The pace of prime ministerial evictions is accelerating

Hello, and goodbye: Liz Truss. Picture: Getty Images

Astonished by the brevity of their incumbencies, I’ve often made the point that Australian prime ministers have the shelf-life of yoghurt. Few have made the distance that they would have desired. And the pace of evictions – either via coup, death or election defeat – is clearly accelerating.

In my brief time on this planet I’ve outlived the terms of Menzies, Fadden, Curtin, Forde, Chifley, Menzies, Holt, McEwen, Gorton, McMahon, Whitlam, Fraser, Hawke, Keating, Howard, Rudd, Gillard, Rudd, Abbott, Turnbull and (he adds with a sob) Morrison.

Please let me know if I’ve missed anyone or anytwo. It’s been hard to keep up, and it’s getting harder. Whoosh! There comes-and-goes another! And don’t blame yourself if some of the names are unfamiliar. It’s not dementia but that “shelf-life of yoghurt” problem. Plus the fact that quite a few of them rose without trace.

It might soon be necessary to fit revolving doors to the Lodge and Kirribilli to facilitate the increasingly rapid evacuations – and ditto for No.10 Downing Street, where the accelerating pace of exits must bewilder both the bobby on duty and the postman. One hopes the departing PMs have left forwarding addresses for their Christmas cards and hate mail.

A tabloid rag in England took up my yoghurt idea but changed the category of foodstuff. Would Britain’s newly installed PM, Liz Truss – whom I dubbed “Rupture” Truss – outlast an Iceberg lettuce? She didn’t. (This led to an amusing photo of her replacement, Rishi Sunak, shaking hands with Charlie III. Above them were satirical talk balloons – one reading “I’m Liz’s replacement!”, and the other “Me too!”)

In my short lifetime I’ve seen many British PMs come and (with the sole exception of Sunak at the time of writing) go. Chamberlain, Churchill, Attlee, Churchill, Eden, Macmillan, Douglas-Home, Wilson, Heath, Wilson, Callaghan, Thatcher, Major, Blair, Brown, Cameron, May, Johnson, Truss and the latest. And bloody good riddance to most of them. Rishi, or Richi given that he’s even wealthier than our beloved Turnbull, may not outlast the Christmas pud.

While one of Australia’s best leaders, Chifley, drove a steam train prior to driving the country, most of our PMs are recruited from the ranks of lawyers, understandably a much despised profession. So we shouldn’t be surprised that they tend to pass laws like bowel motions. Some prefer to break them – hence the need for that federal ICAC.

A couple of PMs can also claim to have risen from the ranks of journalists. Like Young Churchill in the Mother Country, we think of both Turnbull and Abbott as fourth-estaters, though their careers in the press were as undistinguished as their premierships. One can’t help thinking we should cast a wider net than the law office or trade union. Sporting heroes, perhaps. Bradman for PM? Brilliantly batting questions at Question Time. Or we could cut out the middleman and give the keys to Kirribilli to a shock jock – given that they are, by their own admission, the smartest in any room. Jonesie for PM! Currently unemployed, he could make one helluva comeback. A genuine farmer might be good, too – at the very least it might guarantee food security. Or a woman from a fish ‘n’ chip shop, perhaps?

I, however, have another thought: having failed with human stupidity, let’s go for artificial intelligence. With AI all the go, It’s Time to elect an algorithm.