Barnaby Joyce
Steve Braunias’ Secret Diary of ...
MONDAY
“Someone’s been asking questions about you,” said Turnbull.
“I’m the deputy prime minister of Australia and I couldn’t give a rat’s arse,” I said.
He said, “Is it true you actually hold New Zealand citizenship?” My blood ran cold. He said, “Because if it’s true then you’re going to have to resign, aren’t you, mate, and if you resign, that’s it for the government, isn’t it, mate?”
I told him I had urgent business and hurried to my office. I locked the door and put my head in my hands.
I thought back to the day when my daddy sat me on my knee.
He said, “Son, it’s time we had a little talk.”
I said, “Daddy, if it’s about the facts of life, I already know about rooting sheilas.”
He said, “No, son, it’s not about that. Let me ask you a question. Have you ever had the feeling you’re not who you think you are?” I said, “I don’t understand.” He said, “Let me put it this way. Do you like pavlova?”
I said, “Of course I do, daddy. It’s an icon of Australian baking.”
He sighed, and said, “Okay. Look. It’s time I told you where I’m from, son. It’s going to be important to you one day. Son, I was born in New Zealand. And that gives you New Zealand citizenship.”
My blood ran cold. Tears sprang from my eyes. I felt sick.
He held me in his arms and whispered in my ear, “Don’t ever tell anyone. Keep it secret. Guard it with your life. Promise me that, son. Promise.”
“I promise, daddy,” I said, and lay my head on his chest.
I remember he wore a black singlet.
TUESDAY
Turnbull said, “So it’s true. Doesn’t surprise me actually. I’ve always thought there was something fishy about you.” I said, “Something what?” “Fishy,” he said. “Well,” I said, “I’ve renounced my New Zealand citizenship.”
He said, “A bit late now, isn’t it, mate? How come you didn’t do that a long, long time ago?”
I said, “We’ve got to front foot this. We need to blame someone. We need an attack dog.”
Foreign affairs minister Julie Bishop kicked down the door, walked over, tipped me out of the chair, and knelt over me, stabbing her finger in my face.
“I’ve got it covered, you stupid Kiwi bastard,” she said.
I felt sick.
WEDNESDAY
Turnbull said, “Julie’s put the shits up the New Zealand Labour Party and it’s deflected a bit of attention from the crisis you’ve created for the great government of Australia.” I said, “I’m sorry, mate.” He said, “You’re a bloody Kiwi. Don’t call me ‘ mate’, mate.”
THURSDAY
I worked late and called in for takeaways on the way home. “Fish and chips please,” I said. The guy said, “What?” “Fish and chips.” “What?” “Something wrong with your hearing, mate? I said fish and chips. I want fish and chips. Give me some fish and chips.”
He turned to another customer, and said to him, “Listen to that bloody Kiwi ordering fush and chups. Classic.”
FRIDAY
Decided it was good to lay low, so I stayed home. I mucked around in the garage for a while and came across an old suitcase in the rafters. It had things in from my childhood.
There were toys, report cards, drawings I did as a boy. And then I found a kid- sized black singlet.
Tears sprang to my eyes.