by Ned Manning
A.D.: That’s a first.
DAD: They make a lot of sense, these economists.
MUM: Economic rationalists, you mean.
DAD: What he’s saying is true, we have to find our feet in the marketplace.
A.D.: Give me a break.
DAD: There is no point in supporting outmoded work practices.
A.D.: You’re talking like a management consultant.
DAD: These are hard times, and they call for disciplined measures.
A.D.: Yes, just ask the banks, they showed a lot of discipline, didn’t they?
DAD: Don’t be bloody ridiculous.
KIM: You’re going to have to watch your language, young man!
A.D.: What happened to the Australian Labor Party, eh? Labor.
DAD: Something really stupid happened, they decided it was better to be in Government rather than Opposition.
A.D.: All the bloody same, shop dummies with blow-waved hair and images instead of policies.
DAD: Yes, Dot.
A.D.: You’d appeal to Hewson; you should be standing for the Liberals.
DAD: Don’t be so naive, politics is a game of balance.
A.D.: I’m sick of you! How can you have the nerve to stand for preselection when you don’t believe in anything? Who’s to represent the working man, eh? Some yuppie lawyer who’s never seen a shovel in his life, and who’s made a killing by forcing the working man out of the suburb he was born in.
DAD: Hang on, Dot!
A.D.: No, you hang on. It gives me the shits. These damn whiz-kids have no concern for the ordinary Australian. They do deals with Packer and allow the Bonds and Skases to rape the country. They form policies from their opinion polls. They have no respect for this country, or its traditions. They trade on the name of Labor. They’re not interested in anyone but themselves.
DAD: I resent that!
A.D.: Tough titty!
DAD: Act your age.
A.D.: Don’t you bloody well patronise me.
DAD: If you’re so smart, why don’t you stand for preselection? Put your money where your mouth is.
A.D.: I might just do that.
DAD: Oh yeah, you couldn’t stay sober long enough.
As A.D. goes to clout him, KIM addresses the audience.
During KIM’s speech, the rest of the family leave the stage.
KIM: Just like the good old days! A real family blue. I haven’t seen A.D. that stirred up in ages. Not since Kenny turned up with his Porsche and announced he was marrying that dope from the North Shore.
I mean, when A.D. found out Irene lived in Gordon, she nearly had a fit. It’s the safest Liberal seat in NSW! I reckon Irene only went with Kenny because he was meant to be a hero. Well. Dad enlisted the support of this Denise piece. She calls herself a feminist on the one hand, and a numbers cruncher on the other. I reckon I know what she crunches, and it ain’t numbers.
So, this Denise is meant to be organising Dad’s campaign. Lobbying, all that stuff. She’s always ringing him up. It’s really weird, kinda like he’s having it off or something, though I can’t imagine anyone having it off with Dad … Anyway, Dad’s been busier than a one-legged tap dancer.
SCENE FOUR
DAD is talking earnestly on the phone.
DAD: [on the phone] Tremendous, Denise, tremendous. Of course, the only reason I’m standing is to serve the electorate! Make it clear that my goal is to ensure that the party goes into the next election confident that this seat will be held with an increased majority. Yes. So, there’s only Rodney Cuttlefish and that clown from the BLF. No problems. No. Can’t see any other nominations coming in between now and then.
Yes, I’m going to call Marsho, he’s always looking for labourers. If we get Danny Maloney’s son a job, that’d be a favour he owes us. You’re dead right, and that favour may well be preferences for you know who.
You’ll stuff the Left if you let it slip that Cuttlefish was going to vote against the housing project. I know, not strictly, but you know how these rumours start. We’ll bury him and the Left once and for all.
Door knock? Ah no, well, I’ve covered most of the members, thought I’d leave the rest till Kenny comes home.
I reckon having him with me won’t hurt at all. Ha! That’s right. The whole family are ticket holders and I took the precaution of getting a few mates to join and attend the prerequisite number of meetings, so I reckon we’re travelling pretty nicely. Yes. Listen, before you do, I just want say how grateful I am for your support and your encouragement, Denise. The dream’s within our grasp.
God, I well remember the youthful euphoria of the Whitlam years. Thank God we listened to Hawkie, eh, and didn’t maintain the rage. Thank God we saw the light, and, if you don’t mind me saying so, Denise, thank God for you. Tonight? Of course, I’d be delighted.
