What did I miss? Australia’s political week in fast forward

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Reality’s got a habit of punching you in the face. Only now it’s got a diesel price tag attached.

Ah, the lucky country… While we try to bring you the week in fast forward, Labor was hell-bent on putting their policy goals in reverse.

I get in trouble if I miss my mark backing the truck into a loading dock. Big trouble. When Labor dings the side of our country on a brick wall or knocks over a sacred cultural statue, there is zero accountability. Jim Chalmers should try using his mirrors once in a while before he hits something that tears the wheels off.

And it was a big week for damages.

Housing? Going backwards. Debt? $1 trillion next financial year. Immigration? Doors are open. Productivity? Stalled. Interest rates and inflation? About to take another bite. And while Trump puts in a support call for allies, we skulk away like cowards.

These failures are repackaged as positives instead of accidental damage accumulated by an L-driver.

My latest in The Spectator Australia, What did I miss? Australia’s political week in fast forward.

The Digger’s Code: Anzac Day and the Vernacular of Belonging

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Stand with your mates old and new. Reclaim the one nation the Anzacs fought to defend. 

As we pause this Anzac Day to remember the fallen and their mates, spare a thought for our native language that few outsiders ever fully master. It is not the formal speech of the silvertails with their airs and graces. It is the laconic ‘Diggerspeak’ that binds Australian servicemen and women tighter than any oath. It entered our military from regional and rural Australia, and it went back and forth from navvie to digger and continues to do so. It is an evolving language that reflects our deep-seated sense of nationhood.

The rhyming slang, the ironic understatement, the rural shorthand and the deadpan inversions turned ordinary blokes into a code. The enemy and even our closest allies struggled to crack it. In the jungles of New Guinea or the paddy fields of Vietnam, it was not just talk. It was a language of belonging.

The Yanks noticed early. By 1942 the US Department of War and the Navy were issuing pocket guides to Australia. These guides were crammed with glossaries of our slang. Their troops kept staring blankly when an Aussie said something was fair dinkum or that the situation was apples. She’ll be right. The guides were well-meaning. They missed the point.

The real test was not whether you could look it up. The real test was whether you got it without asking. Pause to ask for clarification in the heat of the moment, and you quietly announced yourself an outsider. Aussies are not unwelcoming. Far from it. True mateship assumes a shared frame of reference. You do not need to be born here. You just need to be willing to learn the code and live it.

Australian slang has always been a living thing. It evolves with each new trial. What began in the trenches of the Great War absorbed French, Arabic, Vietnamese, and Malaysian influences. (I don’t know how many times I had to diddly-bop off for some makan.)

The language keeps mutating. A bludger in one war became a walloper in the next. In my time it was a Jack-man. She’ll be right carried the same laconic optimism. (Politely put, a Jack-man says: ‘She’ll be right, Jack, I’m okay!) The language is derived from shared challenges, hardships, and best of all, shared glory. The code adapts. Its purpose never changes. It marks those who belong.

The evolutionary nature of the Australian vernacular goes something like this. I remember at Duntroon a particular word came to be used when something was excellently cool. As legend has it, later this word happened to be the surname of a fourthie who was regarded as a complete quamby. He kept getting bumphed ‘cause his work was NUTS. His mates ended up sharing his pineapples. So the word went from being excellently cool to something that was completely bished, if you get what I mean.

It’s not just in the military. In many of the store docks I deliver to, there exists a language of belonging. I learnt quickly not to say, ‘good morning’. What’s bloody good about it? Next time, Morning! At least you didn’t say good, this place is a loony bin. You’ll be lucky if you get out. Hey Chezza, did you tell him he lives here now? This place is awesome! (I wish I could provide the appropriate onomatopoeia for the quiet guttural groan accompanying the bewildered facial expressions.)

I doubt many of my academic and journalist mates could understand Australian like this. In many eyes, modern academics and journalists don’t belong in such places.

Even my good mate from Pakistan. He’s completing a degree in English. He’s working at a servo and a bloke walks in. ‘Packeta Winnie Blues Mate.’ He recalls fondly the process of becoming Aussie. It took him a while, but he got there. Loves his cricket and his snooker, too. And he’s a toiler.

And that’s the point. Australian slang is a language of belonging. A language forged out of our history through shared hardship and a sense of knowing what we’re all about. You can’t learn it. You have to live it.

