The Morning After the Day Before

It's a beautiful cool Sunday morning. The birds are singing, it looks like we might have a shower or two later in the day. The TV is on and playing Disney cartoons. Somewhere down the street, kids are blowing a whistle and dragging a cart along behind them as they deliver the Sunday Telegraph and the Sun Herald from door to door. Mums and Dads sit out on their verandahs and chat about how there's nothing to chat about. In the distance, you can hear the soft hush of cars travelling up and down Broadmeadow Road, like the rhythmic tidal hiss of the ocean. It looks like it's going to be a good summer. Nature is in a kind and gentle mood.
But the Right Wing Death Beasts are raucuous. Over at Blair's coop, there is screeching and cackling and gloating and shouting and swearing and back-patting aplenty. Somewhere to the Left, there is yowling and howling and growling and weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth.
Elsewhere, a Prime Minister is waking to three more years of power, while a disappointed Opposition leader wakes to - what?

It's a beautiful cool Sunday morning - but what will the next three years be like?