Welcome to 2020

Welcome to 2020, our first show in the first year of a new decade. Thank you for coming tonight, and if you’re not coming, at least some of you are breathing heavy.

I’ll be honest with you folks. The news has not been good these last few weeks.

About the only good thing i can tell you is that Scott Morrison is not here in Tasmania. He’s had the good sense to stay the fuck away. Scott is not in the house tonight.

That’s what passes for good news tonight.

And the other bit of good news is that Harry and Meghan have also decided to stay the fuck away. Not from us….

From Buckingham house. I don’t know about you, but this was always going to be tough gig for harry, the number two, smarter son, and his American partner.

From the beginning, it was tough. Even when our favourite red-head went off to buck house to tell the queen he was marrying Meghan… that must have been tough.

“Grandma…. I’ve met a girl, and we’re thinking of getting married.”

It’s the sort of thing every grandma wants to hear, right? Great news, Harry, tell me about her…

“Well, she’s American,” he told betty. “Oh, that’s alright Harry, we’ve forgiven them for the war of independence and all that.”

“Well, thank you. I’ve also gotta tell you, she’s black,” he told the queen. ‘“That’s fine, harry,” she said. “I’m told we have a lot of black people in the family that is the Commonwealth,” she said.

(That’s how the queen talks, you know.)

“She’s really switched on, grandma,” said Harry. “New ideas, fresh thinking. What young people call Woke.”

That’s great news, Harry, said Betty. “great news. We really need to move with the times, can’t have people thinking Buckingham palace is no longer relevant, out of date ideas and prejudices ….

“Thank you grandma,” said Harry, “I’ve also got to tell you she’s been married and divorced,” said harry.

“Oh Harry, we here in the royal family…. We’ve known a lot of marriages and divorces. It’s just not an issue, Harry,” she said in that sensible, grandma voice.

“I’m glad you feel that way,” said Harry. “I’m so happy you don’t see any problems with this whole marriage thing. Just one more thing, grandma, said harry. She’s an actress.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake Harry. Couldn’t you just find a nice English girl?”

(Because that’s how the queen talks.)

So Harry and Meghan are buggering off somewhere else with their baby, Archie.

And you gotta know, people, life takes a really interesting turn when you become a parent. Let me explain.

That first child is special, like fine china. You’re so careful, you wouldn’t want to drop it. It would break.

You carry it from room to room. Anybody else wants to hold it and they have to sign an agreement in triplicate and explain how they have held a baby before and how many times.

You know to cradle its head? No, like this. Like this!

You know the conversation.

Now, your second child is different. Your second child is not like fine china, it’s like the plates you use everyday. A chip here and a crack there, no problem.

Your third child is tupperware. You can even leave it at the neighbours house for a couple of weeks no problem at all.

Fourth child is paper plates. You really don’t give a bugger anymore.

Yeah, yeah. I can see the blood. It’s not that bad, really. Look, look, stop crying. Step out of the way of the TV, please.

I’ll take you down to the emergency room right after hawthorn has kicked this goal. Please stop crying, I can’t hear the…

Fuck. Okay, if Hawthorn can get back in the third quarter, then we’ll get down to the emergency room. Okay?

You’re good? Good! And could you just stand over there on the tile, so the blood goes on the... not the carpet. Your mother’s going to be really pissed if there’s your blood on her carpet.

Move, move, move. Now, what’s the score here?

Relationships with your kids, they just change.

When they’re babies, there are moments of such joy, of terror, of wonder, of flat-out disappointment and out-loud laughter.

Every day renders another episode, a story to be told later, preferably when they have brought home a potential mate and you’ve now got the opportunity to tell stories about what little horrors they were as children.

In my case, the story’s about a best-linen-and-candles dinner party table under which mister trainee quietly dragged his potty and proceeded to fill it.

And few parents will deny flirting with the half-baked but fully justified notion their funny-looking-crying-smelly-plain dumb child should be returned to its place of birth on the grounds there’s clearly been some kind of mix-up.

The problem with children is that they are cute.

