It was good to hear my old friend Alan Jones have it out with that turncoat Turnbull on his radio programme this morning.
I consider Turnbull to be nothing more than a pinko with a stock portfolio – his morally erroneous views on the gays and the boat people alone deserve immediate expulsion from the Liberal Party. Take into account his fervent belief in the nonsense of “climate” change and this abhorrent ideologue would look more at home sitting over with the loony left in Greensville.
Yet here he still is, agitating for the leadership via any means necessary (God only knows what he and the man mountain Palmer got up to in that Oriential restaurant with the Treasury Chief – no doubt Mr Palmer’s five daughters gave Malcolm a work out during the entree, followed by a main of strangled cat with Cream of Samyang Gai).
And while it will be a warm day in Heaven before that Eastern Suburbs-loving, late-sipping layabout ever does wrest back control of our Party, I can assure you that it would be the ultimate ‘bringing it down from the inside’ ploy: we’d have a female Minister for Man on Man and free education for gay babies before you could say “poof”
But back to my good friend Alan. Now there’s an old fella that you can hang your hat on. Not many people know this but Jonesy and I spent a great deal of time together in London during the 80s. We had originally crossed swords at our alma mater, Toowoomba Grammar, but it wasn’t until I was back in the mother land, working with MI6 (you wouldn’t have heard of them) in 1988 that I ran into him again.
Jonesy was in town with his rugby team, and completely by chance we met in a public toilet in Soho – I was in the middle of a top secret surveillance mission when Alan happened upon my cubicle. Now you may have read about this chance encounter in the media before, but let me tell you: none of it is true.
Here’s the real insider story, blow by blow: As Alan opened my cubicle door, I naturally began to moan in shock at seeing such an old friend in such a random venue. Alan too, let out his own shock-moan, stepping forward to shake my hand. But as he made his move, the trench-coat he was wearing caught on the cubicle door, accidentally pulling it (and also his pants and undergarments) from his person, and causing his hand to fall to his never regions. Meanwhile, still wide-mouth and moaning in shock, I also accidentally fell forward as he fell into me, resulting in a rather unique position between the two of us which I won’t go into here, other than to say that from an outside perspective it could look “compromising.”
Then, in the midst of this happening, I somehow activated my alert system, which summoned the nearest available Bobbies to come for assistance – and of course they arrived right as we interlocked.
We subsequently cleared all of this up with the police once everybody had come to their senses, and Alan and I continued on to enjoy all the sights and sounds of late 80s London.
We have kept in contact ever since, and often meet up for late night orating sessions. It goes without saying I see a lot of myself in Alan, and he sees a lot of himself in me. I wish him all the best