Nothing significant to report from Thursday's 4am campaign conference call with the LNP brainstrust - the Premier, Slugger Seeney, Treasurer Timbo and me.
The Premier was upbeat.
He told us he'd continue his strategy of telling the media that if he were to lose Ashgrove (margin 5.7%) then the LNP would certainly and automatically lose government (required State-wide swing +10.5%).
'You can't argue the maths', he concluded.
Slugger Seeney immediately, and coincidentally, suffered what he would later describe as a hysterical coughing fit, that forced him to leave the call.
With the Deputy Premier gone, Timbo gently explored the Premier's strategy using words like 'bizarre', 'looney' and 'akin to burning both paddles before sailing your leaky canoe on raging Shit Creek'.
'Relax Timbo', the Premier said, 'Jarrod and I have been workshopping this for days'.
I wasn't able to tell if this had assuaged the Treasurer before he fell victim to the same sudden coughing ailment as Slugger and was unable to continue the call.
The Premier and I were left alone on the phone.
'That's certainly a nasty cough they have', the Premier said.
'Probably contagious', I replied.
'Not too much I hope', the Premier said, 'They'll miss the party for my crushing win over the Jones woman'.
'Quite', I said.
We exchanged small talk about Countessa Hardlinger and then I asked when he might pay a campaign visit to Ippy but, unfortunately, the connection became suddenly faulty - from his end at least - and he rang off.
Later, after lunch and a snooze, I took my CanDo signs into Ippy to wave at serfs and passing vehicles.
The experience had me thinking.
Until recently, I'd been in furious agreement with Treasurer Joe Hockey's statement that the 'poorest people either don't have cars or actually don't drive very far in many cases'.
It's logical. If you're scrapping shillings for tripe, how could you afford a Maserati Quattroporte?
However, today several hundred cars passed me that clearly contain poor people (or rich folk dressing down for a skid-row fancy dress party). I failed to spot a single Rolex, silk pocket square or $200 haircut.
So the poor do travel by car. At least in Ippy.
I remain shocked that they all insist on steering their own vehicles.Where are their drivers? A Maserati Quattroporte isn't complete without a gentleman named Basil chauffeuring you to Gina Reinhart's Summer Soiree, dispensing tall tumblers of Old Raj Gin at command.
Until next time.
Lord Lamington.
