King Bluey

Nigel Jackson (Letters, 12/6), you little bewdy! A true blue Aussie
monarch. What a ripper of an idea to save some trees and 20 years’
gasbagging. Now here’s what I reckon. We invite the nation to a game
of two-up on the lawns at Yarralumla. (Just don’t tell the cops. I’ll
bring the slab, you nip down to the butcher’s.) The winner gets the
crown, and an annual state-funded lott’ry ticket to pay the bills.
Then we all sing the royal anthem, “Up there, Cazaly”. After that we
wander up to the palace on the hill, where Little Johnny presents the
royal stubby and cricket bat. (He’d like that bit, wouldn’t he; and
it symbolises our British heritage too.)

A national Kelpie breeding program would provide a retinue for state
occasions, and the royal nippers can carry the pooper-scooper. And we
could follow the Danish naming tradition, where one of our own’s
already done us proud. So the firstborn heir will alternate between
Bluey (or Sheila) and Merv (or Mavis). Should be a royal hoot, eh mate?

“The Royal House of … ? … um … ?” Well all we need now is 20
million people to agree on where King Bluey lives.

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