Today we brought out the vote for local councillors in the great state of NSW. Those of us who feel slightly over-governed object to the glut of local spods we have in La country, but hey ho, voting’s compulsory ($55 fine for abstainers) so there’s no point moaning.
I toddled off to vote (but not for Clover, who’s not quite looking down the barrel in her election poster — implies a lack of trustworthiness. Might be hard to see in this pic, but trust La, the line to vote was long and I had time to notice something shifty in her eyes.)
Would you buy a Harbour City from this woman?
Signor Seriousimo has never forgiven Clover for banning the use of the word “Christmas” in any and all posters and decorations in Sydney a couple of Yuletides ago. And once Seriousimo’s put you on the naughty list, you can abandon all hope of a Christmas stocking bulging with anything but fat lumps of cole.
So off I trotted to the local educational institution to cast La vote. As I stood in line, I could have taken the chance to reflect on the amazing gift of the opportunity, the significance of being once again on the precipice of exercising my democratic right, the glorious effectiveness of compulsory voting and the palpably jolly feel of election day.
But on these matters, La reflected not.
Instead I thought back to the first time Signor Seriousimo voted after we’d moved to Australia from those great United Kingdoms. (He’s a Pommy Aussie who, until then, had never lived in the Wide Brown Land.) He signed in, took his ballot papers and proceeded very seriously over to the bank of cardboard voting booths. But he leant just a little too heavily on his cubicle, and caused the whole bank of booths to collapse. Srsly, over like dominoes. Him too. His loyal wife, who’d just forced him to abandon his home country and move to hers, stood in a distant corner pretending not to know him, snickering like Mutley from the Wacky Races.
“I just put a whoopy cushion on Dick Dastardly’s car seat!”
Anyhows, today La vote was cast, but — as I mentioned — not for Clover, and not for Zahra Stardust of the Sex Party. Though curiosity almost caused me to tick that box.
As I was leaving, Clove herself turned up to press the flesh and frottage a few innocent babies. Proving she’s a master of sensitivity and tact, she took one look at the poor punters stuck in the gargantuan line-up and announced, “You know there’s hardly anyone down at the secondary college..?”
Trivialista-Seriousimo electoral duty done. It might seem glib not to appreciate our right / obligation to vote. But Seriousimo — whose booth stayed happily upright this time round — summed up our mutual feelings when he arrived back beneath the dusty rafters and declared, “There we go then — just saved us $110.”
La Trivialista 