It's time to get to know PM Kev

HOWARD'S gone, Maxine triumphed and McLeod's Daughters has been axed. Life just doesn't get sweeter than this. Unless of course, George Bush chokes on his own foot.

But how about Julia Gillard? Hands up who wants to be president of the Julia Gillard fan club? I can't look at that woman without wanting to burst into tears and give her a hug. Everyone's making a big deal about her being the first female deputy PM. I think it's far more significant that she's in such a powerful position despite the fact she has red hair, because everyone knows that people with red hair don't have souls. On Saturday night I was hoping Julia would say: "This is a victory for redheads, 'rangas and carrot tops everywhere."

So the question is "Who are we going to hate now?" If only Tony Abbott became Liberal leader. I can't really hate Malcolm Turnbull yet, I just like laughing at him in the same way I would laugh at a dog with a bucket on its head.

Highlights of the evening? Kerry O'Brien making the gaffe about "a swing to the ABC" in Bennelong. And Kerry's inability to repress his jubilation when it looked as if the Max Factor was going to make it over the line. And Julia, when they cut back to her after Rudd gushed about what a great deputy she was going to be. Such a disciplined, restrained woman so overwhelmed with emotion that the tears just welled. What a moment! And could Maxine's smile be any wider? Her joy seemed not about her but about bigger things. Justice, the people, fairness. Maxine and Julia were the luminous bridesmaids who may one day be the brides.

On Sunday morning I woke and felt like a woman in love. I felt buzzy and post-coital. Do you reckon Kev got lucky? It was a full moon that night. I bet there are going to be a swag of election babies born in August — all with the middle name Kevin. I'm beside myself that I'll be living in an Australia with a prime minister called Kev. If only we had a deputy called Narelle.

Despite drinking my body weight in tart fuel (cosmopolitan in a can) on Saturday night and only having five hours' sleep, I did a victory lap around the People's Republic of Moreland in my KEVIN07 T-shirt on Saturday morning. It was delicious. Horns beeped and people gave my T-shirt the thumbs up. A large section of Lygon Street was closed off for tramline work. As I ran past a group of 30 workmen, they downed their tools and applauded. It was a beautiful moment. I could have run for hours on an empty belly, a clear head and a heart just bursting.

I recalled the day after Howard won in 1996 going for a walk in the morning and thinking to myself: "Who are these people I am sharing my country with?" It's been a long 11½ years.

My mate Caitlin (who wore her Kevin 07 T-shirt all Saturday and slept in it that night) sent me an email on Sunday morning saying: "I feel like hiring a signwriter to paint the sky with 'John Howard, the people have spoken, now rack off!' "

I have to admit thinking last week that if Howard lost (did that really happen or was I dreaming?) I would drive up to Bennelong with a bunch of garlic and a stake to finish him off. But now he's been decimated I don't feel like that. I actually feel a bit sorry for him. I don't understand it either.

It's similar to bitter people who vow to take revenge on people from their past when they become successful.

But when they make it, they are so full of magnanimous love for all mankind all they can do is glow.

Is the election result just swapping one bunch of accountants and lawyers for another bunch of accountants and lawyers? Howard's gone but who is Rudd? A robot who goes to church? Or a passionate man with vision in the body of a diplomat?

Saturday night felt like 10 new year's eves. I feel as if I've started dating another man after being in an abusive relationship for 11 years. But who is this other man? It's as if we've had an intoxicating kiss in the kitchen but still haven't made it to the bedroom. Who knows what he's like between the sheets. Is he really conservative or is he into kinky stuff and toys? Will he be sweet and shower me with kisses or will he be unreachable and aloof but behind closed doors like it rough. Who cares? Ding-dong the witch is dead, the fat lady has sung and it was time after all. But time for what?

Catherine Deveny
The Age, November 28, 2007
Original at http://www.theage.com.au/articles/2007/11/27/1196036889510.html

Vale Bernie Banton

Asbestos campaigner Bernie Banton has died aged 61.

Banton was the public face of the campaign to win justice for victims of asbestos manufacturer James Hardie.

