(Not) losing focus

AS unlikely as it was beautiful, the dream of politics without focus groups was lifted into the light by a journalist at the National Press Club in Canberra yesterday, and there it sparkled for roughly three seconds until Julia Gillard snuffed it out.

AS unlikely as it was beautiful, the dream of politics without focus groups was lifted into the light by a journalist at the National Press Club in Canberra yesterday, and there it sparkled for roughly three seconds until Julia Gillard snuffed it out.

"Do you really think that Tony Abbott read every conservative thinker on the globe . . . and came out with 'Stop The Boats'? Is that what you think happened?" We believe this translates to: focus groups will be ditched the day the first igloo is built in Hades. Still, it's one more reason to hope hell does freeze over; another is Bill Heffernan would cut a dash in a scarf and ice skates. Speaking of the Devil, did you know Satan comes from the Hebrew for "the accuser"? How perfectly curious. We may also have once added "apt", but Michael Kirby forgave the Heff long ago, and so should you.

And a good lie down

THE pressures of a hung democracy are starting to get to a few people, not least in Simon Crean's office. Yesterday, a Crean flack informed one of Strewth's colleagues they would not be offering comment on day-to-day matters on the grounds the government is in caretaker (or, potentially, chair-warmer) mode. When our colleague suggested quoting those words, what may be characterised as a pointed, heartfelt soliloquy was delivered by the flack. Still, these are stressful times. Strewth suggests camomile tea, and perhaps a bit of time spent consoled by the knowledge that it would be tougher if they worked for Queensland premier Anna Bligh, who's booting her MPs out of the office for a bit of work experience. Whimsically-callously, Bligh has declared, "I invite Queenslanders to send into their local MP any suggestions they have about what job they could do for a day."

Naked mugwumps

IT was inevitable our mugwump discussion would come to this point. Adelaide reader Brian Colton leads us in: "It seems the Australian public has no idea of the truly depraved nature of the Mugwump. To correct this, I can recommend no finer text than The Naked Lunch by William S. Burroughs." In Burroughs' words, "Mugwumps have no liver and nourish themselves exclusively on sweets. Thin, purple-blue lips cover a razor sharp beak of black bone with which they frequently tear each other to shreds in fights over clients." Mugwumps also secrete an addictive liquid, but we'll skip the breakfast-dislodging details and move on to what could be a disturbing message to journalists: "Addicts of Mugwump fluid are known as Reptiles." Mugwumps were given flesh in David Cronenberg's film of Naked Lunch and there's something about their amphibious appearance, lean frames, louche postures and overly sensual lips that remind us, in a roundabout way, of Mick Jagger, aka Jerry Hall's ex. (We hope that balances things, Marilyn Beech of Scarborough, WA).

Wrong number

IT was late on Monday morning in The Australian's Canberra bureau when our defence and foreign affairs reporter, Mark Dodd, found himself on the receiving end of a breathless call from Darwin. Dodd recognised the voice as that of his old mate, Fairfax Media's veteran Top End correspondent, Lindsay Murdoch. Without any introduction, instructions were blurted down the phone line: "Quick, get out to the detention centre; The Indonesians are on the roof again. Great photos." Alas Murdoch has misdialled, leading to this short exchange.

Dodd: "Thanks for the heads up mate, I'll get [colleague Paul] Maley on to it straight away."

Murdoch: "Who's that - Doddy? I wanted the snapper." A pause, followed by multiple expletives.

Dodd: "That's OK, I'll call this afternoon for an update. Do you want a byline?" Sadly, things proved a bit quieter yesterday. As Dodd lamented to Strewth, "No calls so far."

The silent spin

IT must be difficult for former journalists, used to asking the tough questions in press conferences, to remember their place as new members of a government's spin machine. That involves remaining silent onlookers during heated press conferences, running a tape for their new masters and not being participants in the general argy-bargy of questioning. But it seems former ABC and The Advertiser reporter Andrew Dowdell can't help himself, interjecting on a couple of occasions yesterday as Infrastructure Minister Pat Conlon faced the press over the not-quite-universally-beloved plan to redevelop Adelaide Oval for AFL. A few withering looks from his former colleagues quickly silenced him.

Bunny Bovary

A DISPATCH from our special From Bare to Flaubert department. It's a snippet from the September issue of Hugh Hefner's famed journal of record, Playboy, and the introduction to its extract from the new translation of Madame Bovary: "The most scandalous novel of all time . . . Emma's transformation from bored provincial wife to enthusiastic adulterer reminds us what a scandal it can be to be human." So you can still buy it for the articles.