It was believed by many that the reign of the evil witch-queen, Gillard, would be short-lived.
Hopes in this regard, however, were roundly dashed when the bitch escaped from the chaff bag and swam ashore.
Now, understandably, the peasants are revolting and demanding a new election or at least the reversal of the plan to introduce the dreaded big new gigantic CARBON TAX! BOO! HISS!
And so, the revolting people are making their voices heard by getting together a mighty Convoy that will descend upon Canberra from all parts of the realm. It is THE CONVOY OF NO CONFIDENCE!
But, keen to strengthen their forces by seeking allies overseas, the revolting people have asked Cardinal Pell to put out some feelers in his networks. So, to help his friend Tony Abbott, the Cardinal, at a meeting of bishops in Rome, mentions the Convoy idea to that celebrated Irish Episcopal figure, Bishop Brennan. Yes, that Bishop Brennan. The one unfortunate enough to have the parish of Craggy Island in his diocese, with its misfit clerical cast of Frs Ted, Dougal and Jack, plus their loopy housekeeper, Mrs Doyle.
Fans of the quirky comedy will remember that Ted made a big mistake when he agreed to take up the dare of his great rival, Fr Dick Byrne, parish priest of the adjacent “Rugged Island”, to kick Bishop Brennan up the arse. Ever since then, Ted has schemed to get his own back on Dick, but to no avail. For Bishop Brennan, however, the ignominy of getting his arse kicked by a nincompoop such as Fr Ted was the last straw in what he regarded as a campaign of insubordination against his Episcopal authority. The bishop is now determined to get a bit of peace and quiet for a while. He readily volunteers to Cardinal Pell the shonky services of the three wacko Craggy Island priests, emphasising that they are Ireland’s version of the Tea Party and will even bring their own milk-float to join the Convey. Once George hears mention of Tea Party, he’s sold, and agrees immediately to the three wild colonial boys, and even wilder girl, to be transported forthwith. Click the link to see the YouTube clip of Father Ted – Dougal becomes a milkman http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UPjdhVJeJhI&feature=related
Oh, and by the way readers, the local council on Craggy Island had recently brought in a carbon tax, which bankrupted the whole island’s economy, including the dairy where the late Pat Mustard worked. However, this didn’t worry Fr Jack, as he now had an excuse for pouring Guinness on his cornflakes. So, in a fire-sale, Ted bought a float that Pat himself used to drive, and this is the one they are bringing to Australia with them.
In due course, the Irish Tea Party boards the plane in Dublin, having supervised the loading of the milk-float into the hold of the aircraft. They are no sooner on board, however, when Fr Jack gets up to his usual antics and shouts, “GIRLS!” and “ARSE!”, every time he sees a hostess. And his additional constant refrain of “DRINK!” has them walked off their feet between the galley and his seat in cattle class. Initially he is a bit of a novelty but this soon wears off. By the time the plane is crossing the English Channel, the staff are hiding in the galley, wary of countenancing any further meetings with the inebriated cleric.
And, by the time the plane is nearing Sydney and flying very low, the cabin staff is at their wits end. A deputation has gone to the captain and he orders Jack to be clapped in irons. Then, back in the galley they discuss who will be allocated the death-defying task of getting close enough to Jack to get the hand-cuffs on him. Fortunately for Jack, however, Mrs Doyle had gone up to the galley again to get some more tea to serve to the passengers. She listens outside and sneaks back to warn Jack of his impending arrest.
Jack, however, has had experience of escaping from planes before. He moves to the back and finds two parachutes, one of which he puts on himself and the other on the newly-filled drinks trolley. He opens the emergency door, pushes out the trolley and leaps after it. Not long afterwards, Fr Jack’s description is being circulated across all police stations in the greater Sydney area. He is a wanted man.
Eventually, having disembarked into the chilly Australian winter air, Frs Ted and Dougal and Mrs Doyle set off at four miles per hour in their milk-float to join the Convoy, which is being led by Tony Abbott, somewhere to the south-west of Sydney. In regards to Fr Jack’s fate, however, Ted is rather philosophical. Dougal, in contrast, fears the worst.
