ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact
Looking out at strip of cafes along the banks of Canberra’s Lake Ginninderra, one might be mistaken for thinking they’re in Paris.
The wind whispers over the water as it does down the Seine. Where the Notre Dame would sit, a Hungry Jacks does a roaring trade in the morning sun. A mocha with two handed to a hungover builder. A 14-year-old boy on a razor scooter calling you a fuckwit. This is Belconnen.
And this morning, Scott Morrison was walking the banks with his security detail in tow. He was walking in a blue suit because the vintage Sharks gear that his bloke advisor found for him on Depop, eBay and Etsy hadn’t arrived yet.
But his morning was interrupted, one witness said, because he overheard two women discussing a very personal topic.
They were sitting outside The Lighthouse Bar having a coffee, cigarette and a catch-up.
“Excuse me,” said our affable PM.
“I couldn’t help overhear you two discussing your vaginas. Which one of you has endometriosis?”
The women looked at each other then back to the Bigfella In Chief.
“I bet it’s you because you are pale, meaning you have an iron deficiency. In my experience, endometriosis can be effectively controlled with ibuprofen and perhaps a warm wheat bag if you’re not made of sterner stuff,”
“I’ve got advice that it’s not really that bad. So there you go. Now, would you girls like a photo with the Prime Minister?”
More to come.
