If Only I Could Find My Hairdryer.

EDITORIAL FRIDAY 26.02.10.
Hello, I’m Kevin Rudd and it’s all my fault. Now stop bothering my poor old mate Peter Garrett who has just been the meat in the old sandwich and really deserves a fair shake of the sauce bottle. It’s not his fault that shonky operators have scammed the ceiling insulation scheme. I mean, how could he have been expected to know that dodgy contractors would crawl out of the woodwork just because we offered to give away $1600 of taxpayers’ money to anyone who could show us a Bunnings receipt?

No, Peter is not to blame. He is just the poor patsy left holding the bag because we put him in charge of a plan cooked up by Wayne, Julia, Lindsay and me after a strong cup of tea and a long discussion about merchant bankers and executive salaries. Obviously those people, the ones who really run the economy, had stuffed up and we had to step in and fix up their mess for them. The important thing was to hand out money like confetti so that everybody would think that we were a bunch of cool and groovy party animals who had rescued the economy. You should see Wayne in his John Travolta disco suit.

Never mind about the loss of life, the almost 100 house fires, the 1000 electric roofs, and the 240 000 potentially substandard installations, feel the $2.4 billion party vibe in the economy. The house is rockin’. Or maybe it’s just smouldering, it’s hard to be sure unless I get up into the roof and check for myself. Either way, the buck stops with me. I’m in charge. And if anything goes wrong, I’m here to fix it. My name is Kevin, I’m from Queensland, and I’m here to help.

Now if only I could find my hairdryer.