Dougal: Ted! Do you think Fr Jack is in heaven, workin’ as a taster in the big brewery they have up there...or is he in hell, gettin’ bossed around by a load of nuns night and day?
Ted: Oh, I don’t think he’s in either of those two places, Dougal...In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if we see his jolly face coming towards us as we drive along these picturesque Australian streets...
[Then, a few moments later, and speaking of the devil, they hear plaintive cries coming from the leafy branches of a tree close-by. They look up, and there is Fr Jack, still in his parachute harness, swinging, déjà-vu-style, from one of the higher branches, trying futilely to get his grasping hands on the drinks trolley. They cut him down, give him a bottle of whiskey and hide him under the milk-float’s tarp, in case the cops see him.
A few kilometres down the road, parked in an off-road lay-by, the Irish Tea Party finally clamp their eyes on the Revolting People’s Convoy. And what a motley crew they appear to be. As mentioned, their leader has, in typical convoy-speak, dubbed himself, “Rubber Duck” Tony. His mode of transport is a steam locomotive. “Have you ever seen a wind-powered train?” he rhetorically asks his co-revolters. He plans to stoke his engine with copious amounts of coal, just to prove his point.
Following Tones, and again adopting one of those strange convoy “handles” (nicknames) is Barnaby “Creek in the Neck” Joyce, who is driving a brand-new four-wheel-drive, supplied courtesy of the very taxes he purports to hate.
Then comes Joe “Pig-out” Hockey in his pie-van, followed by Lord “Monkey Nuts” Monckton who, in keeping with his aristocratic pedigree, is driving the Australian State Coach.
And just ahead of the Irish Tea Party comes some other international guests – two Mormons on their push-bikes, who want to “bring Jesus back into Canberra!” They are busily swigging from their bottle of Everlasting Life Elixir, which serves the dual purpose of keeping their teeth perennially white and sparkling and ensuring their hair maintains its crew-cut style, which means they never have to visit the barbers.
And last, bringing up the rear, or “raking the leaves” in truckie-talk, is the Irish Tea Party in their milk-float.
So, everyone is champing at the bit to get the Convoy started and push on with the campaign to liberate Canberra from the evil lefties. However, a serious snag occurs which puts the leader, Rubber Ducky Tony out of the running. It seems that he had boasted to the local coal-merchant, a bit of a shyster as it turns out, that carbon is invisible. Realising then that there is indeed one born every minute, the coal merchant proceeded to sell to Rubber Ducky, 50 empty bags of coal. So, his steam engine is going nowhere.
Now, it’s over to Barnaby “Creek in the Neck” to step up to the plate and take over the leadership of the Convoy. However, in a misguided attempt to milk even further his celebrity status after writing off his taxpayer-provided four-wheel-drive earlier in the year in a swollen Queensland creek, Barnaby pulls another one of his stunts by rocking up wearing scuba gear. Unfortunately for him, it was a double stunt, as Creek in the Neck, in an attempt to prove that CO2 is harmless, had his tank filled with the stuff and had been busily sucking on it for the benefit of any media types who were around. By this stage, he is completely gaga and totally incapable of even leading a thirsty horse to drink at a swollen creek, never mind commanding the CONVOY OF NO CONFIDENCE. So, ominously, the Convoy hasn’t moved an inch, and its two leading lights have both succumbed to hubris.
However, never one to miss an opportunity to big-note himself, Joe “Pig-out” Hockey takes control and his pie-van starts to lead the others out onto the highway. Moreover, to help with communication between the members of the Convoy, they have all been issued with a CB radio.]
Pig-out: Okay, good buddies...let’s drop the hammer down...and don’t forget to keep your eyes peeled for Gillard’s bears who are goin’ to be on the lookout for us...And if I spot any haemorrhoids with a polaroid up ahead, I’ll slow down so we don’t get a great big new speeding ticket from those rotten Carbon Cops...And don’t bumper sticker each other, good buddies, or we’ll have a fender bender...do y’all Julie?
