Context is important in politics, but it seems to have an especially vindictive problem with Joe Hockey. It's like he dated context in a former life, or something, writes Annabel Crabb.

Joe Hockey's North Sydney electorate office is full of portraits. Of Joe. Every time you round a corner, it seems, there's another artistic rendering of the Treasurer; this one Impressionist, the next Realist. Whoops - Cubist Joe! Crazy.

There is an explanation for this. Joe Hockey's electorate is full of artists, and over the years quite a few of them have asked to paint his portrait; the ever-helpful MP has said yes to more than is probably sensible. And has bought more of the resultant portraits than even the most smitten of spouses would accept in the family home. So - to the office the portraits go. Interesting, fair and compelling depictions of the Member for North Sydney they might all be, but they are not entirely convenient.

The same might be said, this week, for Madonna King's newly-published biography of the Treasurer. A perceptive, compelling portrait it might be, but distinctly inconvenient.

Context is important in politics, and it has a fluid, unpredictable way of turning on politicians. But context seems to have an especially vindictive problem with Joe Hockey. It's like he dated context in a former life, or something; it's that bad.

For instance: Just about every Hockey colleague who is muttering this week about Hockey's insensitivity and remoteness from the concerns of everyday Australians would - two years ago - have criticised him for being too soft.

The institutional concern about the Treasurer, for most of his political career, was that he lacked the inner bastard to pursue tough decisions and make himself unpopular. In that context, a biography in which the Treasurer is confirmed to be a hardline budget rationalist who wanted to screw the deficit levy out of more affluent Australians should be a career-enhancing volume.

In fact, any account of any Treasurer taking a harder line than any Prime Minister should be deeply unsurprising. Any Treasurer who isn't a bit more of a tightwad than the PM is probably in the wrong job; think Peter Costello, who in 2004 offered John Howard the choice of about a dozen possible spending promises, and was horrified at the campaign launch to hear his leader happily announcing all of them.

But of course, the context of the book's release this week was entirely different; a sombre national mood, and a budget for which the Government is wearing all of the public opprobrium, while getting none of the actual money.

It's not the first time context has popped Joe Hockey one right in the kisser.

Before the Budget, when Hockey popped out for a cigar with Finance Minister Matthias Cormann (Hockey has for years enjoyed the odd stogie), the moment was photographed and the Treasurer was instantly transformed from an ordinary man with a minor-league substance abuse problem into an unfeeling plutocrat, laughingly grinding his boot into the faces of Mr and Mrs Strugglestreet.

On Budget night itself, when the Treasurer was briefly reunited with his son Xavier, he was asked his theme song and fondly nominated "The Best Day Of My Life", which was at the time Xavier's favourite. Within hours, the story of the Treasurer dancing with Bacchanalian abandon at the thought of kicking young Australians off the dole and stiffing Nannas for their pension cards was airborne.

News Limited later price-checked the Budget night dress worn by Hockey's wife, the successful financier Melissa Babbage. It cost $600, which was reported as further evidence of the Treasurer's ordinary-people-hating ways.

Later, biographer Madonna King confessed that the whole song thing had been her idea; an early iteration of the biography curse.

Joe Hockey has led a blessed life, on many measures.

Born to hardworking parents who loved him. Blessed with a measure of charm and ability. Married a chick with a genius for making money. Had three children while both parents worked full-time, crazy jobs and survived.

But Sod's Law has played its part. Most notably in the 2009 Liberal leadership ballot, when Hockey - expecting a two-candidate ballot against Tony Abbott - found himself in a three-legged race with Malcolm Turnbull and Abbott, and was nastily tripped.

Mr Hockey's "resigned annoyance" expression has had something of a workout in recent months, as context returns again and again to plague him.

But of all of its vengeful ironies, none is so piquant as this: In an environment where the Government is shellacked for breaking promises, it is Mr Age Of Entitlement - the man who said all along what he wanted to do - who is copping it the hardest.

Annabel Crabb is the ABC's chief online political writer. She tweets at @annabelcrabb. View her full profile here.