"Guess who I saw at the polling booth today??!" Pixie excitedly asked.
"No? Who?" I was not going to venture to guess. Pixie lives on the edge of the illustrious seat of Wentworth, where the rich and famous frolic.
"Delta Goodrem!"
"Wonder if she voted for K-Rudd."
Election day 2007.
I woke this morning hopefully sensing a change in the air. I considered carefully in the attire that I was to wear on such a momentous day.
Eleven years! I was not yet fifteen when J W Howard took office! Red! It has to be red; the colour of K-Rudd and the working class, the rouge in that strip bar he visited in New York, the shade of Julia Gillard's hair, and the colour of those bar graphs on every channel tonight dissecting the results of the election.
So it came to this long sleeved jumper that I picked up on a recent trip to Shanghai:
It was enough to deflect the Liberal pamphlets as I made my way to my celebrity-less polling booth.
I have been amusingly engrossed in the election this year. Mildly entertained by the pamphlet-overboard incident this past week and the little bit of bitch-slapping that went down this afternoon. Not forgetting the coersion, flirtation and intimidation by the same bitch-slapper that provided the prologue to today's showdown.
Notwithstanding my own amusement and hyper bias for the red team, the politics has divided the Boy and I.
"I can't believe you think they're better economic managers!" We both cried at various times of the last few weeks.
How do you turn someone long decided to be a blue (bleh!) to bat for the red team? After some screaming, some mild coaxing ("If you love me, you'd vote for K-Rudd!"), and threats ("That's it! NO CUPCAKES FOR YOU!"), I have come to reluctant acceptance and will just be smug while the so very obviously better team wins the day.
"No? Who?" I was not going to venture to guess. Pixie lives on the edge of the illustrious seat of Wentworth, where the rich and famous frolic.
"Delta Goodrem!"
"Wonder if she voted for K-Rudd."
Election day 2007.
I woke this morning hopefully sensing a change in the air. I considered carefully in the attire that I was to wear on such a momentous day.
Eleven years! I was not yet fifteen when J W Howard took office! Red! It has to be red; the colour of K-Rudd and the working class, the rouge in that strip bar he visited in New York, the shade of Julia Gillard's hair, and the colour of those bar graphs on every channel tonight dissecting the results of the election.
So it came to this long sleeved jumper that I picked up on a recent trip to Shanghai:
It was enough to deflect the Liberal pamphlets as I made my way to my celebrity-less polling booth.I have been amusingly engrossed in the election this year. Mildly entertained by the pamphlet-overboard incident this past week and the little bit of bitch-slapping that went down this afternoon. Not forgetting the coersion, flirtation and intimidation by the same bitch-slapper that provided the prologue to today's showdown.
Notwithstanding my own amusement and hyper bias for the red team, the politics has divided the Boy and I.
"I can't believe you think they're better economic managers!" We both cried at various times of the last few weeks.
How do you turn someone long decided to be a blue (bleh!) to bat for the red team? After some screaming, some mild coaxing ("If you love me, you'd vote for K-Rudd!"), and threats ("That's it! NO CUPCAKES FOR YOU!"), I have come to reluctant acceptance and will just be smug while the so very obviously better team wins the day.
