Sunday 3/10/04
The joy of holidays! The first sight I had of the tyrant clock was "10.30am".
I convinced my wife to have breakfast at a café.
There was a big commotion at Macquarie. Heaps of camera-men and suits and some police. It turned out to be John Howard, Prime Minister of Australia, walking through the shopping centre.
"Perhaps he's just fetching some milk?" I suggested to my lovely wife.
She thought it more likely to be a publicity thing. We live in his electorate, "Bennelong".
We watched from afar. This was Saturday lunch and there was a crowd of people fetching their own milk. A few people sought to shake hands with him. One man, not from Australia I believe, yelled something about refugees, and a woman yelled back at him to shove off.
After a few minutes we beetled off to find the café.
It was a good half an hour later that it happened.
"John Howard's coming back," said my wife.
I turned around my chair. (No small feat for me or for the chair since my belly contained bacon, eggs, tomato, mushrooms and a heck of a lot of toast. The short black coffee pulled me over the finish line.)
A man was standing but five metres away pointing a camera up some stairs.
"Woe am I", I said. "I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips."
"Shoosh," my wife said.
Seconds slouched by sulkily, but my fate was not to be missed.
Had there been a light in the right place his shadow would have been cast large against the shopfront of "General Pants".
As it happened a short man emerged from the stairs, with grey hair and bushy grey eyebrows. The short man set about shaking people's hands.
He was quickly before us - my wife, me, my paper, and a greasy plate.
"Woe are you!" I said, "For you are a man of unclean lips, and you work among a people of unclean lips."
In fact I didn't say that at all.
I said "Good morning to you good sir!" and shook his hand.
I can't remember how the handshake felt, but my wife does. She inquired about how he was and received the warm and concise reply "Quite well thankyou," along with the firm touch of Howard's hand.
And then O how quickly was the Prime Minister gone, and I was left with a bloated feeling, an empty glass, and the rancid greasy plate of my canola oil life.
It was only hours later that it occurred to me what I *should* have said in the fateful moment.
"Mr Howard, you ought to go on Rove Live".