MUM enters on the tail end of this conversation. She pays no attention to DAD, but his manner suddenly becomes conspiratorial.
Uh … yes, of course. Thank you. I’ll see you tonight then.
He hangs up.
Um … that was Marsho, he’s got some people for me to meet. Influential. Better go. Won’t be too late.
MUM: Seen my purse anywhere?
DAD: Par for the course, these meetings.
MUM: Oh, there it is.
DAD: You don’t mind, do you?
MUM: What?
DAD: Right.
MUM: Come on, Dorothy, we’ll be late.
A.D. races in, dressed to kill.
A.D.: Panthers, here I come! I can smell a jackpot coming on, Kath.
They race off, virtually ignoring DAD.
DAD: I, uh … I won’t be late.
SCENE FIVE
MUM and A.D. struggle in from a big night at the club, both carrying drinks. They are singing ‘The Witch Doctor’, dancing and generally having a good time, until MUM staggers and collapses in a chair.
MUM: I’m going to be sick.
A.D.: No you’re not.
MUM: Oh, yes I am.
A.D.: Hold onto it, Kath.
She plonks a bowl down in front of MUM and falls into a chair. A moment passes.
MUM: He thinks I’m stupid. He thinks I don’t have a brain.
A.D.: Who?
MUM: Your brother.
A.D.: Oh, him! The traitor. Judas of the Labor Party. The betrayer. The Vince Gair of the nineties!
MUM: That’s the one.
A.D.: What do you think of the baldy chap I was chatting with?
MUM: Someone ought to take the wind out of his sails.
A.D.: I rather fancied him, meself.
MUM: Do you think he’s having an affair?
A.D.: I don’t know, I only met him tonight.
MUM: No, no. Arthur.
A.D.: Arthur? Who’d have an affair with Arthur? Oh, sorry love, wasn’t having a go at you. I mean, he was alright … once.
MUM: That fellow with the terrible shirt, you know, he kept pestering me for a dance all night.
A.D.: Why didn’t you?
MUM: I will, one of these days.
A.D.: Won’t Artie poop himself then!
MUM: They said baldy men are more virile.
A.D.: Who does?
MUM: They do.
A.D.: Up the mighty Tigers!
KIM enters. She too has had a night on the town.
MUM: Hello, dear.
KIM: Few quieties, eh, girls?
A.D.: Just a couple. Your wally.
KIM gets herself a drink.
Have a small one yourself.
KIM: Where’s the old man?
A.D.: Out.
KIM: As usual.
MUM: Campaigning. He’s frantically trying to arrange numbers.
A.D.: That’s why he got that group from the bowling club to join. God, that was months ago. Not as silly as he looks. He’s been preparing for this for ages, hasn’t he?
MUM: I’d say so.
KIM: How’d he know Derek was going to die?
MUM: He didn�
��t, they were planning to give him the flick for ages.
A.D.: He saved them the trouble by carking it.
MUM: How’s Spud, dear?
KIM: I told you, I dropped him. Can I scab a fag, Mum?
MUM: You shouldn’t.
KIM: I’ve got a packet, anyway.
MUM: I bet you have.
As KIM fishes for a packet of cigarettes from her bag, a plastic bag full of dope drops out. A moment’s silence.
KIM: Oh, shit! Oh, this isn’t mine. It’s just. Um, it’s not really what you think it is. God, I wonder how it got in my bag? Must have been that bloody Dingo. I don’t know him all that well.
A.D.: Is that grass?
KIM: Grass? Um … just a little bit.
A.D.: Gis’a look.
KIM: I mean, I was getting a lift home with Dingo … you know what, he tried to get into my pants.
MUM: Oh no!
KIM: First time. God, boys are slack. That’s it. He’s finished. ’Specially now! This is going straight in the bin.
She goes to leave.
MUM: Hang on a tic.
KIM: Look, I’m really sorry, Mum. Please don’t tell Dad.
MUM: I wouldn’t mind trying some.
KIM: Wha … what?
MUM: Just once. I’ve heard so much about it.
KIM: Oh, come off it.
A.D.: Yes. Why not, you only live once.
MUM: Go on, dear, make us some.
KIM hesitates, then expertly rolls a joint.