They start by being cute and smart.

(In my case, the story’s about a best-linen-and-candles dinner party table under which mister trainee quietly dragged his potty and proceeded to fill it.)

And few parents will deny flirting with the half-baked but fully justified notion their funny-looking-crying-smelly-plain dumb child should be returned to its place of birth on the grounds there’s clearly been some kind of mix-up.hey look like you, that is to say good looking.

And as I’m being honest, there are times when I’ve used that cute kid as chick bait. Let me explain.

Women are attracted to small children, other people’s children. They can’t help themselves. Oh, isn’t that a lovely child. Maybe they’re saying I wish my children were cute like that instead of the little monsters they are.

But they are drawn to other people’s children.

And as I said, I’ve used my own children as bait.

Here’s what I want to hear. That is a beautiful child. Well, thank you. He’s smart as well as good looking.

What you’re actually saying is this: Look, I can make you one, this smart and this good looking. Do you have a few minutes?

Now, I have had this response. Well, sure. Could we maybe dinner first, you know…

Really? I just don’t have that kind of time. For Christ’s sake, I’ve got children to look after.

Anyway, your children will soon become teenagers. From cute kids who like reading and cooperating and being nice to their brothers and sisters and doing what their parents ask…

To becoming teenagers…

That interval—from sweet kid to sour, spitting savage—has shrunk. By my estimate, and that’s surveying my four children, it’s now 3.25 nanoseconds.

Little shitheads.

What to expect? here’s their school grades. The best you can hope for is a b average.

Bad hair, bad skin, bad grammar, bad language, bad taste in music, baggy pants. There’s your b average.

You’re talking to someone with experience here. I gotta tell you, by the time number four was in primary school, i was ready.

“How old are you Jon?” I said.

“9 dad.”

“9. A good age. Here’s your birthday present, son.”

“It’s your own Medicare card.”

“Well, thank you dad.”

“Here’s your other birthday present.”

“Oh great, a new bike.”

“Yes dad.”

“Good. Put the Medicare card in your pocket.”

“Get it? Got it? Good.”

“Now get on the bike.”

“And go! Hop it. Keep going. Don’t stop!”

(You gotta say that loud, so they can hear you clearly.)

“Get a job son. Get married. Come back when your kids are out of nappies.”

“And honestly, you’ve kind of got to shout that last part out, you have to.”

“They might be nine years old and have good hearing, but theyre getting a long way away now.”

And if you have any doubts, any doubts whatsoever, you can console yourself with this thought. They were going to leave home at some point anyway.

It was always just a matter of when.

Nine years old is old enough to make their way in the world. Just saying.

Don’t forget to wave.

What parents want more than anything is for their progeny to grasp some great truths of life, including the one that they are unalterably and without doubt, your child.

One of those moments is when they hear your voice, your words and even the way you say it—dammit!—coming out of their own mouths.

Eventually—your children—become parents themselves, the same unwitting creatures that you were once.

When they bring their childen, cute little tikes around for some babysitting, this is a great moment.

Don’t think of it as your kids being too cheap to leave them with a real babysitter, with actual, trained and paid child wranglers.

Think of it as an opportunity, for getting to know, for bridging generations.

Or think like me. Its an opportunity for retribution.

By the time five o’clock rolls around and the parents are coming to pick her up, sweet little grand-daughter Tiffany has enjoyed lollies and red cordial.

She’s had her first can of Coca Cola—the real thing with 9 and a half spoons full of sugar in it—and all the ice-cream she can eat. It’s the ice cream with real coffee in it.

She’s now so chemically infused she’s bouncing off walls, so wired your border collie can no longer keep up.

I hand this twitching, quivering wild-eyed baby back to her doting parents. “There you go,” I say. “That’s for what you did to your mother and me on your seventeenth birthday.

Little shithead.

Come back same time next week. They are selling puppies down at the shopping centre. Her birthday is what, in three weeks? Brilliant. This couldn’t have worked out better.

You’ve got to say that last bit real loud so they can hear you as they wobble off down the street.