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“It starts WHEN?” asked Malcolm loudly in his barrister’s voice.

“Half past five in the morning? Are you mad? And of all the places, why on Earth would you think I’d want to go there?”

As this news organ is simply a front to promote Turnbullist policy and ideas, The Advocate enjoys a weekly phone call with the former prime minister Malcolm Turnbull to chew the fat and shoot the shit.

However, this week’s phone call was interrupted by Lucy Turnbull’s suggestion that they wake up before dawn, go for a canoe on the Jackie Onassis Reservoir in Central Park then head on down to The Australian Bar at 5:30 am on Monday to watch the Roosters v Storm grand final.

Our reporter managed to hear the exchange down the phone.

“It’ll be fun. You love the Roosters!” said Lucy.

Malcolm let out a long sigh.

“Why are trying to wind me up like this? You know I’d rather listen to John Howard explain reverse swing to me again than do that!”

“I’m not going!”

The receiver hit the rich mahogany end table beside the mid-century Danish couch with a woody thud.

The sound of a 63-year-old Scorpio thrashing about on a heavily-carpeted floor as he screamed his lungs out was the next sound to flood the phone.

“No! No! No! No!”

A loud sploosh and a wet slap put an end to it suddenly.

“Did you just throw a saucepan of water on me?” said Malcolm.

The line then went dead.

More to come.


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