Tony Abbott is feeling a great need to get away from it all, so he has gone over to Europe to compete in the autumnal leg of the Tour de France cycle-race.
He has brought along the young Queensland LNP MP, Wyatt Roy, a fluent French speaker, for translating purposes.
So, the race has started, but, unfortunately, Tones can’t speed away with everyone else, as he has to stay at the same speed as Wyatt.
Tones (angrily): FFS, Wyatt!! Will you hurry the f***up...everybody else will be in friggin’ Paris by now, getting pissed on cheap French plonk and looking up the skirts of the dancing girls at the Moulin Rouge...
Wyatt: Keep your hair on, Tones – what little you’ve got left on your tonsure, that is...heh...heh...And you know I can’t go very fast...
Tones: And I can see why, mate – I can’t believe you’ve still got your training wheels on...I thought I told you they were to come off straight after the practice race...
[Tones and Wyatt continue to bicker and aren’t getting very far at all in the race. In fact, they are losing so much time, it is starting to get dark.
However, in the distance, they see the headlights of a car approaching. As it draws near, Tones recognises it as one belonging to the Australian Ambassador to France. And who is comfortably ensconced in the back seat, but Julia Gillard and Tim Mathieson! With a shit-eating grin that could only belong to someone who has been invited over to Europe to advise them on how to turn a basket-case into a show-case, Jooles nonchalantly rolls down the window.]
Jooles: G’day Tones...you two look like you’ve fallen a bit by the wayside...and a trifle overheated with all your exertions...poor petals...heh...heh...
Tones: Nah, Jooles...we’re not hot at all...actually, it was a lot warmer in Jesus’ day, don’t you know!
[Jooles, from experience, knows there is no point in challenging Tones on his idiosyncratic and antediluvian grasp of climate science and history, so she just ignores his blathering. She nods towards Wyatt.]
Jooles: Erm...Tones, I think it’s well past Wyatt’s bed-time, so my advice is to cycle up the road a couple of clicks and, on the left, is an old, dilapidated house that you could sleep in for the night – you being the tough all-action guy who revels in that sort of blokey stuff n’all...Oh, and by the way, I noticed a few seagulls that have obviously migrated from Nauru, building a nest in the chimney, so look out if you try to light a fire...
[Jooles’ car speeds off, but Tones can’t help noticing that they are having a great belly-laugh at something.
Anyway, Tones and Wyatt reach the old house just before it gets really dark. They notice that someone has written in chalk on the front wall: “The great seer, Nostradamus, once slept here”. Wyatt translates it for Tones.]
Tones: Wow, Wyatt!!! Now, isn’t that a coincidence!!! Ever since I started making my famous predictions, everybody has been calling me
"The New Nostradamus"...
Wyatt (muttering): Huh...during that time you were negotiating unsuccessfully with the Indos, I heard they were calling you Nostra-can’t-sell-his damn-arse...heh...heh...
Tones: Erm...what was that, mate...didn’t quite hear?
Wyatt: Nah, don’t worry about it, Tones...But, now that you mention Nostradamus, it’s the title of one of my favourite tracks by Judas Priest...
[Wyatt cranks up his iPod and gives Tones one of his ear-phones. They both listen to the classic heavy metal track.]
Tones: Nah, mate...not my style...I prefer the Beach Boys...
Wyatt: Never heard of them, Tones...must have been before my time...Oh, and out of interest, are they anything like Pyney’s favourite band, The Back Alley Bitch Boys...hee...hee...
[That one goes straight over Tones’ tonsure, so he starts to head up the pot-holed driveway, to the old abandoned house. It’s starting to rain, so he quickly removes a few wooden slats that had been nailed over a window and shoves Wyatt through the opening, ordering him to open the door for him from the inside.
Once in, Tones pulls out his torch, shining it around what obviously used to be a grand living room, but is now covered in grime and spider-webs.]
Tones: Crikey, Wyatt...this place looks so bad, it must have had Gillard’s Carbon Tax through it like a dose of salts...haw...haw...Now, Wyatt, as Gillard said, there’s a blockage in the chimney...so, before we can light a fire, you’ll have to scramble up and unblock it...
Wyatt: But...but...but...Tones, why me?
Tones: Cos you’re smaller than me...And anyway, if I went up, my ears would get wedged, and I wouldn’t be able to get down again...
[So, after much cajoling, Tones lends Wyatt his torch and pushes him up the chimney. After a few moments of quiet, Tones hollers up.]
Tones: Wyatt!! What’s happening? Have you found any of the guano crap that’s blocking the joint up?
Wyatt: Erm...not yet, Tones...cos I’ve been a bit distracted by something else I’ve found...
Tones: What is it, Wyatt – Gillard’s long-lost handbag...haw...haw...
