It has been such a big campaign week for oldies that some of us are spending the weekend dozing over Lucy Turnbull’s letter about Malcolm, while the melodic sounds of Frenzal Rhomb’s “Rock against Howard” compilation plays in the background.
According to Mabel, my best friend since Queen Victoria’s coronation, that whippersnapper with the potty mouth claims over-75s will be guaranteed a hospital bed if he forms government after the election on 9 October.
“Holy”, I yelled at Mabel, but before I could say shit she told me in a disapproving tone that Labor will also bring in a national dental program.
“If you can’t afford to get your teeth fixed, you can’t afford to buy the sort of food that requires you have teeth”, Mabel reasoned.
Positively, if Latham wins we will get the opportunity to bitch about a young woman for at least the next three years.
“She’s no Mrs Howard, Violet, and who was looking after the boys why she was gallivanting around in that tiny white outfit at the launch”.
Mabel, who never misses a chance to tell everybody she is a self-funded retiree who deserves more than pensioners who wasted their money on drugs, Bob Dylan records and communist party memberships rather than saving it, said she will be giving her vote to “John” this time since he is offering $200 annually to “contributing citizens” because they don’t get the perks pensioners do.
It’s not for me to remind Mabel, my best friend since the Boer War, that the only time she hasn’t voted Liberal was in 1972 in protest at the gown Mrs McMahon wore to the White House the previous year.
“She’s no Mrs Howard, Violet, and he seems a bit, well, unusual”, she muttered darkly at the time and ticked the box for the Democratic Labor Party (DLP).
Mabel’s not impressed Mrs Howard’s husband is offering $100 a year to pensioners to help them with phone bills and other “luxuries”, but since her disdain for Medicare Gold transcends her dislike for “John’s oldies fund” her vote won’t be going to a fading party this year.
“Except the Nationals in the Senate”, she curtly reminded me.
“Yes, they’re led by that sexy John Anderson”, I roared lustily, “now there’s a pair of cowboy boots I’d like to find under my guaranteed hospital bed if Latham wins”.
“Most inappropriate”, Mabel snapped and fell asleep.
“Mmmm, so Malcolm, or so Mrs Malcolm maintains, always puts the toilet seat down and is a dab hand at foreplay”, I said to myself.
“I better not tell Mabel, she might think he is a bit, well, unusual”.