Has Prime Minister Scott Morrison given a hint as to his chances at the looming federal election? Can he see electoral defeat ahead? Is he almost human, after all?
For The Bug can reveal that Mr Morrison over the Xmas-New Year break has been penning a romance novel in the study at Kirribilli House on Sydney Harbour as he ponders a possible change in career following the expected poll in late-May.
The Bug is very privileged to have been handed extracts from Scott Morrison’s first attempt at fiction, a bodice-ripper very much in the Mills and Boon style.
So please enjoy this extract from….
The Widow of Warringah!
Marketing guru Morris Scotsman asked himself once more: “What on earth am I doing here?” as he strolled along the soft, fine sand of Manly Beach on Sydney’s North Shore and glanced across to the entrance of The Corso, thinking maybe he should rush straight back to where he belonged.
A true man of The Shire, he had woken up that morning, stretched his arms wide and let the soft sea breeze flow over his manly chest and gently kiss his nipples as he stood by the window of his Cronulla flat and looked pensively out on a sea becalmed by low tide.
He could give no logical explanation for why, after a quick breakfast, he grabbed a train into the city and then travelled from Circular Quay to Manly on the green-hulled and cream-decked MV Collaroy.
As he walked along that beach that morning, he smirked as he noticed the admiring glances, and not just from the ladies, mind, as he headed north, his Sharkies Tshirt hooked in a finger and trailing over his bulging right shoulder.
His beach walk had not started that pleasantly. Near the Manly Surf Livesaving Club, he had encountered a rather weird-looking man with jug ears and a strange facial feature of permanently twitching his lips and letting his tongue dart in an out like a galah drinking from an outback billabong.
From what Morris could take from their brief discussion, the man who aahed and uumed a lot might have been the lavatory attendant at the club and who was simply taking a break against the club’s southern wall.
Simple was a pretty good summing up, Morris thought as he broke off their conversation and moved north along the famous beach strip.
He most definitely had no desire to spend a penny with a hairy little man who seemed amused by everything he said and dressed only in a disgusting tight pair of red budgie smugglers.
As a brilliant marketing strategist, Morris smiled over such a funny description for Speedos and fancied he would have coined the phrase himself if it hadn’t been thought up earlier by some other clever chap.
As he continued his stroll – it was certainly not a race – north towards the sea baths, he mused on the fact that he had always preferred board shorts anyway.
He was a kind and considerate soul deep down and he saw no reason to embarrass other men by showing off what he had to offer in the meat and two veg department, and that rather amazing package moved effortlessly in sync with his powerful upper things as he walked slowly, keeping a keen eye out for discarded syringes and dog droppings.
He was well past the Hotel Steyne and was probably only half way along the line of Norfolk Island pine trees that fronted the beach on its western front when he first spotted her; a delicate slip of a thing sitting in the shade of the beach retaining wall. Here, clearly, was a damsel in distress.
Morris sauntered over and asked as gently as he could: “Are you okay, miss?”
His heart skipped a beat as the woman quickly wiped away a tear and looked up at him with her large brown eyes.
While she could not be described as anywhere near beautiful, there was something about her that made himself unconsciously press down on the front of his swimming trunks. He was stunned by the instant reaction from what lay under there. Budgie or sea eagle, something was ready to take flight!
Her eyes were far too close together and she had a nose that would challenge the largest of handkerchiefs but a certain je ne sais quoi about this odd little woman made him abandon all sense of probity and without asking he sat down beside her and instinctively clasped one of her delicate little hands in his right hand.
“There, there, dear, things can’t be all that bad.”
Morris was startled by his compassion for her as he was the kind of guy who had really taught himself not to care and he doesn’t that much.
She opened up to him quickly, but not in the way Morris wished she might and he hoped she hadn’t spotted the blush that broke out on his handsome, chiselled face at the carnal images of very bearded clams that flashed before him.
It turned out her name was Beris Gladjiklian, she was of Armenian descent so, no, she hadn’t forgotten to apply the correct SPF factor sun block, and the reason for her distress, explained through an occasional outburst of sobbing, was that she had thought of maybe moving to the Manly area but for reasons she couldn’t even begin to explain, the love affair with the area had dissipated quickly.
“I feel in some way like I’m the widow of Warringah,” she sobbed.
Morris suspects that to the day he dies, he will never understand what compelled him to do what he did next. He grabbed both of her hands in his and moved in close so their lips almost touched.
Beris gasped as she looked down at his bathers and suddenly realised the extent of his desire for her.
“I so badly want to take you,” Morris said softly, his voice choked with an animal passion he had never experienced before, one he was man enough to admit shocked him to his central, manly core.
“Oh, goody gumdrops,” Beris responded, her lovely brown eyes opening up even more if that was at all humanly possible.
“Where do you think we should go? I hear the Manly Aquarium is an absolute must see.”
To be continued.