That same code echoes every Anzac Day. At dawn services from Gallipoli to Kokoda to the local RSL. You hear it still. The wry asides. The understatement that masks profound respect. The easy familiarity turns strangers into cobbers for a day. If you can’t understand the lingo, you won’t get the stories, either.

The stories of the Owen gun’s legendary performance, or the corporal instructor who gives lessons on the Owen’s successor, the F1 submachine gun: ‘The F1 submachine gun can be fitted with a bayonet and used as a dart’ as he throws it into a nearby tree. The yippee shoots. The forced marches where some bloke pulls up from plantar fasciitis. Only it was a piece of wire gone through his GP and into his foot.

The legendary free grog at the boozer then woken at 3am for a forced march. The bloke who did it in his Reg Grundies while smoking a dart. The dargon leading the run who lights up his own darb under the cover of the palm of his hand. He breathes in deeply. Ah, that’s bet-ter! He says in his clipped, guttural, side-of-the-mouth enunciation.

Or the day our Colonel Commandant turns up on the gun position. I’ve taken over the gun position mid-ex from one of my fourthies who was NUTS. And Davo’s left his cam net back at the last position, and he can’t use his platform ‘cause he’s busted the legs on it. The Colonel asks me, ‘where is that gun’s cam net?’ A UD goes off in the CP just as my OPCP SGT starts shooting. I groan. Test-firing, Sir. Johnno’s Bravo crew is up cause Davo’s doin’ his ‘nana at the Alpha boys who have to go back and get the cam net. Karrumpah! Johnno’s gun sends down the first bomb. The dry grass lights up and the entire gun position is on fire. Who’s got the rakes and beaters? I groan again. I look over at my OPCP SGT and he smirks wryly and shrugs. FUBAR. What can ya do, boss? ‘Ere are, I’ve rolled ya a darb, and the lads grabbed a goffer and a gumpy for ya. God bless him.

It is the vernacular of belonging. It says we have been through the fire together. We know the score. We stand shoulder to shoulder anyway. Anzac Day does not demand uniformity of background. It demands unity of spirit. That spirit has always been more powerful than any official policy or government-sanctioned school curriculum.

Which makes the present moment feel particularly sharp. Decades of mass immigration without a corresponding insistence on cultural integration have left too many newcomers unwilling or unable to learn the code. Their cheer squads in the academy and the media make the problem worse. Some arrive in a nation that offers them every material advantage. They then treat its founding myths, its institutions and its very language of mateship as relics to be deconstructed rather than embraced. Decolonised, if you will.

The result is not the vibrant mosaic we were promised. It is parallel societies, simmering resentments, and a fracturing of the very sense of us that Anzac Day once renewed so effortlessly.

Worse. Those divisions have been actively cultivated. Outsiders to our national story and the domestic elites who amplify their grievances have worked systematically to undermine the institutions that once transmitted the Anzac ethos. The schools once taught pride in our military history. The media once celebrated it. The public square once honoured it without apology. The campaign has relentlessly targeted our shared identity. That identity transcends class, ethnicity, or postcode. When that identity frays, social cohesion frays with it.

No wonder Australians are looking outside the major parties. In the latest Sky News Pulse survey, Pauline Hanson’s One Nation has surged to level pegging with Labor on the primary vote at 27 per cent. This is a remarkable shift. It reflects deep disillusionment with the major parties’ failure to defend the things that make Australia work.

Even Prime Minister Anthony Albanese has reached for the language of one nation in his rhetoric. His government’s approach has too often amplified the very divisions that erode it. One Nation’s appeal is not narrow ethnic nationalism as its critics sneer. It is precisely the opposite. It is the insistence on one nation. Belonging is available to anyone prepared to adopt the values. It includes the work ethic, the fair go egalitarianism, and even the lingo that has defined us since before the trenches of the Great War. It is the Anzac spirit translated into contemporary politics.

That is why a return to the Anzac ethos is not nostalgia. It is remedy. It is not about excluding newcomers. Many Diggers were sons of immigrants. It is by insisting that those who come here join the code rather than rewrite it. The willingness to belong is what separates the citizen from the passenger. Anzac Day reminds us that belonging is earned in the quiet moments. It is the shared joke no outsider quite catches. It is the understatement that carries the weight of history. It is the instinctive understanding that she’ll be right only works when everyone is pulling in the same direction.

