Nor was he about to agree that Dutton ought to apologise for accusing, under parliamentary privilege, the sacked one-time chief of the Border Force of “grooming” a young woman. No mind that grooming is a criminal offence and there was not a shred of evidence that it had actually taken place. Nope. Parliamentary privilege, otherwise known as the battlement of coward’s castle, would stand. And then, of course, the newly minted Prime Minister would have it proved to him and anyone who cared to notice that he didn’t actually have any sway in the party he is supposed to be leading. Loading Replay Replay video Play video Play video Having called for a woman to be chosen by Liberal preselectors to run for Malcolm Turnbull’s abandoned seat of Wentworth, he had to watch as Turnbull himself and, great Scott, the party’s second longest-serving PM, John Howard, blew a giant raspberry at him.

Sure enough, Turnbull and Howard’s favoured candidate got the nod. A bloke. Loading It is possible that Turnbull is still a trifle peeved. About everything, but in particular, the memory of that public shoulder hug from Morrison (“he’s my prime minister,” Scott oozed) barely hours before Morrison emerged as Prime Minister himself. With his authority looking pretty arid, and his old Border Force at war between its current wounded master, Dutton, and its sacked chieftain, Roman Quaedvlieg (Roman wrestling, anyone?), Morrison needed a diversion. He went for the hot-gospelling tent show style. In the House of Representatives.