There’s a scary little story tucked away in the Terror this morning about the dingbats that make up the Liberal Party’s NSW right-wing already planning a cleanout of the remaining wets on the frontbench, blaming “unsupportive” shadow ministers for losing the election.
And we lost the 2003 Rugby World Cup because the ball boys weren’t wearing green-and-gold underwear.
The delusional tendencies of the albino monk faction know no bounds. I can only suspect we’re seeing the long-term effects of drug abuse or a very shallow gene pool.
These are the social neo-cons who knifed Brogden (who had a good chance) and promised to kneecap O’Farrell (who would have won) in order to install Debnam (guaranteed loser). Go to it.
But on a personal level, I have some good news: I’ve found a party I can vote for, at least in the upper house, and not feel that I have done something morally wrong. Let me explain…
For more than half a century, the gentle folk of the NSW Gun Club have been popping away at clay pigeons on their 50-plus acres at Terry Hills. It’s a perfectly harmless pastime, an Olympic sport no less. The little clay Frisbee targets feel not a thing.
In the early 1950s, Terry Hills was well outside Sydney. It’s now on the city’s northern fringe, but still in a semi-rural acreage sort of environment, albeit with a ritzy golf club through the trees and across the road.
You might think anyone buying near a gun club would expect to hear shotguns fired. They might well be able to acquire land in the district a little cheaper than otherwise thanks to that. But funnily enough, after buying in, some of the locals apparently don’t want the club to keep doing what it’s always done.
Such people aren’t NIMBYs, they’re the much worse, they are NIYOBYs (Not In Your Own Back Yard).
The highly dubious NSW government, displaying all the judgement and principle we’ve come to expect, has cut the NSW Gun Club back to just two firing days a week, Wednesdays and Saturdays, with a couple of extra days a year for special events if they’re lucky. Remember, these are restrictions placed on the club’s own land, out in the sticks, with prior use going back more than half a century.
It’s enough to make me apply for membership of the club and have a go at trap shooting – a much healthier pursuit than computer games.
And it’s given me a party to vote for in the Upper House: The Shooters Party.
If only Ms Oldfield wasn’t involved…