I love Tony Abbott. How could you not?

I can’t stop thinking about him. I’ve even had his face tattooed on the insides of my eyelids so I can see him the moment I wake up. I’m so obsessed with him I chant his name aloud without realising. “Lame, gay, churchy loser. Lame, gay, churchy loser. Lame, gay, churchy loser.” ”Sorry,” I said to the man in front of me in the supermarket queue who’d snapped me an odd look. “Not you. Tony Abbott.”

Tony Abbott’s daughter called him a ”lame, gay, churchy loser” – I’m quoting her. Tony Abbott’s daughter for PM! And AM. 24/7! On every station. What do we want? Tony Abbott’s daughter. When do we want her? Whenever she’s mouthy.

I need to make it clear that despite persistent rumours, sadly, there’s nothing between Tony and me. Sure, we sat side by side on Q and A. Me in the Tony Sandwich. Abbott to the left of me, Jones to the right. There was a magic moment just before we went to air when Jones said to Abbott: “Just warning you, Tony – last time Catherine was on, John Elliot was sitting in your seat and when we walked off set, he pinched her bum and she smacked him across the head. Hello. Welcome to Q and A, I’m Tony Jones. Joining us on the panel this evening … ”


The frisson between Tony and me began when I called him a ”flappy-eared pope muncher”. And increased when I told him his white T-shirt under a white shirt made him look like a horny Mormon. The chemistry built when we were discussing abortion and I said: “Get your rosaries off my ovaries” and when he said: “Calm down, Catherine”, I replied: “Don’t tell me to calm down, you fire up.”

Is it hot in here or is it just me? It certainly isn’t global warming. Just ask Tony. The climate-change sceptic poster boy. In budgie smugglers. Not because it’s hot – because he’s hot. Don’t mind me while I lie back and think of the Vatican.

I love Tony Abbott. There. I’ve said it. And who wouldn’t? He’s a man who tells it like it is. In 1970. Not only does Big Tony believe in God, the monarchy, fault-based divorce and controlling women’s bodies (NOTE TO SELF: must ask him about guns, David Irving and Nostradamus), Big Tony also believes in The Tooth Fairy, Santa and Donald Trump’s hair.

But surprisingly denies the existence of Malcolm Turnbull.

Politics hasn’t been so invigorating since Mark Latham. Who knew the demise of the planet could be so entertaining? Or more specifically a white guy in a suit. The journalists’ faces when Big Tony came out after he’d been elected leader? The crowd went mild! Why would you want to lead the Liberal party? It’s like claiming ownership of a fart. Tony Abbott has done the impossible: made me feel sorry for a merchant banker.

Has he smoked dope? He gave it a red-hot go. But the inhale wasn’t successful. But he did, he revealed, have a lassi in India that was the ”house specialty” and it turned out to be hemp yoghurt. He was apparently ”away with the fairies” for a good 12 hours. I have a vision of him cleaning out a deep freeze with his tongue. Wearing a mitre. In the nude. While listening to the soundtrack of Jesus Christ Superstar.

Abbott is an early Christmas present for comedians and people  everywhere who don’t believe in science.

And he’s the gift that keeps on giving: amateur firefighter, ex-seminarian, lifeguard, mad monk, Lycra lout, Queen fancier, flirt and potty mouth. He’s part-man, part-ventriloquist dummy.

He may be a gay, lame, churchy loser. But he’s our lame, gay, churchy loser.

You know what? I’m voting Liberal in the next election if he’s still leader. And when I say leader, I mean patsy. Pump up the global warming and pass me a martini. I’m enjoying the show.




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