Strewth: Tsar in their eyes

Following his breakout role in Larissa Waters’s resignation, councillor and slam poet Jonathan Sri engages in ‘capitalism’ charity.

Pictures at an exhibition: Paul Fletcher inspects Ku-ring-gai Art Society Annual Art Awards entrees. Source: Twitter

Following the latest upturn in his career, Peter Dutton is beginning to attract the label “security tsar”. Sure, Tony Abbott cast some helpful shade over the entire enterprise yesterday, but it is done. A tsar is born. Incidentally, Alexander Kerensky — the man who served as prime minister of Russia after the last actual tsar was toppled in the first revolution of 1917 — spent some of his exile in Brisbane. He and his seriously ailing wife, Australian journalist Nell Tritton, stayed with her parents in the suburb of Clayfield — just a hop, skip and a jump from Dutton’s electorate. (By the by, it was Kerensky who ordered the reburial of Rasputin’s corpse, though thanks to various hiccups along the way, the rogue monk’s earthly remains ended up being burned instead. We have no idea whether this is the origin of Abbott’s old catchcry of “dead, buried and cremated”.)

Sign of the tomes

Speaking of former prime ministers, there was another waiting to be encountered in video form on Facebook yesterday. “G’day, Kevin Rudd here,” he announces in the tone of a man trying to sound relaxed in the middle of a minor but intimate medical procedure. Then he settles down to the business of plugging his forthcoming book, Not for the Faint-hearted. Quoth he, “A lot of people have asked why the hell I have written a book.” One can only imagine this line of inquiry came in a great variety of constructions and tones. In giving an overview of his book, the Wholly Roamin’ Emperor reminds anyone contemplating the life political to keep firmly attached to the anchor points of what motivates them to be in politics — “If you don’t have that grounding, then frankly you just get smashed to bits when things go wrong.” Quite so. And, Rudd being Rudd, he doesn’t aim low, promising a thoughtful contemplation of all the ingredients that allowed him to “make a contribution, however imperfect, to our own country’s future, and our region’s, and the world’s”. Amen.

Taking scarf measures

Following his breakout role in Larissa Waters’s press conference on Tuesday, Brisbane Greens councillor and slam poet Jonathan Sri took to Facebook with his now famous rainbow scarf: “I figured I should use my 15 minutes of fame for something positive and practical, so I’m auctioning off my beloved rainbow scarf to raise money for local nonprofit homeless support services. Place your bids in the comments below. Serious bids only please.” Given that it looks like a python designed by Ken Done, we were tempted. When Strewth checked in, the most recent comment was from one Peter Hayden, who took one look at this planned act of charity and unburdened himself of his feelings: “Why are the Greens engaging in capitalism? Isn’t that hypocritical ... ? The Greens backed left renewal say that they want to destroy capitalism. How is this ‘destroying capitalism’? It’s creating capitalism ... Please issue an apology to the electorate and your party for being a hypocrite.” Moving along, when we last checked the top bid was $250. (Elsewhere, another Queensland poet, Clive Palmer, fired up: “Two faced emperor / Bleeding freedom/ Closed thought/ Broken arrow/ Sad reflection/ Oranges.”)

The frame game

As richly varied as Paul Fletcher’s oeuvre of tweeted photographs is, there’s a common thread that joins them. Whether he’s inspecting airports or just illuminated behind a lectern, the Urban Infrastructure Minister has the look of a man on a mission. Not this time. Behold Fletch at Sydney’s St Ives shopping centre, inspecting the Ku-ring-gai Art Society Annual Art Awards Exhibition, carefully weighing up which of the works was most worthy of the Member for Bradfield Prize. While you may be more immediately struck by some of the elements of the photo — the nod to the artistic concept of the vanishing point; the ceiling lights like luminous bubbles floating up from Fletch’s bonce — what eventually dawns is the pensive mood. This isn’t a mission, this deepest absorption bordering on reverie. If Fletch pulls together a calendar, we trust this one makes the cut as Mr July.

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