This is a scientific experiment, nothing more. Better close the curtains.
She does, they smoke the joint. KIM goes to the record player.
KIM: Requests?
A.D.: Charlie Pride.
MUM: My throat’s gone numb.
A.D.: Revolting smell.
KIM: I don’t have Charlie Pride.
MUM: Jimmy Little.
A.D.: This won’t have any effect on me. I could never be hypnotised, you know.
MUM: ‘Royal Telephone’.
MUM and A.D. sing a few bars of Jimmy Little’s ‘Royal Telephone’.
KIM: Do you think Dad will win?
A.D.: Preselection? If he’s organised the numbers.
MUM: He’s got Denise doing that for him.
KIM: Um, Denise.
A.D.: Um, Denise.
MUM: Um, a mover and shaker.
KIM: Shit, what if he does win preselection?
A.D.: He’s in Canberra. Not even the present Labor mob could lose this seat.
MUM: I don’t know, Dot, they lost Newcastle.
A.D.: Ha! Crikey. I never thought of that, nothin’s safe anymore.
MUM: What we need is a strong candidate.
A.D.: Yeah, Artie’s too soft.
MUM: Remember Unsworth?
A.D.: And poor old Calwell.
MUM: And Bob.
A.D.: Bob who?
MUM: Hawke! ‘We’ll join the Push with Hawkie’s George Bush.’
A.D.: No Australian blood will be spilt … until I get a phone call from George.
MUM: Dorothy?
A.D.: Yes?
MUM: Why, why don’t you stand?
A.D.: Eh?
MUM: You’d be brilliant.
KIM: Yeah, A.D, excellent.
MUM: You’ve been a member long enough, you haven’t missed a meeting in forty, I mean, thirty, years.
MUM / A.D.: [together] Twenty-five …
KIM: Yeah, A.D? Why not?
MUM: Think of ‘The light on the hill’, A.D.
SONG: ‘HAIL A.D.’
A.D.: I’m not saying yes to this
But I must admit it could be bliss
To put the wind up you know who
Is worth the risk
MUM: You could be like all those kitchen appliances
A labour saver that’s what you’d be
KIM: You know you’ll have my full support
But don’t dare have another snort
Before Dad walks through that door
Declaring war
MUM / A.D.: You’re being a bore
ALL: [Chorus] So hail [hail] hail [hail] A.D.
Gonna be on my TV
I said hail [hail] hail [hail] A.D.
Gonna be on my TV screen, whoa oh, whoa oh
A.D.: If I go to Canberra to represent the ALP
I want you to know I’ll always be overseas
KIM: That’s the way to go A.D, but don’t forget me
I wouldn’t mind a trip to Spain or Italy
MUM: Responsibility, that’s the word that you ignore
I don’t mean to be a bore but that’s what’s in store
KIM / A.D.: You’re being a bore
ALL: [Chorus] So hail [hail] hail [hail] A.D.
Gonna be on my TV
I said hail [hail] hail [hail] A.D.
Gonna be on my TV screen, whoa oh, whoa oh
MUM / KIM: A.D, A.D. for MP
A.D, A.D. for MP
A.D, A.D. for MP
ALL: [Chorus] So hail [hail] hail [hail] A.D.
Gonna be on my TV
I said hail [hail] hail [hail] A.D.
Gonna be on my TV screen, whoa oh, whoa oh
Gonna be on my TV screen, whoa oh oh
Gonna be on my TV screen, whoa oh oh
Gonna be on my TV screen, whoa oh oh
Hail.
SCENE SIX
The next day. MUM, in surprisingly good shape, tidies up.
She sings a few bars of ‘Knock on Your Door’.
DAD enters.
DAD: What a mess.
MUM: Pardon?
DAD: Oh, someone’s made a hell of a mess in the garden. Probably one of you lot. What a disgraceful performance last night. Let alone the example you’re setting our daughter, I can’t imagine. What’s got into you? Really and truly. As for that incense, or whatever you call it, the smell is appalling. We’re going to have to ask Dorothy to leave, she’s a terrible influence on you, let alone Kim. Do you have any idea what would happen if someone found out about your behaviour last night? Can you imagine what it would mean to my political career?
MUM: And where exactly were you?
DAD: What?
MUM: Where were you?
DAD: I was out, er, door knocking.
