Comedy hour or two. Dutifully convened at a salubrious watering hole this afternoon were the Bar Room Barristers; all awaiting the Senate Estimates.
STAR 
of the show, Fiona Nash and the "pot plant" saga, hereafter to be known as the best laugh, stuff of legend and plain old ordinary "we gotcha" ever. The crew is still rolling about the floor.
Brava, Lady – Bravo!!
If you missed it – I can't help that. What she said of course is, we know, down to cost of maintaining your plants, exactly what you are about. The confusion was priceless, the response – hilarious. Nearly as funny as Beaker asking "what?, what's a mid air? - followed by two minutes of "fluff" until a paper was provided for him to read.
Priceless,
PLEASE if any one recorded the estimates session this pm, with the parts involving "He who will not be shamed" and "Beaker", put it up for the boys and girls who were working; I still can't even construct a cohesive sentence without laughing.
No horse power in the Senate eh?.... Dream on. Friday, bloody Friday.
"I am thy father's spirit;
Doomed for a certain term to walk the night,
And for the day confined to fast in fires,
Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature
Are burnt and purged away. But that I am forbid
To tell the secrets of my prison-house,
I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word
Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood,
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres,
Thy knotted and combined locks to part
And each particular hair to stand an end,
Like quills upon the fretful porpentine:
But this eternal blazon must not be
To ears of flesh and blood. - List, list, O, list!" - William Shakespeare, Hamlet, 1.5