So today, as the last post sounds and the crowd murmurs Lest We Forget, listen for the deeper message beneath the words. It is an invitation. Learn the code. Embrace the spirit. Stand with your mates old and new. Reclaim the one nation the Anzacs fought to defend. The alternative is not diversity. It is division. And Australia has had quite enough of that.

 This article first appeared in The Spectator Australia on Anzac Day 2026 as The Digger’s Code: Anzac Day and the Vernacular of Belonging.

Is the rule of law still fit for purpose?

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There appears to be a tug of war between public expectation and the judiciary.

The rule of law is one of the foundational pillars of liberal democracy. At its core, it rests on the simple, powerful idea that no one is above the law. Not kings, not parliaments, not the wealthy or the well-connected. It was designed to protect the weak from the arbitrary exercise of power and to ensure that governments, however popular, remain bound by principles of fairness and reason.

Yet in contemporary Australia, we may ask whether this venerable concept is still serving the public interest, or whether it has been subtly repurposed to shield those who undermine the very society it was meant to sustain.

In the Morning Double Shot newsletter, Terry Barnes wrote:

Again and again, the public will is overturned by judicial activists, judges who imply all manner of esoteric things into interpreting the law and effectively placing themselves above the people’s elected representatives and His Majesty’s duly-constituted government. This is not the rule of law, but the law of rule. Michael de Percy turns his mind to the erosion of the rule of law, and the sovereignty of the people through parliament.

My latest in The Spectator Australia, Is the rule of law still fit for purpose?

Albo government’s perfect storm of weakness

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We do not need a government that hides the bacon at the back of the supermarket of policy.

Yet here we are, a resource-rich nation pleading with others while global supply chains buckle under the weight of conflict in the Middle East. The fuel crisis and the attendant energy price pain are not abstract. They are the lived experience of every Australian filling up at the bowser or watching power bills climb.

And they arrive as part of a perfect storm that reveals something deeper about the Albanese Labor government. A pattern of weakness that is now unmistakable.

Consider the converging crises. The fuel emergency is immediate and visceral, born of global events but exacerbated by years of domestic energy policy that left Australia exposed. The energy crisis has been simmering for longer. Policy choices that privileged ideology over baseload reliability, now colliding with external shock.

My latest in The Spectator Australia, Albo government’s perfect storm of weakness.

What did I miss? Australia’s political week in fast-forward

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Chris Bowen's energy policy platform is a lot like a dead fish.

You have to feel a tad sorry for Energy Minister Chris Bowen. He had a tough week of bruising press conferences. Never mind, his leadership is unequivocal. That bold renewables target? Totally achievable, even if he doesn’t like mentioning it except under the duress of a hostile journalist. Bowen is probably checking his tyres on the way to another renewables announcement as we speak, making sure his EV fleet is topped up from the nearest solar panel before lecturing the rest of us about the urgency to transition away from reliable power.

My latest edition of What did I miss? Australia's political week in fast-forward in The Spectator Australia.

Zen and the art of truck driving

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The ten rules I wish I didn’t have to learn the hard way.

Philosophy, at its best, is not some airy-fairy meditation on the meaning of life. It is a set of rules for living. The ancient Stoics understood this better than most. Epictetus gave us the Enchiridion, interpreted as a literal ‘handbook’ of reminders you have to keep rereading because your monkey brain keeps forgetting.

Another well-known Stoic, Seneca, confessed that he never came home from the Roman forum with quite the same moral character he had when he left. Something always became unsettled. He needed the quiet of his study to recompose himself.

A truck driver has no such luxury. The road does the recomposing for you, whether you like it or not. And it does it with the subtlety of a 20-crate dolly sliding off a wet foot-control ramp.

Epictetus’ idea of reason was based on the divine, active, and ruling faculty within human beings that allows them to distinguish between what is under their control and what is not.

Truck driving, however, is a lesson in the fact that you don’t control anything.

In the Morning Double Shot newsletter, Terry Barnes wrote:

Our Michael de Percy has many hats. Academic. Journalist. Former military officer. Truckie. Of the latter hat, one can say that Michael has drive, and he has writing an insightful satirical take on the truckie’s professional life. Unlike your scribe, who’s never missed taking a wrong turn in life, Michael ‘Rubber Duck’ de Percy drives straight and true.

My latest in The Spectator Australia, Zen and the art of truck driving.

Dob in a servo? How very un-Australian

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We would be far better off with a ‘dob in a useless politician’ scheme.

