Rule 1: Get used to red. Outside of hell, nowhere has as much red as the Senate chamber. It looks like the work of the world’s laziest interior decorator. If it proves anything, it’s that sending the apprentice down to the shops to pick out a left-handed hammer can seriously backfire. The carpet is red. The walls are red. Even the desks are pretty much red. But here’s a tip – if you’re a little on the shy side and don’t want your ugly mug to appear on the news, wear red. It’ll be like you’re not even there. Granted, you’ll need to wear a red veil too, lest you should simply appear on screen as a discombobulated, floating cranium.
Rule 1: Get used to red. Outside of hell, nowhere has as much red as the Senate chamber. It looks like the work of the world’s laziest interior decorator. If it proves anything, it’s that sending the apprentice down to the shops to pick out a left-handed hammer can seriously backfire. The carpet is red. The walls are red. Even the desks are pretty much red. But here’s a tip – if you’re a little on the shy side and don’t want your ugly mug to appear on the news, wear red. It’ll be like you’re not even there. Granted, you’ll need to wear a red veil too, lest you should simply appear on screen as a discombobulated, floating cranium.
Rule 2: The person sitting in the big chair should always be addressed as ‘President’. To put this into a party-specific perspective, no matter how great the temptation do not refer to him or her as ‘Comrade’ (ALP), ‘Your Majesty’ (Liberal), ‘Maaate’ (Nationals), ‘Imperialist Warmongering Swine’ (the Greens), ‘Gary’ (the Palmer United Party) and especially not, under any circumstances, as ‘Dude’ (Motoring Enthusiasts Party). It should always be as ‘President’. Not even ‘El Presidente’ is good enough. It may seem unnatural at first but, within the first three years of your six-year term, it’ll slip off the tongue with ease.
Rule 3: The front of the building is strictly a loading and unloading zone. Don’t even bother trying to park there. Seriously. It may look like there’s plenty of room, but don’t be fooled. For some of you, this might be your first company car and you might be desperate for others to notice that you have one, but the big space out the front is solely for dropping off and picking up. If you do decide to throw caution to the wind and take the spot right at the door, not only are you inviting trouble from the most ferocious set of wheel clamps this side of Lake Burley-Griffin, your car may be detonated in a controlled explosion for security reasons and to teach you a lesson.
Rule 4: ‘House of Cards’ is not an instructional video. If you’re new to politics, don’t believe everything you’ve seen on TV. That includes broadcasts of ICAC proceedings. Politicians are not scheming, conniving manipulators and, no matter what Kevin Spacey may have led you to believe, are not motivated purely by self interest. It’s not about betrayal and bloodshed. By all means, enjoy House of Cards as a piece of light-hearted entertainment but there are plenty of real instructional videos that Senators can borrow from the Parliamentary library if they wish. If you do feel the need for some tutoring on how to go about your duties, we’ve received favourable reports from members concerning ‘Game of Thrones’. You’ll find it in the ‘self-help’ section. If you prefer to do things the old fashioned way, Machiavelli’s ‘The Prince’ is also quite popular and is located on the ‘DIY’ shelf. With a little study and application, you’ll be working the room like the professional you, technically speaking, now are.
Rule 5: Get used to spending lots of time with people you’ve just insulted. Politics is a funny thing. One moment you’re sticking the boots into your political opponent as if he was a human Sherrin and you were trying to slot one through the goal posts from fifty metres out; next, you’re sitting next to each other in a plane or stuck on the same committee for six months. If you refer to another member of the Senate or, indeed, the Parliament, as a demented psychopath whose polices make the regime in North Korea look a little on the timid side, that’s the person you’re going to get stuck in the elevator with. When trapped in such an awkward moment, simply hold your mobile phone to you ear and have a pretend conversation. We all do it.
Rule 6: Get used to being away from home. You may be representing Victoria or Queensland or even one of the Territories, but prepare yourself to spend a lot less time there and whole lot more time here where the mornings are cold, people get excited about hamburgers available from a caravan and the local newspaper features a story about bizarre public servant workers’ compensation claims pretty much every day.
Rule 7: Most rumours are exactly that, rumours. Despite what you may have heard, at 8pm on Wednesdays we do not dim the lights and pump up the tunes with the wheels of steel to turn the Chamber into a giant disco. That’s strictly Tuesdays only. Wednesdays are potluck. Make sure you pack a casserole dish and bear in mind that the dietary restrictions of the various Senators are published on the intranet. If any of you are wheat intolerant, celiac or, God forbid, vegetarian, speak now or forever hold your peace because on Fridays we do Charcoal Chicken for lunch. As for other things you may have heard, there is not a bomb shelter under Old Parliament House. The bomb shelter is under the front lawn. Should the unthinkable happen and the need arise, the code word for entry is ‘bacon’.
Rule 8: Quota / schmota. It doesn’t matter if you romped it in or have arrived with a half percent mandate courtesy of a preference deal that makes quantum physics look like a game for simpletons, you’ve got a job to do. Best of luck.