Federal Election: James Weir’s unauthorised Scott Morrison tell-all

How well do we know ScoMo? James Weir penetrates the PM’s world and exposes a more intimate side — one he probably wishes stayed private.

During Scott Morrison’s exhaustive election campaign, it was Britney Spears who posed the most urgent question to our Prime Minister.

He was standing awkwardly in a Lebanese bakery while visiting the western Sydney suburb of Granville and awaiting his daily interrogation by the travelling media pack. There had been a lot going on during the weekday morning trip to the sweet shop. It started with a free nougat buffet and ended with the PM being presented with a slogan cake. Slogan cakes always cause the craziness of any atmosphere to skyrocket.

But after a sugar high comes the inevitable crash, and the live-streamed press conference was derailed before it even began.

RELATED: James Weir recaps ScoMo’s toughest day

The radio was blasting in the store and the PM’s team of advisers rushed around in a flurry, trying to find someone who knew how to switch it off as the frantic string instrumental from the iconic Britney Spears hit Toxic began to play.

It went on for an uncomfortably long time. Minutes later, after a building crescendo, the song reached the final line of the chorus and ended with Britney personally antagonising Australia’s Prime Minister.

“Don’t you know that you’re toxic?” her voice croaked over the speakers in surround sound.

Yet again, Ms Spears set the agenda. Those rodeo clowns who helmed Channel 9’s disastrous second leaders’ debate wish they’d been equipped with Britney’s withering interrogation skills. Britney walked so fellow icons Leigh Sales and Tracy Grimshaw could run.

Mr Morrison refused to answer the question. Silently staring at the glossy tiled floor and waiting for the moment to pass, it was as if he was desperately wishing to be teleported to anywhere else in the world – even Wentworth.

The PM at the Granville press conference, waiting for Britney to finish her roast.

This was the grilling that tripped up Mr Morrison for the first time in his campaign and it set off a series of stumbles right up to the finish line. It also lit a spark that instantly fired him up and lead to tense press conferences in the days that followed, with the PM slapping down reporters and disregarding questions.

News.com.au spent an intimate week with the Prime Minister during his almost two-month national campaign. In what felt like an endless carousel of nursing home and sporting field visits, Mr Morrison was observed up close – with every explosively innocuous detail documented to help paint a picture of the man hoping to keep the top job before Aussies hit the polls this Saturday.

This profile isn’t so much an Archibald-standard mirror reflection of the PM, but a hastily dashed off stick-figure sketch from a crayon-wielding preschooler. Still, it astutely helps answer the question: Who is the real Scott Morrison?

Just days after being rocked to the core by Britney’s accusations of a toxic government, Mr Morrison decided there was no other choice but to address the allegations.

“I can be a bit of a bulldozer,” he conceded.

Australians thought the admission was figurative. Turns out, it was also literal.

Cut to this week, when he bulldozed over a small child during what was supposed to be a friendly photo op of the PM playing with a junior soccer team.

‘Take that!’

Scott Morrison is a man who wants to win at all costs. It doesn’t matter what he’s playing. Inside him is a burning desire to conquer everything, from the federal election to a random child’s afternoon ball game. This win-at-all-costs attitude was foreshadowed early on in his campaign.

At a nursing home visit in Geelong, the PM posed with some old people who were playing a friendly game of billiards. What followed was absolute carnage. He picked up a cue and sunk a ball. Then another. Soon, balls were being blasted by the second into the netted pockets on every corner of the plush green upholstered table. The Prime Minister made those old people eat dirt.

Not satisfied with annihilating old people, Mr Morrison decided to track down a junior soccer team in Perth a few days later. He was barely able to contain himself. Moments after bounding down the turfed hill to Girrawheen’s Shevlock Park on a Saturday morning, he grabbed the ball and started kicking goals past the young kid guarding the posts. And as if that wasn’t enough, he had his team of advisers film the win and use it in an online promo video.

When it comes to Scott Morrison, no child is too small and no grandpa is too frail to defeat. But this is not a secret, unlike the bandaged thumb injury he tried so hard to hide from the Australian people midway through the campaign.

‘Eat dirt, kid!’

Perhaps the most accurate way of understanding someone’s true essence is to observe their coffee order. Admit it: none of us would vote a grown man into office if it was revealed that he drinks mochaccinos. Tony Abbott should consider it a miracle that he was only exposed as a mocha drinker at the end of his prime ministership, after a loose-lipped waitress outed him during a 2015 radio segment.

Extensive meetings have probably been held between Mr Morrison and his team, tossing up what hot beverage order has the best optics. These finer details need to be thought through ahead of time because, when the PM visits local businesses on the campaign trail, the locations often include cafes. When he’s inevitably offered a beverage, it would be political suicide if he was photographed holding something with whipped cream and sprinkles.

While visiting Cibo Espresso in Adelaide’s seaside suburb of Glenelg, Mr Morrison was put on the spot by the barista. What would he like? A short black, he answered.

It was an interesting choice. Did he choose a short black because he thought that’s what real men drink? He certainly didn’t want to be seen as a latte-sipping city slicker. But a short black brings with it other problems. Like, it’s served in one of those dainty little paper cups that’s so tiny you can’t grip onto it with your whole hand so you’re forced to poke out your pinky finger, like a fancy lady. The Prime Minister and his advisers did not think that choice through.

It’s as if everyone at the Prime Minister’s Office was desperately trying to hide the truth. News.com.au can exclusively reveal Mr Morrison currently prefers to drink tea, after recently curbing his coffee habit. Why not just order a cup of hot water and whip out one of the Lipton tea bags he could keep stashed in his pocket? It all comes down to image – something the former marketing man Mr Morrison likes to control tightly.

The number one priority of the Morrison Machine is continually proving that he’s a family man.

While he’s seemingly inauthentic with his coffee order, the family schtick is the real deal. At a south Sydney sports field in the PM’s own seat of Cook, news.com.au witnessed first-hand Mr Morrison dad-splaining to a group of kids how to take a selfie. You simply can’t fake that kind of behaviour.

‘I’m not a regular PM — I’m a cool PM.’

Still, it was at this very park — home to the Kogarah Cougars football club — where the PM made a declaration that again raised eyebrows.

“I used to play footy here!” he exclaimed while trudging over the swampy field that had turned into moosh after recent rainfall.

It’s well documented that, in his youth, Mr Morrison played rugby union. But the muddy field he was standing on was actually a rugby league ground.

His curious footy statements continued to spill out at another random park over in Perth just days later, while trying to engage with some kids who’d been gathered for an afternoon photo op.

“I’m used to doing rugby league kicks,” he told a young boy who was holding a footy. “You can show me how to do rugby union kicks.”

The young boy was, in fact, holding an AFL ball.

Sport nut ScoMo shows the twerps how it’s done.

Throughout this week-long unauthorised investigation, it became clear Scott Morrison was making it up as he went along.

At one visit to a fresh produce market, a confused witness watched on as the PM randomly selected different items and plonked them in a basket.

“Turmeric and pomegranate seeds? It didn’t make sense,” the spectator scrunched their face. “He ended up with a bag full of random sh*t.”

Turns out, ScoMo’s shopping basket is much like parliament.

Twitter, Facebook: @hellojamesweir