I was raised in a household where unionism and the Labor Party was a part of the everyday conversation, so I have always found politics exciting.
For me, elections are like Christmas. The build-up. The campaigning. The gaudy decoration of candidate posters decking out telegraph poles. Carolling of election slogans and songs. The chance to sit on a politician's lap at a local supermarket and whisper my wishes in their ear. (“I would like a reduction in the fuel levy, please.”)
And it all climaxes on election night.
Oh, the tally room! It is like Santa's Workshop. Little Michael Kroger and Graeme Richardson elves breathlessly unwrapping each electoral booth. The grins on the faces of the MP's who win their seats are like kids who got that Malvern Star Dragster, while the losers try and look upbeat over the socks and handkerchiefs the voters have handed them. The pulling of crackers and donning of festive hats as first the concession speech and then the victory speech is made.
All the while, I lay bloated on the lounge, massaging a full belly as I contemplate what the next three years will offer me.
Except in the 2013 campaign it is different. This year Santa isn't listening to me!
I really don't understand why. I am white, middle class and in my forties. I live in a working class electorate that is up for grabs by either main party. I drive an Australian car. (Admittedly, it is a Ford and not the almost compulsory Holden Commodore.) I spend almost my entire income on goods and services. I like a beer. I own a dog. I have three children only because the wife and I weren't sure how you could only have 2.3. I am prepared to take up smoking. I'll even leave milk and fruitcake out for Kevin and Tony on Election Eve.
My wish list is quite simple. A humanitarian approach to asylum seekers that is a regional solution. Equality for all Australians. A fair and equitable taxation system. Universal healthcare. A fast and reliable broadband network that won't break the budget and won't need replacing in the near future. A pair of size 13 massage sandals and maybe a larger belt - my one seems to have shrunk this year.
Like it or not, this election has seen good policy thrown out as two personalities battle for our attention.
In one corner we have a man who we are unsure of because we didn't get to see his full repertoire when he was Prime Minister the last time around. We had doubts he was heading in the right direction but others made the decision for us to end his journey prematurely. Now he is back and trying to convince us he has a new way for our nation.
So far, the new way so far seems to be not the other guy.
In the opposite corner we have the other guy. A man many of us are so uncertain of it bas begun to manifest itself as a real fear. Others hail him as the answer. The fact that no-one has yet worked out what the question is seems to be unimportant.
But he has a phamplet and that is a good thing, right?
The usual election pork barreling is happening but it is accompanied by a chest beating to make sure we are aware of the differences between each man.
“Here, have $10 million for a footy stadium upgrade because I am a manly man and my opponent is a weakling.”
“You there, take my NBN because my opponent is a luddite.“
Stuck in the middle are the voters, who are are left to choose sides not based on policy but on tribal instincts.
No matter who wins, Australia will be left divided by this election more than ever.
It would seem we are all on the naughty list.
Stephen Callaghan is a garbo from the central coast.
