Speakers say it best when they say nothing at all … in theory

It is a great irony of Australian politics that the Speaker should theoretically be seen and not heard. Or at least only heard a little bit.

The Speaker's gig is to act as the country's most senior political referee. Make sure the rules are adhered to. That process is respected. And that question time don't get too rowdy.

The Speaker can wear a flowing black gown if he or she so chooses. And speak in a commanding boomy voice. But the focus should really be on the MPs who roam the prairies of the House of Representatives with their bon mots, boring mots and legislative offerings.

In recent months, the natural order of Parliament House has been upset with the spotlight on the Speaker as a prime player. Last year, on a surprising November morning, Harry Jenkins Junior walked into the green room and announced that he'd had enough.

He may have been born to speaker - with his dad, Harry Senior, having once graced the chair - but that didn't stop him heading back to the backbench. What was going on here?

Then, in the wake of Harry's exit stage left came the news that the government had a cunning plan to replace him. Peter Slipper - a man with a suitably booming tone and the relevant deputy speaking experience would take to the chair. It just so happened he would also defect from the Coalition, thus giving the government an ultra-handy extra vote. The Coalition fumed so much it could have been mistaken for an out-of-control science experiment. The government - trying to disguise their gloat under some nearby mistletoe - went out of the parliamentary year on an unexpected high, headlines decreeing that it had been a ''big win'' for Julia Gillard.

But was it?

Here was a man that the Coalition had been trying to shunt and replace with Howard-era favourite Mal Brough. Who had already had to repay thousands of dollars in misclaimed parliamentary entitlements. Whose phone bill in 2010 was even larger than Kevin Rudd's as prime minister.

Who had been refused entry to a plane because of alleged drunkenness. Who once couldn't get out of a toilet because he didn't realise it had a sliding door. And who had even backed the Joh for PM campaign in 1984.

Indeed, amid the lines about Gillard outmanoeuvring Abbott over Slipper - as if she'd just made some sort of master chess move - there were more than a few tut-tuts.

Given the Member for Fisher's track record, maybe the Slipper story wouldn't end so good.

This week - just five months later - the story may not have ended, but it sure as baloney took a turn for the unpreferable.

Civil allegations. Criminal allegations. Court documents portraying extended raunchy text conversations with staff and cringey exchanges about showering with the door open. That and a seemingly endless supply of stories about questionable Cabcharge use.

At times like this, one can't help but recall that scene in The Simpsons when Chief Wiggum gets his tie stuck in a hot dog rotisserie. As Wiggum is sucked up by the machine he observes: ''Oh boy, this is going to get worse before it gets better.''

It can certainly explain the government's stoic response to the Slipper situation. Even though the Coalition and the independents are ever so strongly suggesting that Slipper should not be allowed in the chair until he is cleared of all claims against him - Labor have clung, white-knuckle style, to the notion that Slipper could be back for budget.

Supposedly the thought of dealing seriously with Andrew Wilkie is just too awful to contemplate. Even Bill Shorten - who had been tempted to hint that Slipper stay away until the sex harassment stuff is dusted - was eventually desperate to support the Prime Minister in supporting Slipper.

During an interview with Sky News on Thursday, Shorten was asked if he was cool with Gillard's opinion that Slipper could return while the civil claims played out.

Shorten replied with confidence if not clarity: ''I understand the Prime Minister's addressed this in a press conference in Turkey in the last few hours. I haven't seen what she said, but let me say I support what it is that she's said.'' When asked what his view was, Shorten held the squirming line: ''My view is what the Prime Minister's view is.''

Even when journalist David Speers pointed out that Shorten didn't know what that view was, Shorten was undeterred: ''I'm sure she's right.''

It didn't make any sense.

But then, in hindsight (that most obnoxious of vistas), neither has the government's approach to the whole speaker swap.

What's that thing in chess about thinking a few moves ahead?

If only they'd gone with Wilkie. He might have stopped the gamble.

Judith Ireland is a Canberra Times journalist.