It was the final House of Representatives question time of the final day of the 45th parliament, and the atmosphere was mildly unhinged.
The Liberal MP Trent Zimmerman paused, at one point, mid-Dorothy Dixer, to report he was being “molested by the member for Leichhardt”. As the chamber absorbed this unexpected oversharing, Zimmerman speculated that Warren Entsch, the accused, had “turned after he saw the photos of the treasurer this morning”.
These were pictures Josh Frydenberg had distributed of his younger self, shirtless, sporting a mullet, with a few tennis racquets supplying some necessary modesty.
Don’t worry. You really don’t need to know.
As question time crawled on, Scott Morrison was again forced to defend Melissa Price, the hapless environment minister he appointed in extreme haste after the still inexplicable frenzy of putting Malcom Turnbull to the sword, and the torching of Turnbull’s signature energy policy that might have helped their collective electoral prospects over the coming campaign.
The last prime ministerial act of mopping up after Price – who seems too disoriented to locate the source of her own foolishness, so the foolishness keeps brimming, like a woodland spring – seemed a nice sort of symmetry.
As the clock ticked, relentless, towards 3pm, there was a surfeit of oversized laughter in the chamber, and it was impossible to tell whether the guffaws spoke to relief or pure delirium. This parliament has felt to all who inhabit it like the longest, grimmest siege, and no one knows for sure what’s coming next – but whatever it is, whatever the ultimate electoral landing point in May, at least it won’t be this.
At the conclusion of the session, the retiring Christopher Pyne rose to his feet, with his thespian’s flourish, timing his valedictory to coincide with maximum attendance in the House. Given the weight of recent history ebbing over the course of the afternoon, like helium hissing from a puncture in a novelty balloon, some of the reactions to Christopher’s last hurrah could have been predicted.
Julie Bishop stood and left the chamber. Doubtless she has somewhere to be, she’s a busy woman – but Pyne also cost her the Liberal leadership last August by throwing his numbers behind Morrison. Bishop, who has spent a whole career smiling at ambitious male careerists intent on pushing her over on the travellator, has recently lost the patience for it.
Tony Abbott, who had been close to Pyne right up until he wasn’t – when Pyne determined in 2015 that Turnbull should be leader and Abbott should find some new hobbies – looked determinedly at the heavens on a couple of occasions during Christopher’s final flourish at the dispatch box, summoning fortitude, or grace, or perhaps a large fiery object from the sky hurtling down at speed.
Pyne approached his responsibility to close the tragicomedy of the term with what you might call his core competencies: panache, and an absence of false modesty. There was also a wave of emotion that took some time to build, and then break.
Pyne professed himself, like Anthony Albanese, “a team man”, noting he was on the team “that is the election-winning machine” – one of his go-to aphorisms.
With a sparkle in the eye and the tongue planted firmly in cheek, Pyne reported he was the beneficiary of a fortunate life. “I do not have a log cabin story like so many people in this place but I once had to get my own lemon for my own gin and tonic,” he said, prompting Morrison, sitting beside him, to clutch his head in disbelief.
Pyne said he was leaving his natural habitat, and his “fellow species”. Parliamentary life “brings out the best of us and the worst in us”, he noted.
“I’ve seen some truly dreadful people come through here over the last quarter of a century, Mr Speaker. But I’ve seen many more outstanding people, Mr Speaker, including my current colleagues.
“Something drives us all to get here, in most cases a fierce competition internally within our own parties and then within the campaign. But we are driven on, nonetheless because my friends we know that each one of us that to get the chance to influence the society in which we live, to make a difference in the lives of our fellow citizens is worth the sacrifices.”
With chin aloft, Pyne declared to be part of politics is to be part of history “and no one can take that away from anyone of us”. He said politics was about “good governments doing their best”.
Pyne relished the opportunity “to attend great deeds in the one forum in our democracy allows every Australians the chance to do so – the House of Representatives”. Reaching the end of the moment in the spotlight, and the parliamentary career, and the end of the 45th parliament, Pyne, wrestling manfully with his inner human, flushed with the effort of restraining his emotion.
“Thank you. Goodbye, good luck.”
