BELLA COUNIHAN
February 5, 2010 - 7:20AMA creaking sound comes from an old wooden chair rocking on a porch on Mount Ainslie. Once home to ghouls and evil spirits bent on attacking parliamentarians, two very elderly retired gentleman sit and watch over the city of Canberra. The year is 2050 and the place has changed a bit . . .
"Kevin, who'd have thunk we'd be sitting here in the year 2050 with everything we'd set out to achieve done and dusted. People are working well into their 70s, we're more productive than ever and that 5 per cent target for emissions reduction means we've finally put Canberra on the map as a beach-side town. The rising sea level has had some benefits after all," said the aged ex-Treasurer. In the background, Bay Burley Griffin slowly lapped at the shores of Parliament Hill.
The 94-year-old Wayne Swan continued, "I'm so glad little Rudd and Swan Junior, now running the country, didn't have anything to disturb their progress to the top. The war on binge drinking got rid of people on the piss, the war on drugs cleared up any sneaky reefers or pills hanging around and the internet filter stopped them from watching anything as corrupting as porn."
Paul Keating, now a head in a jar on the porch opposite, yells out "Yeah and the general fun-ectomy that you guys performed on Australian politics means they're the most boring politicians ever! You scumbags look exciting next to them!"
"Oh shut up, Paul," Wayne retorted. "I'm in the middle of reminiscing here."
A wrinkly Rudd looks up at his old running mate, nodding heartily. "Indeed Wayne what an agenda of work we enacted in all those due seasons that we had together. We put that climate condom on a magic pudding for complementarity of synthesis and further developed the multilateral terms of reference. Firstly, our commitment to. . ."
As Rudd trailed off into a characteristic rant, Swan knew that dementia had truly taken hold of the elderly Rudd, although often it was hard to tell the difference. Wayne remembered back when he released the intergenerational report, when they had both looked to the future. "Who could have predicted that we would still be here in the year 2050?" he thought.
But his jittery mind worried. He worried about the burden that he, now an nonagenarian, placed on his own precious economy. He was now among the 23 per cent of people over the age of 65 and despite all his efforts as treasurer he was still felt like just another old bloke putting pressure on infrastructure, health and aged care. Not to mention pressure on his own offspring, already burdened with running the country. "Poor Swan junior", he thought, "how will he cope with all these old people increasing government spending, less revenue coming in from early retirees and debt up to the eyeballs. Even worse than when I was treasurer. Now every third person is working to support old farts like me. It's just not fair. I can't even surf anymore."
"Don't look down Wayne," Rudd senior chimed in. "At least we knocked over Howard, Turnbull and even Abbott. Pity we didn't get Kelly O'Dwyer too. Then we would have really had them. I mean fair shake of the Waltzing Matilda Swan, you and I did our best with the complimentarity . . . and the condom . . . and the wacko the diddly-o . . . zzzz"
As the ageing ex-PM slowly dribbled into his vest, Swan thought maybe the senile Rudd had a point. Maybe getting old was just a part of life, governments would just have to get used to it and cope the best they can. He mumbled to himself "maybe it was better to reflect on your achievements". Rudd continued to babble louder in the background and Paul's head yelled across "would you shut him up Wayne?! He's going on like a thousand-day clock and doing my head in!"
"All right" said Swan, "time to eat your soylent green, Kevin."
