Peter Costello retires himself

Getting Peter Costello to leave politics has been like trying to deflate a blow-up mattress - there's always that little bit of air left in there that you can't quite squeeze out of him.

But today, the Treasurer that so courageously guided Australia through a ten year period of unequalled economic stability and growth (that happened to coincide with a similar period of unequalled global economic stability and growth) announced his retirement. See his parting comments to the Australian Parliament in the following article in The Australian.

Mr Costello thanked both Mr Turnbull and Mr Rudd for their thoughts, saying he didn't think he would see the day when both sides of the parliament would say nice things about him.

“It is just possible both sides of the dispatch box are happy with the announcement I've made,” he said.

“It is a very nice thing to actually come here and not be quite departed and hear the kind of speeches one hears as eulogies.

“In fact, I might come back tomorrow, I'm enjoying it so much.”

I found this exchange to be rather sad. Here is a man leaving politics after 20 years of public service. And yet his words are so petty, so...crass almost, so utterly forgettable. Maybe that's why Paul Keating once described Costello as being "All tip and no iceberg." There's simply nothing there. No feeling of integrity. No final rhetorical flurry. No gravitas.

Instead Costello uses the occasion to launch a few rather futile passive-agressive quips at his adversaries. His heart's not in it though. His apathy, barely concealed. He's functioning on instinct. Here we witness a tired boxer in the thirteenth round. He's been punching blind for the last two rounds already. Already half-unconscious and knowing he is on his way to the mat, his arms flailing clumsily at anything that moves, he staggers ungracefully around the ring, a final drunken dance before his eyes finally roll back into his head. Out. Cold. You can hear the final capitulation and the bitterness of those final gasps of air as they slowly wheeze out of him.

Time to fold him over and lie on him, then fold him over and lie on him again, then fold him over again until the last bits of air are squeezed out, and then pop him in the cupboard. Thanks Pete. Maybe next winter.