The NSW Labor government has found a new way to distract us from its own failures. It is encouraging the public to ‘dob in’ service stations charging what it considers ‘high’ prices for fuel.

In a move straight out of the Covid-era snitch handbook, motorists are being urged to report servos via the FuelCheck app for alleged price gouging. This is not a tough-on-business policy. It is the politics of incompetent governance dressed up as consumer protection.

And it is utterly un-Australian.

My latest in The Spectator Australia, Dob in a servo? How very un-Australian.

Our youth are impressionable, but not stupid

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The Age of Woke is over and young people know they were lied to...

Let’s be honest. Australia’s young people have been marinated in Woke ideology from the cradle to the doctorate. From childcare centres, where toddlers learn about ‘gender fluidity’ before they can tie their shoelaces, through school curricula that treats Western Civilisation as an original sin, to university faculties that reward grievance studies over rigorous inquiry.

The left has had a captive audience for decades. They’ve been told that feelings trump facts, that capitalism is the root of all evil, and that the only moral posture worth striking is performative outrage. Impressionable? Absolutely. Stupid? Not even close.

The proof is in the polling.

My latest in The Spectator Australia, Our youth are impressionable, but not stupid.

What did I miss? Australia’s political week in fast-forward

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Punters are sick of eating expensive nothing burgers cooked up by these two unoriginal placeholders. 

I missed most of the action while travelling and returned to a Covid re-run of politicians legislating around the edges of a logistical problem. Put it this way, if Labor ran a retail store they’d solve a missing box of stock by restricting trading hours and adding a surcharge to customers wearing shorts. They’d never find the box, but they could tell head office they were ‘doing something’.

Jim Chalmers is ‘doing something’. He’s scribbling ‘fuel crisis’ into the margins of his Budget reform package, nibbling a KitKat while the rest of us brace for new mortgage rates. He’s the only one working hard – and we really wish he’d take a break.

Angus Taylor and the Opposition barely noticed because they were too busy performing ‘last rites’ for the Victorian Liberals. Yes, Moira Deeming may yet keep her seat on the preselection ticket, but there’s a fair bit of blood and embarrassment on the partyroom floor while a few moderate powerbrokers can be heard chanting prayers in the shadows.

My latest edition of What did I miss? Australia's political week in fast-forward in The Spectator Australia.

Moira Deeming must move to One Nation

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I can’t see how Moira Deeming can succeed now the rot has reached the Liberals’ core

From Macau: The Victorian Liberals have done it again, only this time the farce has played out in under 24 hours.

On Sunday, Liberal Party delegates in Melbourne’s west voted to dump sitting Upper House MP Moira Deeming from the top spot on preselection ticket. As Deeming did not run for any other spot, this means she would lose her seat at the state election later in the year.

Moderate-backed businessman Dinesh Gourisetty, a prominent figure in Melbourne’s Indian community, beat Deeming comfortably at 39 votes to 26. It was clinical. The moderates got their man. The conservatives got the message.

And then it all fell apart.

In the Unfiltered newsletter, Alexandra Marshall wrote:

I am going to contradict both my Editor-in-Chief and my Canberra Correspondent tonight. Let’s see how that goes…

The story of the Moira Deeming preselection and the factional wars going on inside the Victorian Liberal Party are, to quote a friend of mine, ‘The craziest shit I’ve seen in 45 years of Liberal Party politics.’

If you missed the story, you can catch up in our Flat White section – and the plot twists keep on coming. Even now, the story is changing.

My latest in The Spectator Australia, Moira Deeming must move to One Nation.

What did I miss? Australia’s political week in fast-forward

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The rolling fuel apocalypse is nothing to worry about, insisted the Minister for Panic Buying. 

This week turned out to be an Albanese Method™ masterclass. If there’s one superpower our Prime Minister possesses, it’s the god-like ability to set the house on fire, then burst through the smoke wearing a cape, yelling: ‘I’m here to save you!’

Meanwhile, the rest of us cough up billions in taxes to fund his superhero cape and the Uber that dropped him there.

Staff at the taxpayer-funded outrage factory known the AlBo fan Club went on strike. They’re demanding 10 per cent more of other people’s money to write feel-good propaganda for their comrades. ABC staff were spotted in uptown Ultimo wearing union t-shirts.

Dressing down for the drive from Mosman in their EVs must have been emotionally tough during a fuel crisis…

My latest in The Spectator Australia, What did I miss? Australia’s political week in fast-forward.