MUM: With Denise?
DAD: Who? Denise? Don’t be silly, I hardly have anything to do with her. She just works for the party.
MUM: Oh, yeah.
DAD: Well, I did have a few drinks with the boys. Marsho, Roycie, and the Nancarrow lads. Sorry.
MUM: How thick do you think I am?
DAD: Don’t be so silly. Dorothy has to go …
A.D. enters.
A.D.: I beg your pardon?
DAD: You’re a bad influence around here.
A.D.: Oh, am I?
DAD: Yes, I, I think it’s time you found your own place.
A.D.: Listen, young Artie, I happen to own a considerable share in this joint. You threaten me, and I’ll force a bloody sale.
DAD: Don’t call me Artie, it’s so … juvenile.
A.D.: Artie Fadden. He was one of your mob.
DAD: He was a bloody conservative.
MUM: Touché.
A disgruntled DAD turns on the TV.
DAD: Hope I haven’t missed ‘Sunday’.
MUM: All nominations in for preselection?
DAD: Only three. Cuttlefish, Maloney and myself. I’d be glad if you’d consider the implications of your actions in light of the impending ballot and beyond, before you carry on as you did last night. Ahh, the PM. Sssh.
MUM: Nominations closed?
DAD: No. Tomorrow’s the last day. Won’t be any more though. Sssh.
A.D.: Who says?
DAD: My research in this is impeccable. Sssh. Hey, Dot, how would you like a holiday in Iraq?
A.D.: Charming.
DAD finds this enormously funny. KIM enters.
KIM: Morning, all.
DAD: Sssh.
KIM: How�
�s Denise?
DAD: Quiet please, Kim. It’s all economics, no-one gives a stuff about land, sea and air?
These reporters are outrageous; of course modern science will be able to solve all these problems.
KIM: Hey, Dad, you’re not having an affair, are you?
A.D.: He’s trying to emulate Hawke in his youth, aren’t you, Artie?
DAD: Have a bit of bloody common sense, woman. For God’s sake. I’ve just about had enough of this nonsense. I happen to be well on my way to a seat in Canberra. Please treat the situation with the respect it deserves. A man can’t even watch television in his own home.
He storms off in high dudgeon.
The lights fade. KIM addresses the audience.
KIM: So, there we were. Dad all set for Canberra, and Aunt Dorothy all set to upset the apple cart. Oh, the night on the wacky weed, A.D. and Mum ended up on the table delivering their maiden address to parliament. ‘Doesn’t have any effect’, they kept saying. Tell you what, after seeing them, I’m gonna give the stuff a big miss myself. It’s a bit of a worry. I rang Kenny to let him know the goss. But he still wasn’t there. I don’t know what’s going on. Strange people, these architects.
SCENE SEVEN
DAD rushes in to answer the phone, it is late afternoon.
DAD: [on the phone] Hello? Oh, hello, Denise. Hang on a tic.
He checks that no-one is listening.
So, how’s everything? All in readiness? Before you do, can I say just how much I enjoyed myself on Saturday night. Yes, yes, but I just thought I should thank you, Denise, I haven’t felt so young in years. Now, what’s the problem? Cuttlefish causing trouble? Another nomination?
This afternoon, huh, leaving it a bit late, aren’t they? Are you sure he’s a member? A she? And has she attended the required number of branch meetings to qualify? Well, who is it? Not poor old Mrs Gardiner, she’s as mad as a cut snake! Who? Are you absolutely certain?
My sister! What?! You’re not serious, are you? She’s mad, I’ll kill her, I’ll break her bloody neck. Yes, alright, alright. I know. Calm? How can I be calm? What’s she trying to do? Make a complete idiot of me? Don’t answer that, Denise. She’ll withdraw, I’ll force her to.
People will turn to Cuttlefish; they won’t take me seriously. Damage control? If I’ll have to withdraw, I couldn’t make a complete— You think so? Oh, oh, ohhh. Well, if you think we can still do it, if you think we’ll still have the numbers. Right. If she stands, I’ve got to play it straight down the middle, huh huh. Well, I’ve established myself as a consensus man.
Kenny? I can’t contact him. Look, he’ll make all the difference, best fullback ever to play for the Panthers, terrific athlete, successful architect, designed the fountain in the mall, what more could you want?
