years anyway.
I really don’t want to tell anyone who to vote for or if they are good or bad but, like my grandmother said many years ago, “Stop bloody bitching and do something about it.” With her words of wisdom still with me, I guess we all have to get in there and fix it. Have my keno pencil sharpened, I’m coming in.
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