DEAR Leader, lovely to see you fronting the cameras the other day announcing our renewable energy target and proclaiming that the pack was in sight: “We’re pulling our weight,” you said, “we really are!”
Real leadership, mate; I reckon I was nearly as proud as the Pope. Now I don’t want to be a killjoy or anything, but fair dinkum, it’s not enough! We’ve got to get off the Black Ice, mate, altogether mate, it’s going to kill us.
I know your addiction’s pretty serious and Boohoo’s habit is cataclysmic and that being a front-line dealer seems a cool route to Croesus but it’s short termism, mate, and we’ve got to get off it before the world falls on us.
I reckon even the Pope could get scotty if we keep on. Rehab’s not a barrel of laughs, mate, but we’ll all be in it with you and it’s not as if we haven’t got anything to go with.
I mean for nearly 15 hours a day even in winter we’ve got daylight somewhere in OZ and we know the solar fix: about 15 years ago we were leading the pack in research. The peloton’s still in sight, mate, we can catch it.
Again, we’ve got wires all over the place; we can send a hit everywhere it currently goes, no Black Ice involved. Cause Tassie’s a bit harder but they’re pretty well set up anyway. And don’t forget the wind, mate, blowing a treat somewhere in OZ day and night.
I know you and Boohoo have got a snout on windmills, but mate, the Dutch have lived with them for years and no effect; the milkmaids have stayed beautiful, the clogs have lasted and the cows even grin as you walk past. Then again, in Europe they’ve got power stations driven by tides; I was at St. Malo a while back and one was humming silently away; you couldn’t even see it!
So we’re in a good spot to get off the Black Ice, mate, and anyway the market’s drying up: the Indians are putting panels on Aunty’s cook shack and even the Chinese are headed that way at a canter.
So I reckon we can do it mate; the kids and grandkids’ll love you for it. After you get off the dealing game you’ll see a clean new world and maybe even get to go to France yourself. I reckon you might score an audience with the Pope and maybe even a cuddle with Pelly.
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