[Incidentally readers, in Australian truckie-speak, they say, “do you Julie”, instead of, “do you copy?”
Fr Dougal, meanwhile, who is the Irish Tea Party’s designated milk-float driver, is going along at the break-neck speed of four miles an hour. However, after listening to Pig-out’s truckie vernacular on the CB radio, he is totally perplexed.]
Dougal: Ted! What’s he sayin’? I think he’s mad!
Ted: I agree, Dougal...you’d think we were in a foreign country, so you would...
[However, having to listen to Pig-out’s gibberish on the CB radio is the least of the worries being experienced by the Irish Tea Party. Mrs Doyle is weeping and wailing because the milk-float reminds her of her sadly-departed ex-lover, the randy milkman of Craggy Island, Pat Mustard. And Fr Jack has already drunk his bottle of whiskey and is vociferously shouting “Arse” and “Feck” at every passer-by. Also, Pig-out, in the faster vehicle, has stormed ahead and has left everyone else behind.
Eventually, however, the remaining participants in the Convoy – the milk-float, the Mormon cyclists, Monkey Nut’s State Coach and an assortment of other Revolting People in their camper-vans – notice that Pig-out has pulled into a lay-by up ahead. They follow in behind him, alight, and walk over to the van to put their orders in for morning tea. However, much to their collective dismay, Pig-out has scoffed all the pies, leaving none for anyone else. He is happily snoring away in the driver’s seat of the van. Mrs Doyle takes advantage of a captive audience to pour out cups of tea for everyone.]
Dougal: Ted! Did you see that, Ted? Gluttony is one of the seven deadly sins, isn’t it Ted?
Ted: It is, to be sure, Dougal...And I hear this fellow has got a reputation for coming up with great big black holes...After this carry-on, he’s surely got a great big black soul as well...heh...heh...Anyway, folks, we better get a move on and try to reach Canberra before the bottle-shops close, or Fr Jack will have a fit...
[So, the much depleted CONVOY OF NO CONFIDENCE rolls on and Monkey Nuts leads the way in the Australian State Coach. However, they have no sooner gone a few hundred metres up the road, when Smokeys’ sirens are heard and the Carbon Cops, in their new-fangled police-cars with the windmills on the roof, pull up in front of Monkey Nuts, forcing him to stop. Further back, Ted, who has just stuffed Fr Jack back under the tarp, to hide him from the Carbon Cops, can just about hear what’s being said. It is something about Monkey Nuts being under arrest for impersonating a Member of Parliament and stealing the family vehicle of some bloke called Billy Windsor and his sheila Kate Middleton.
As the Convoy has stopped, and doesn’t seem to be going anywhere fast, Ted takes advantage of all the inaction. Due to the copious cups of tea he has drunk, courtesy of Mrs Doyle, he needs to answer a call of nature, so heads off to find a tree to hide behind. This is Fr Jack’s big chance. He springs out from under the tarp, jumps out of the milk-float tray and bolts off down the road, in search of some more alcoholic sustenance.
Coincidentally, the two Mormons had also taken advantage of the break in proceedings and had cycled off to try and proselytise the inhabitants of a nearby mansion. However, they weren’t having much luck, as the occupant wouldn’t open the door and kept hollering out to them, “Go away! We have some already!” The silly buggers didn’t realise they were knocking on the door of Donny Osmond’s Australian holiday home!
Then, suddenly, as the two Mormons are trying to replenish their liquid intake from their hip-flasks of Everlasting Life Elixir, which will automatically maintain their clean-cut Mormon image, along comes Fr Jack, who assumes they have whiskey, or some other interesting, equally alcoholic, liquor therein.]
Fr Jack: Drink! Drink!
[The Mormons can’t believe this horrible apparition that has incarnated itself before them is human. Especially as the first assault on their senses is the smell. You see, Fr Jack hasn’t changed his clothes since he “graduated” from the seminary sixty years beforehand. One of the Mormons reaches into his pack-pack, fishes out a spare white shirt and black strides and chucks them at Jack.]
