THE DAY PARLIAMENT BANNED ORANGE I have received a lot of texts and calls from people eager to know how things went at yesterday’s Parliamentary debate, and I’d love to be able to respond informatively to these very understandable inquiries. Alas, I cannot. Oh I arrived at the allotted time alright...even a little early, but when I tried to get through security I was stopped by a fresh-faced policeman who advised me that I would not be admitted unless I removed my shirt and gave it into his custody. I kid you not! How he came to know I was wearing a blaze t-shirt under my jumper was interesting in itself. I had watched a number of familiar faces pass through security relatively unaccosted, perhaps because the moment I entered the dog-box each of the hounds therein began to look knowingly at each-other in that very subtle, barely perceptible way that policeman everywhere don’t. I knew I’d been made even before I’d emptied the first handful of fluff-festooned coins from my jeans’ pocket into the tray and sent it on its merry way through the irradiation chamber. As I passed through the Arc de Beep the head Tinkerbelle approached me with his magic wand extended and asked me to adopt the crucifixion position. The moment I did, he waved it over my groin and used its tip (the wand’s, not my groin’s) to lift the bottom of my polo-neck jumper, revealing the blaze T-shirt beneath. Taking two steps back as though he’d just caught sight of a detonator strapped to my waist, Tinkerbelle asked me what my purpose in wearing the T-shirt was. I nearly replied, “Well traditionally, so you can wear the jumper above more than once before you have to wash it”, but like George Washington I could not tell a lie. Nor did I seek to share the truth in any detail. I simply asked why he inquired. He advised me that “they” had been tipped-off that there was to be a demonstration at Parliament today, and that orange was the symbol of, and signal to action. I advised that I had no intention whatsoever of engaging in any form of “demonstration”. Rather, I was headed to the public gallery to watch/listen to a debate and therefore surely the colour of my clothing was irrelevant. To cut a long story short, I was given only two options 1. Remove the shirt and give it into his custody for the duration of my visit, or 2. Bugger-off. By this time it was becoming clear that they did not want me, in particular, to attend the debate. They were looking ‘agitated’ in that special way policeman in the moments before someone is massaged about the head in a friendly manner before accidentally hurling himself down three flights of stairs. Under the circumstances I thought it better to leave the premises to avoid the fuss that would doubtless ensue and find its way into the Fairfax press quicker than you can say “Hunters attack police at Parliament House”. Discretion is the better part of valour! It was a good call. Even after I’d retired to the restaurant across the road, security only had eyes for me, and those eyes turned to me seemingly as one, shortly after the security guards walking the veranda and the courtyard heaved their collective heads to a shoulder to listen to the latest alert from Orange Detection Command. Maybe it was for the best as shortly after this interlude my phone rang with news that my old mum had taken a turn for the worse back home, and I would spend the rest of the afternoon hassling REX in the hope of finding a last minute cancellation on the only flight home on Thursday evening. It wasn’t to be. So there, dear reader, you have it. I am as much in the dark about how the day went as everyone else. But if we did manage to fill around half the seats in the public gallery, as posts I’ve read on facebook have suggested, I’d call the day a success. Never will the antis be able to report that the “rafters were packed” with the petition’s supporters, because we will be able to report that it was at least equally packed with the petition’s strident opposition.
Posted on: Fri, 23 Aug 2013 10:17:27 +0000
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