Wyatt: Actually, Tones...I’ve found, in a crevice, two chaff bags...a small one and a ginormous one...The small one has three little pieces of paper, each with a little four-line verse written on it...Just give me a mo and I’ll quickly translate one from the French for you...
“Earth-shaking fire from the centre of the Earth.
Will cause the towers around the New City to shake,
Two great rocks for a long time will make war,
And then Arethusa will colour a new river red”
[Tones, now that he is the doyen of predictors of the Neo-Nostradamus School, recognises it immediately.]
Tones: OMG, Wyatt!!! What you’ve got in your hot little hands there is one of Nostradamus’ quatrains – the four-line verses in which he wrote his famous predictions of calamities that would befall unfortunates in the future!!! In fact, the one you quoted is Quatrain 87, where he foretold the attack on the Twin Towers in New York!!
Wyatt: Jeeze, that’s fascinating Tones...So, as I was saying, in the small chaff bag there are two more pieces of paper...shall I translate them for you?
Tones: Go for your life, mate...maybe there’ll be a few predictions about me kicking old fat-arse out of The Lodge and me moving in...hee...hee...
Wyatt: Righto, Tones...here’s another:
“ In the 13th year of century 21
The witch from Wales will be done like a dinner
And he who is garbed in budgie-feathered trunks, bright as the Sun
Will be carried aloft as the glorious winner”
Tones: Wyatt!! Fantastic!!! I can’t quote you chapter and verse on that one, but it’s obvious old Nosters is predicting my inevitable victory...what else is there in the chaff bag?
Wyatt: Okay, Tones...here’s the other one:
“After the abbott’s lean years of living sober
He shall feast on strong spirits and get blotto
Then his pecuniary worries will be over
When he wins ye olde Midweek Lotto”
Tones (ecstatically): Wyatt!! You beaudy!!! Again, I can’t recall off-hand the reference for that one, but my old mate Nostradamus has predicted I’m going to be rich and won’t have to worry about my great big fat mortgage any more!! Yippee!! Now...read me a few from the large chaff bag, Wyatt – I’ll have lots to pass on to Shanners so he can do his usual spin-job at The Oz...heh...heh...
[As commanded, Wyatt takes out one of the hundreds of pieces of paper from the large chaff bag and reads it over quietly to himself.]
Wyatt: Erm...Tones...I don’t think you want to hear this prediction...Jeeze, old Nosters must have had a bad hangover when he wrote this one...
[Wyatt pulls out verse after verse, but they are all of a similar theme. Meanwhile, Tones is getting agitated and orders Wyatt to read one so that he can make up his own mind as to whether they are useful or not.]
Wyatt: Righto, Tones...but don’t say I didn’t warn you:
“In the dark era when the black rocks are levied
They say the place Whyalla will disappear off the map
But, to the words of he-who-says-no pay no heed
As, per usual, what he’s spouting is pure unadulterated crap”
Tones: Erm...thanks for nothing, Wyatt...I think we’ll give that one to Barnaby to use as toilet paper after he’s gone through all the Productivity Commission Reports...
Wyatt: Oh, here’s another one, Tones...however, it’s just as crappy as the others:
“The meat of the sea will be in grave danger
But not due to the loathsome levy
Rather by the contagious death-kiss of the budgied stranger
Upon his conscience the blame will lie heavy.”
Tones: Erm...Wyatt...aren’t there any positive ones at all in the big chaff bag?
[There is a long pause, as Wyatt thumbs through as many of the quatrains as he can.]
Wyatt: Nope...actually, those two I read were probably the best ones...you should see the ones that allude to what Malcolm Turnbull is going to do to you when he gets the leadership back – they make your blood pledge inflicted by a blunt hatchet look like a paper-cut...heh...heh...
Tones: Righto, Wyatt...you can come down now...and just leave those bags of crap where they are – I never liked scripted remarks anyway...hee...hee...
[By this stage, the Sun is coming up, so Tones orders Wyatt to mount up and off they go, attempting to narrow the gap between themselves and the stragglers at the back of the Tour de France.
Meanwhile, Jooles and Tim are up early and enjoying a nice breakfast at their hotel. In fluent French, Tim has ordered the local speciality of freshly-baked croissants, and Jooles some cereal.]
Tim: Well, darl...what sort of a day do you “predict” we will have...hee...hee...
Jooles: Yeah...I wonder how Tones is getting on with the “predictions” we concocted and deposited in the chimney...Maybe he’ll hand them over to WikiLeaks for publication...heh...heh...
Tim: By the way, darl...you not having croissants?
Jooles: Nah...it’s Weet-Bix for me – in spite of Tones’ scare campaign, I “predict” good sales for them and a rosy future under my government...Bon appétit, Timbo...