Mormon 1 (holding his nose): Hell, man, you don’t half stink...Here...change your clothes every once in a while, will ya...
[Jack grabs the proffered items of said clothing and, as it’s winter and he’s feeling a bit chilly, puts them on over his dishevelled and stained clerical garb.]
Jack: Drink! Drink!
Mormon 2: Oh, just go away, old man...the owners will never open the door and listen to our sermon with you hanging around...
[By this stage, Jack’s patience, of which he didn’t have much of in the first place, has run out. He grabs Mormon 2 in a squirrel grip.]
Fr Jack: Drink! Drink!
[Mormon 2 is too busy gasping for air to have enough wits about him to hand over the hip-flask of Everlasting Life Elixir. Jack assumes this lack of a positive response is, in truckie-talk, a definite “negatory”. He gives the squirrel grip a 45-degree twist with pike. This has the desired effect and Mormon 2, purple-faced, hands over the hip-flask. Mormon 1, fearing the same treatment, readily hands his over as well, and quickly helps the now-procreationally-challenged Mormon 2 onto his bike. They both cycle away as fast as their bicycle-clips can carry them. With a grin of satisfaction, Fr Jack thirstily proceeds to throw the contents of each hip-flask down his eager throat.
Meanwhile, Ted has come back from his call of nature and notices that Jack has escaped. He berates Dougal and would have done the same to Mrs Doyle, only she was, again, busily serving cups of tea to the Convoy of Revolting People.
Then, up ahead, he notices Monkey Nuts, in handcuffs, being thrown, unceremoniously, into the back of a solar-powered paddy-wagon.]
Chief Carbon Cop: Right you lot...move along...nothing to see here...go on home...your wives have got your supper ready...your Ovaltine’s getting cold...way past your nigh-nigh-time...
[All the Revolting People take the hint and, one by one, drive off in their camper-vans, back to their farms or senior citizens’ walled villages. The Chief Carbon Cop choofs Ted along also.]
Ted: Erm...to be sure, to be sure, Officer...We’ll just gather up the cups and saucers first, give them a quick wash and we’ll be off too...
Chief Carbon Cop: Yes, make sure you do, padre...When we drive past again in a while, we don’t want to see any of you old fools hanging around here any longer...
[The Carbon Cops get into their environmentally-kosher vehicles and speed off, leaving Ted, Dougal and Mrs Doyle standing there forlornly, wondering if they’ll meet up again, on this visit to Australia, with any of their Revolting People friends. Then, Dougal breaks the silence.]
Dougal: Ted! That man called me old! I think he’s mad!
Mrs Doyle: Oh, don’t you worry your heads about that...Cup of tea, Fathers?
Ted: Yeah...might as well, Mrs Doyle...It’ll help us concentrate, as we think about how we can turn this holiday around, considering all our new “friends” have gone home and didn’t even give us their addresses so we could drop in and visit them...I’m not very impressed with their hospitality, I’ll have you know...
[Suddenly, walking down the road toward them, they spot another one of those white-teethed, crew-cut Mormons approaching.]
Ted (whispering): Pssttt...listen...if he tries to convert us, just ignore him...tell him we’ve got one already...
Mormon: Drink! Drink! Feck! Arse! Girls!
Dougal: Yippee! It’s Fr Jack! He’s back...
[In his usual vocal style of grunts coupled with a few illustrative hand gestures, and to the great amusement of the rest of the Irish Tea Party, Fr Jack relates how he “convinced” the Mormons to hand over their hip-flasks.]
Ted: Yes, very good, Fr Jack...Now, this gives me an idea...I think we’re just about to spend the next leg of our holiday where the real Tea Party hangs out...And Fr Jack will be able to open a few more doors for us over there... And then it’s back to Craggy Island where I know what sort of dare I’ll be putting up to Fr Dick Byrne...If Bishop Brennan transported us for a few weeks to New South Wales for kicking him up the arse, for what I’m going to dare Dick to do, he’ll get a sentence for the term of his natural life...hee...hee...But, for now... Salt Lake City, here we come...yee...ha...