He rose to national prominence during the NSW Special Commission into James Hardie as a passionate advocate for victims and their families.

The Jackson report found that management at James Hardie had transferred asbestos liabilities from their parent company to under-funded subsidiaries, in an attempt to limit the future compensation claims of asbestos victims.

Following the release of the report in 2004, then Premier Bob Carr appointed Banton and ACTU Secretary Greg Combet to negotiate a settlement with the building products manufacturer.

It was a long and gruelling task that took nearly three years to finalise. The end result is a $4 billion fund to operate over forty years to provide compensation to asbestos victims and their families.

“Bernie has been there every day and has lent to this entire process a decency and humanity that was sorely needed,” Combet said once the job was completed.

CPSU National Secretary Stephen Jones, who formed part of the ACTU legal team supporting the negotiators paid tribute to the indefatigable campaigner.

“Bernie Banton was a great Australian, and a great friend. I miss him very much. The only good thing to say is that he is no longer suffering and his legacy will live on for all asbestos victims.”

As Vice President of the Asbestos Diseases Federation of Australia since 2002, Banton was made a member of the Order of Australia in 2005 for services to the community.

Born 1946, Bernie Banton had worked at the James Hardie factor in Camellia from 1968 to 1974 and subsequently diagnosed with an asbestos related pleural disease in 2000.

In August he was diagnosed with peritoneal mesothelioma, an aggressive form of stomach cancer.

He passed away at home early in the morning, surrounded by wife Karen and family.


Bernie Banton's family have accepted the NSW Governments offer of a state funeral. If you would like to leave a message of condolence here, we will pass it on to Karen and the family.

Last gasp

Another ordinary punting performance on Melbourne Cup day threatened to slide into the truly dire yesterday. As scripted, it came down to the last race.

Firstly, apologies for the lack of news from Grafton. Some computer difficulties have hampered regular reporting from the northern rivers front. More to come.

Back to the race that stops a nation.

After a week here campaigning, the running of The Cup gave us an opportunity to have a break, bet and a beer.

There had been some idle talk of handing out a YRAW mock sweep but the potential for some negative blow back put paid to those plans.

Just as the mainstream political campaign pauses to watch the nags go round at Flemington, so must we.

Andy and I agreed to kick in $50 each and take advantage of a combined betting pool. Detailed study of the form commenced and I phoned up good mate Jim Marr to get the good oil.

Both favourites Master O’Reilly and Purple Moon were rated as genuine chances. Jimmy also liked Princess Coup and Maybe Better, with Irish stayer Mahler getting a mention.

Ironically, the horse that generated the most discussion (in dismissing its chances) was the eventual winner Efficient, which had disappointed everyone so far this spring.

Later at the hotel across the road from the apartment, we set up shop in the front bar and jumped into the fifth race, armed with Jimmy’s ratings and our own meagre punting knowledge.

By the end of the sixth, we were thirty dollars down and threw everything into the big one with a spread of bets.

But the scratching of Maybe Better earlier in the day had thrown our plans into disarray.

Besides a couple of small bets to win on the two faves, we looked to the William’s trained Zipping with a solid each way.

Right stable, wrong horse.

Otherwise we boxed a few Trifectas and looked for the roughy in NZ’s Sculptor.

Right country, wrong horse.

Come three-fifteen and we were sunk. Not a sausage.

Take nothing away from Efficient. A brilliant ride, hitting the line strongly to power past Purple Moon. Truly memorable.

The eighth gave us our last chance to pull something out of the fire. But the racing gods were not smiling on us.

Andy departed. Feeling drunk and increasingly maudlin, I ignored the ninth and looked to the last race of the day and Jimmy’s ratings.

In a reckless act, I backed El Pauji to win with $40 of my own cash and settled in to watch the devastation.

By the time Race Ten approached, the odds on El Pauji had shortened considerably. It ended up winning comfortably and I trousered 250 pieces of the folding stuff.

It was a late and lucky escape to what could have been a worse than usual Cup bath.