Last Saturday, the fair garden which is the Australian electorate turned on its chief gardener. After eleven and a half years, he was energetically weeded out. A fair amount of force was applied to the seat of his pants, and he was last seen flying inelegantly over the white picket fence. The garden itself has become noticeably Greener.
The shattered assistant gardeners have taken their forks and trowels and left. There is a faint sound of argument coming from beyond the fence line. Some of us are peeping over the fence in the hope of seeing some fisticuffs on the footpath.
The new head gardener seems to have a gentler, more collaborative yet more practical style. The old fellow had become preoccupied with theory and with how much the place was worth, rather than in having a garden that was actually nice to live and work in.
Best of all, the dog-whistle has gone. The problem is that it attracted dogs, and we all know what they leave behind in a garden.
There is a sense of expectation, of possibility... it feels like Spring.