ABC staff chuck a tantrum while taxpayers foot the bill

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The ABC should remember that when you’re bankrolled by the punters, it’s not a strike, it’s a tantrum.

From Hong Kong: While the rest of Australia is doing it tough under Labor’s cost-of-living catastrophe, state-owned media, the ABC, has staged its first strike in 20 years.

People forget that unions love striking when Labor is in power. Other governments are reluctant to give in to their selfish demands. But demanding more of your hard-earned cash to keep pumping out one-sided political sludge is, to quote my country mates, bull.

Apparently, the ABC even called in the BBC to fill in for them. Talk about a WOFTAM.

My latest in The Spectator Australia, ABC staff chuck a tantrum while taxpayers foot the bill.

The old parties had their turn, and failed

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Something remarkable is unfolding… One Nation has turned out the Liberals’ lights. 

The numbers from the pre-election polling, now being borne out in the count, are eye-watering. One Nation is on track to receive a substantial taxpayer-funded election windfall under the Malinauskas government’s new public-funding regime.

The formula is straightforward. In One Nation’s case, $6 for every vote up to the first 10 per cent, then $5.50 thereafter, capped only by actual campaign spend. Assuming the turnout and vote share hold, millions in public money might be heading One Nation’s way, replacing the political donations the Malinauskas Labor government just banned.

But the windfall does not stop on election night. Depending on how many One Nation members are elected, the party is also in line for ongoing administrative funding to cover offices, staff, training, and operations. That funding, plus the potential for policy-development support and other streams, gives One Nation the resources to build serious, professional policy machinery.

My latest in The Spectator Australia, The old parties had their turn, and failed.

What did I miss? Australia’s political week in fast-forward

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There's no escaping Labor's kinder economy. And you will love it! [Depositphotos.com/@olly18]

The most important issue this week was Labor’s desperate ‘don’t panic!’ messaging.

Government officials claimed the problem was not a low fuel supply, but high demand. Australia has a jerry can apocalypse. There is a surge of ‘farm thieves’ cutting locks and raiding rural properties. Tractors are being drained and parked cars siphoned like it’s season three of The Walking Dead.

The price of fuel is about to hit $3 per litre, interest rates have tagged along, and the cost of living has soared. But don’t worry, Chalmers has a ‘bold Budget’ planned. Who’s excited for tax reform…?!

My weekly wrap-up of Australian politics in The Spectator Australia,What did I miss? Australia’s political week in fast-forward.

What does Australia expect to gain by snubbing Trump?

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Ignoring President Trump’s plea dishonours every Digger who fought beside Americans.

The Strait of Hormuz is the artery carrying one-fifth of the world’s oil. President Trump’s call for allied warships to protect it from Iranian threats was a test of resolve. Australia’s response was lazy and irresponsible. Refusing to send even a single vessel was to turn our back on the United States. Not just any ally, but the nation that has bled for us and with us, time and again.

In France, on the islands of the Pacific, in Korea, Vietnam, and Afghanistan – even in Darwin – American blood has soaked the same battlefields as ours. Anzus rests on that shared sacrifice. Aukus, our most significant defence enabler in history, is the generational result of it.

Ignoring President Trump’s plea dishonours every Digger who fought beside Americans and signals to the world that Australia cannot be counted on when it matters. We’ve never been here before.

My latest in The Spectator Australia, What does Australia expect to gain by snubbing Trump?

Is Labor deliberately ruining us?

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A crisis of Labor’s own making. Teach children self-reliance instead of entitlement.

From Myeongdong, Seoul: Across the road from me is the original Bank of Korea building, the nation’s central bank. It is now the Bank of Korea Money Museum. It has a computer that demonstrates the impact of economic events. If government spending increases, inflation increases. If employment increases, then inflation increases, and so on.

Surely Jim Chalmers knows all of this. If the government spends more on government jobs and puts the rest of the country on welfare, then you don’t need one of these computers anymore. Capitalism is gone and you are living in a socialist economy. You know, that repulsive economic system that never works?

Like many Australians, the RBA’s interest rate increase this week has me worried. We have the most socialist of Labor governments in charge, and an ineffectual opposition. The leadership changes in the Coalition haven’t eased the pain.

My latest in The Spectator Australia, Is Labor deliberately ruining us?

What did I miss? Australia’s political week in fast-forward

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Labor's scam racket is unravelling. Their type of kindness is weakness and it is ruining our economy.

