Life's a beach

Munna Point, Wednesday
Dear Green Lefties,
Thanks for the assignment. Since arriving here, I haven't let the Pacific Ocean out of my sight for so much as a moment — but it is bigger than you led me to believe. I've watched numerous waves come ashore, but so far no French military personnel.
And I was so sure there was a scoop news story here.
Instead, I must contend with all this sun, surf and sand. If it weren't for the fact that I'm paid up to the end of the week, I'd come home straightaway.
Truly I would.
When your life's a beach, you've gotta make the best of it.
How are things back at the office? We get the papers here, so I know I'll miss out on the ACTU Congress again this year. What a shame. Instead I'll have to occupy myself with the ingredients to hand.
Up and down the beach, talk seems to be of Accord Mark VIII. Folk give you a knowing wink and look out to sea. After they've taken another sip of beer, they'll say: it doesn't get any better than this.
They may not realise it, but no truer word was ever said.
These successive accords have made this country what it is today. What we need is a bit of pizzazz and more enthusiasm for good old Number VIII. (We've been blessed with eight, folks!)
Maybe someone should produce Accord — the Musical with catchy tunes to rival those of top shows like South Pacific (for example: "Talking. Talking. Talking. Consensus./ That's what we like to do.")
We don't need another election campaign, just show time.
Anyway, my togs have dried so I'll go and get them wet again. Back on deck Tuesday.
Dave Riley