Parliamentary maces don’t get starring moments often enough

Parliamentary maces don’t get starring moments often enough

Peter Slipper’s pomp-infused Speaker’s processions notwithstanding, parliamentary maces don’t get starring moments often enough. That big lump of ceremonial metal that symbolises royal authority gets lugged in by the one person entrusted with lugging powers, laid on a table while parliament is in session, then lugged out again. So bravo to the British parliament, where unhappiness over Brexit prompted Labour MP Lloyd Russell-Moyle to do The Unimaginable and lay his mortal and deeply unauthorised mitts on it, lift it and, amid much very British harrumphing and polite protest, walk off. The mace was soon taken back, and Russell-Moyle taken out by the Speaker. The member for Kemptown and Peacehaven handled his ejection with English aplomb and repaired to a pub called the Red Lion. The mace that stopped a nation.

Heavy metal

Still, a silver lining is meaningless without its attendant cloud. Filling this vital role is our illustrious and much awarded colleague Jon Kudelka, who lamented the Brits had beaten Australia to this feat. Enter Phillip Adams with a pleasing au contraire: “The mace was stolen from a locked case in the Victorian parliament in 1891. Last seen in a local brothel. Never recovered.” This in no way is a sly allusion to the fact that another Victorian mace eventually wound up in federal parliament, where it was on loan until 1951. Its replacement, which clocks in at 7.8kg and undoubtedly builds the biceps of the serjeant-at-arms every time it gets lifted, was a gift from Britain and looks like it could come in handy as a battering ram. In this day and age, you just never know.

Taking baby steps

Speaking of which, Home Affairs Minister Peter Dutton was on Sky News again. Regrettably, he gave no further hints as to the coming junta that can be the only logical sequel to Australia’s energetic if fruitless attempts at democracy. At least he said nothing as stark as the other day when he very reasonably posited: “I’ve always seen parliament as a disadvantage, frankly, for sitting governments.” It was a declaration that, to our possibly awry ears at least, whispered “coup” as softly yet insistently as a loft of pigeons. Perhaps Dutton is pacing himself.

The great explainer

The growing tradition of Labor MPs whose press conferences are evidently so self-explanatory they invite no questions has been added to this week by Treasury spokesman Chris Bowen, who wound up on this note: “And only a Shorten Labor government can deliver bigger budget surpluses, bigger over the forward estimates and substantially bigger over the medium-term. As well as delivering sensible, well structured, well-calibrated tax reform. Thanks very much.” No questions at all, yer honour.

Brook flows on

Someone who always has questions is our friend and colleague Stephen Brook. Actually he’s now a former colleague, having departed the Holt Street mothership yesterday. Among his many qualities, we will miss the generous commodity that is his voice, a broadcast-quality baritone with vowels so ripe it always feels like harvest time. Indeed, when our then small children first met him, they bestowed a great accolade: “Stephen sounds like he knows everything.” And they’ve only wavered from this belief once or twice since. If you haven’t listened to Brooky’s Behind the Media podcast, we implore you to do so. The next episode, which we believe will be out early next week, sees the tables turned, with Brooky interviewed by his recent guest Hedley Thomas.

A glass act

After Brooky, our thoughts turn inevitably to liquid consolation. It being the festive season (give or take), let us visit some Christmas cocktails. Today’s tipple comes from inspiredbycharm.com and is called the Merry Christmas Ornamentini. It’s a variation on the cosmopolitan with vodka as the base, followed by cranberry juice, cherry juice, orange liqueur, and a splash of freshly squeezed orange juice. At the least, it’ll keep you scurvy-free. If you want to go the extra yard, present it in a clear glass Christmas bauble (only 90 per cent filled to avoid spillage) parked in the drinking glass with a few sugared cranberries and a sprig of rosemary, and let your guests pour it from there. Let’s face it, it makes more sense than most of 2018. And as we advised during our king tide of cocktail recipes during the 2016 election campaign, keep Dorothy Parker in your head as your voice of moderation: “I like to have a martini, two at the very most. After three I’m under the table, after four I’m under my host.”

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