Well, it’s been a difficult one. Theresa May barely kept her job, ugliness revisited the streets of Melbourne and a sweet new hairdo hit China.
What a bloodbath. This morning, Theresa May suffered the greatest defeat in registered history, as the parliament laughed off her Brexit deal. So, what happens now?
Well, Theresa May survived overnight’s leadership spill. However, I am worried that our national condition has now reached foreign shores. We’ve failed to contain it.
Last night, the European Court of Justice allowed the UK to kill off Brexit without penalty. Disappointingly, Theresa May’s titanic deck chair shuffling may see that deal expire.
This week was heavy with Brexit splitting the Tories, former Khmer Rouge leaders found guilty of genocide and a jilted bride dishing revenge while it was still hot. At least we got a laugh in at ScoMo…that’s something, right?
Yesterday, Theresa May told the UK that her Brexit deal had the backing of her own party. We now know that to be a patent fabrication. So, what happens now?
May’s Brexit deal has emerged from the fires of her own party, with Theresa believing that her way is the only way forward. God save our gracious et cetera.
The tearing down of a national icon, the birth of an international stereotype and a wave of hate battered the walls of #AusPol this week. But who won?
The internet is reeling from the image of Theresa May dancing in South Africa. However, it’s what the British do best. They breed their politicians to be awkward.
A rather loud invasion of a foreign, a continuation of behaviour and a psychic pig headline #Auspol’s nonsense this week. So, who won?
This morning, Brexit’s head negotiator resigned, leaving Theresa May alone in a storm of her making, clouding the future of her nation.
In the 2018 edition of Davos great wars were promised against inequality, plutocracy and the rise of the machines, we left with great hope. But can we really expect progress?
Hooley dooley, what a week. We’ve witnessed Trump burn bridges anew, marriage equality arrive on our doorstep, and a rather notable culinary scribe outed as a fraud.
It’s almost the weekend. Almost. Before you start counting the hours, you should know that love doesn’t exist, Theresa May should have stayed in bed, and jolly old Saint Nick vacays in Turk-ay.
In another fascinating insider insight, Lucy reports on Malcolm’s prime ministerial perambulations through the G20, the Palace and Paris, and finally ending up in the middle.
Over here in Britain, we’re reaching our Summer of discontent. In the weeks after Grenfell, the poor masses are rising against the establishment that burned them.
Jeremy Corbyn’s poetic verse at Glastonbury spoke of the grand possibilities, however, amidst all this hope, the truth is harsher: nothing has changed.
Frank Rarely, head of Fake News at our Canberra Bureau, flew to London for an exclusive post-election interview with Theresa May. Here’s the account of their cathartic conversation.
The cold facts of May, a pouring wave of misrepresented disrespect and the hope of all bald men differentiate this week from all the others.
What a hot mess. The figure walking home in last night’s shoes is Tuesday who got too drunk to deal with the death of Harold, John McCain and a song about Theresa May hitting the charts.
Think of it this way: it’s one less Monday you have to face. Overnight, the nation discovered the status quo in Canberra, Theresa May’s dipping popularity and the merit of watching someone buy $300 worth of fake plants.
May’s day will fall on June 8 this year, as she steers Britain through what is ostensibly the Brexit election. But if one thinks that mother will be generous, well…