Jim Chalmers’ kinder economy has turned a corner and crashed straight into a tree. Inflation expectations are spiking to 5.2 per cent in March. The highest in nearly three years. As it turns out, Chalmers not only did his thesis on Paul Keating, but he is Paul Keating.

The problem for Chalmers isn’t that he hit a tree … it’s that it was actually Chris Bowen’s woody nose, elongated by all the little climate fibs and Net Zero platitudes that got a bit creative with the truth. Who knew the Minister for Energy [Crises] was actually Pinocchio’s Aussie cousin? Bowen has left Chalmers T-boned and contemplating dragging our wrecked economy through a 30-point turn to get out.

My weekly column in The Spectator Australia, What did I miss? Australia’s political week in fast-forward.

What did I miss? Australia’s political week in fast-forward

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Then Chalmers went poof! He ninja-ed his way into a panic room as the economy started knocking.

The week began with Prime Minister Anthony Albanese surprising everyone, not least of all the Labor Party, by officially supporting our major ally’s strike against Iran.

Someone said this support only happened because Labor is in political hot water over Bondi – and if it weren’t for that act of domestic terror, Australia’s response would be sitting somewhere between Starmer’s incompetence and Spain’s hostility.

They’re probably right… as soon as Albo completed his statesmanlike address, his trusty left brain cell kicked in.

This is the first of my weekly columns in The Spectator Australia, What did I miss? Australia’s political week in fast-forward.

Who gives a toss about Kyle and Jackie O?

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Kyle and Jackie O's Radio Royalty fallout is the quintessential binfire. 

This week the news cycle has been dominated by the spectacular implosion of Australia’s highest-paid radio duo, Kyle Sandilands and Jackie ‘O’ Henderson.

After more than two decades of on-air banter, celebrity interviews, and the occasional boundary-pushing stunt, their partnership ended (perhaps) in a blaze of recriminations, contract terminations, and a reported $200 million deal gone up in smoke. Jackie O has walked, Kyle has been suspended, and the KIIS FM breakfast show looks like it is off the air effective immediately.

And yet, today, as I experienced my first heavy vehicle food delivery job from Yass via Temora, listening to ABC Radio doing its best to recruit ‘future Wokerati’, I wondered if ‘I’ was the only person in the country who genuinely doesn’t give a toss about ‘K’ and ‘O’?

Writng in Unfiltered, Alexandra Marshall was unapologetic:

I hate our Canberra correspondent, Michael de Percy. I rang him this afternoon to tell him as much. He was terribly pleased by the news. Let me explain. While the world teeters on the edge of hot war between empires, Michael was being vexed by the endless Kyle and Jackie O coverage on his local regional radio. Print media is just as bad. A full two-thirds of the Daily Mail was devoted to the saga (instead of … you know … world war three). And so he wrote a piece for me about how pointless Kyle and Jackie O are to our society, asking, ‘Does anyone actually care?’ Google picked this up and instantly his rant about two vacuous radio presenters became the top trending piece. It’s infuriating. And I hate him. That said, the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. Humans are ruthlessly social creatures. Even on the day Hitler died, the front page was shared with celebrity gossip. Maybe it’s a good thing that our species always carves out room for entertainment. Or maybe Michael is right.

Terry Barnes was less direct in Morning Double Shot:

Now for what really matters. Kyle Sandilands and Jacki ‘O’ Henderson have busted up spectacularly, and hopefully their brand of broadcast filth is at an end. Michael de Percy asks who cares, and answers: nobody. Speaking of de Percy, he’s written a cracker chapter in a new book, The Menzies Legacy, which I plan to review shortly.

My latest in The Spectator Australia, Who gives a toss about Kyle and Jackie O?

The Ayatollah is no A-more-ah!

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Ding, dong the witch is dead! The funders of terrorists are in disarray.

Prime Minister Anthony Albanese finally found his spine and backed Donald Trump. In the process, he whispered to his dog: ‘We’re not in Marrickville anymore, Toto!’

What happened in Iran echoes in Australia.

Staff at the ABC and SBS are gnashing their teeth and wondering why such a biblical reckoning is so apt to describe their situation. Don’t look back, you salty few, or you may end up like Lot’s wife and then succumb to a pathetic Iranian missile counter-attack east of the Jordan.

My latest in The Spectator Australia, The Ayatollah is no A-more-ah!

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