One day when I was a member of the federal parliament, a surprising thing happened to me. Until then, if I had wanted to go to a sporting event, I paid my own way. But now, here were the tennis authorities inviting me to attend the Australian Open with a free ticket. I naturally pondered the reason for this largesse. Initially, I thought they must have heard about my prowess at St John’s Presbyterian Tennis Club and wanted me to pass on a few tips to Rod Laver. Or perhaps they had thought it was a small token of appreciation for my selfless labours in the public interest. But no real evidence immediately emerged to show they had been motivated by any such an innocent reason. About this time, I found that I was held in such high regard by the Yugoslav government that an attempt was made to cultivate me through a series of invitations from a scented gentleman allegedly employed in their embassy as a spy, although any connection he had with intelligence was purely coincidental. Another gift arrived, this time a bottle of Yugoslav slivovitz, so toxic that the only use I could find for it was to clean the bathroom floor. This was followed by an invitation to visit the country in question, where I spent a week trying to keep a straight face while my hosts extolled the wonders of central European socialism. Again, what could be the reason behind such generosity?

Then, as minister for communications, I made the worst decision I have ever made and allowed Telecom to introduce mobile telephones into Australia. I was very reluctant to agree to this eccentric proposal as I could not understand why any sane person would want to carry a telephone around – and I still cannot. But like most courageous ministers I eventually gave in and allowed the mobile telephone network to be established. Following on from that momentous decision, a telephone turned up in my office as a gift from one of the suppliers. It sat on my desk for a week, glowing like a bundle of nuclear fuel rods, until I could bear the stress no longer and, covered in guilt, I returned it to my would-be benefactor. But again, I wondered why I had been singled out for such favourable treatment.

You might think that I was slow on the uptake as to what was going on. But with a bit of sober reflection it dawned on me that there was a reason behind this generosity. It was not because anyone thought I needed an afternoon watching the tennis. Nor was it because they thought I need a swig of slivovitz to anaesthetise me through Question Time. Nor, indeed, that anyone wanted to make it easier for me to ring home to tell the family how I was going with running the country. The real reason was to embrace me as a friend, just in case a friend was needed in the future. The tennis people, the telephone supplier and the Yugoslav government wanted to get close to me and build up a reservoir of goodwill, just in case an issue arose in the future when they needed a friend at court, the political one, I mean. After all, if you were a friend, you would scarcely go along with any government proposal that might be inimical to their interests, like making it difficult to sell the television rights to the tennis, putting a tax on slivovitz, or anything truly reckless like allowing competition in telecommunications. It was obvious; so obvious indeed than anyone but a dunderhead like Senator Dastyari would know that it was a form of attempted corruption, especially when you were given real money, like him. There is after all, no such thing as a free slivovitz. But the serious point remains. With the Dastyari precedent, Australia must now be the only country in the civilized world where an elected representative is allowed to take money from an outside source and still remain in the parliament.

Speaking of politics, I must have been training my 12 year old step-grandson over the last few years to go into that noble profession. He stood last week for president of his school’s student council, made a rousing speech and was duly elected. I asked him a few days later during his debriefing session what promises he had made to get elected, and his reply showed a remarkably mature approach: ‘Sorry, I can’t recall.’ That statesmanlike disposition should fit him for any federal or state elected office, but initially I have suggested that he move to Sydney and stand as State treasurer of the Liberal Party, where that quality is obviously not just an asset but a pre-requisite.

While I am in the confessional, I should admit that I am now an ardent Malcolm Turnbull supporter. My conversion has come about as the result of the perceptive survey on the Prime Minister in the Australian Financial Review last weekend. Its conclusion was that his government has done nothing and that this justified giving him a miserable D+ for performance. It is true that his government has done nothing. All governments, however, are hell bent on doing things, which only makes things worse and sends us further into debt. It is a refreshing change, therefore, and much cheaper, to have a government that has elevated doing nothing to a high art form. Moreover, Mr Turnbull has guaranteed that future governments will have to continue doing nothing, which is a monumental achievement considering the havoc inflicted on us by his predecessors by doing things. Inventing the winning trifecta of changes in Senate voting, a double dissolution and an eight week election campaign has guaranteed that no government will ever have the majority it needs in the Senate to pass regressive laws, tax us more and destroy our freedoms. I would definitely give him an A+.

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