Triangles of Spangles

Perhaps it will work for you if I explain it, Pliny, I said.

Go on, he replied, but symbolism is of little use if it has to be explained.

Alright I won't then, I said.

No, go on. Why does the triangle of spangles represent political harmony?

Because it has three sides, equally balanced, I said.

You didn't say it was an equilateral triangle, said Pliny.

Well it was. Each side represents the players in the political drama that we are currently faced with, Labor, the Coalition, and the Independents and Greens.

That is four, said Pliny, reasonably. Or five if you split the Coalition.

Alright, I said. But you could think of them as three.

You could, agreed Pliny. It is interesting, he added, that a triangle of light was formed on the surface of the sea. Was there a triangular hole in the clouds?

No, isn't that just the way the sun shines on the sea? Spreading from a point on the horizon?

Of course not, said Pliny scornfully. It generally throws a straight path across the water from the horizon to the observer.

Oh, I said. Then it was more an omen than a symbol. Just like your baby whale! And you know what? Later on in the afternoon I saw a dolphin! I remember it clearly now.

Pliny sighed.

Pliny's Green Poem

Pliny the Elder has been cock-a-hoop since the election, having recently decided he was Green. This morning he showed me a poem he had written in honour of their great result on Saturday. This was it:

Viro Sum

Viro sum et felix
Factiones maiores frustrati
Balaena infanta hodie nata
Omen Virides admovent.
Bono anima estis!
Viridis unum in consilium plebi
Nunc in senatu
Novem

I got out my Latin dictionary and had a go at translating it:

I am Green

I am a happy Green
The major parties are stuffed
A baby whale was born today
A sign the Greens go forward
Be cheerful everyone!
There is now a Green in the House of Reps
And nine Greens in the Senate.

Oh! What a lovely poem! I like the bit about the baby whale.

Election Day Snaps

1. It is very cold outside the Korean Church at 8 o'clock in the morning. We arrange a few boards and posters. Christopher Pyne rocks up in his big election car. I don't think the Korean Church will like your poster on their railing, he says. Won't they? I say. No, he says making a scowly-Pyney face.

2. It is icy cold, and getting colder. I hop back and forth over a puddle to keep warm, and shuffle the How to Vote cards.

3. The Greens man greets everyone with: "Smile at the future?" An old lady says angrily: No way! Later he tries to hang his poster in a tree. It falls down. The sun comes out momentarily. He asks me if I want to borrow a hat. I say no thanks, even though I would like to see his hat.

4. A small boy is sobbing on the pillion of a parked motor bike. His mother addresses him loudly from the voting queue: I should have made it clearer, Darren. It's not time for the Museum yet. Darren's sobs become increasingly theatrical.

5. In the afternoon, we are at Surrey Downs. The Greens man there thinks that he knows me. Did your kids used to go to Irish Dancing lessons? he asks. No, I say, they didn't.

6. It is still freezing cold in the shade outside the polling booth. Round the corner, in the sun, four children are playing. One has a bike. Run us over! shout the other three. They stand with their legs apart and their arms wide open, pelvises thrust forward tauntingly, even the little sister in her short pink coat. The one on the bike rides towards them, but turns at the last minute. Chicken, says one of the boys.

7. Nina has left us sandwiches and a drink. The drink is Diet Blood Orange.

8. At the after party, in the Bowling Clubrooms at the Paddocks, it gets hotter and hotter. We watch the results on a screen. They show misleading sets of numbers and we can't hear what anyone's saying, but the local candidate seems to have won. Everyone claps. But he's on his phone. It's not looking good for Labor.

9. We probably have a hung parliament. Now I'm in bed, wondering whether today really happened.