Malcolm Turnbull kicks open the kitchen door and pours himself a tumbler of Grange from a very respectable year, downing it in a single swallow.
"Get Hockey on the phone," he snarls at the butler. "I want to know what he's been doing with himself in Washington, apart from spending up big on baby-sitting services and failing to warn me about the depths of ignorant depravity currently occupying the White House."
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"Missus Lucy has disconnected all the phones for the moment, Your Splendidness," whimpers the butler, bowing low and touching his fingers to his forelock. "She said telephones have caused enough trouble for one week."
"Go out and order the bodyguards to get in touch with the SAS, then," cries the Prime Minister. "Put the military on alert!"
The chief bodyguard sidles into the room, sweating.
"The SAS are on a training exercise with the American Navy SEALS under the command of the new US commander-in-chief, sir. A Mr Trump, I believe," he ventures.
"As for the military; none of our subs are working, the frigates and destroyers and landing craft are all employed searching for broken-down fishing boats to the north, the air force can't get a plane into the air because of budget cuts to pay for ministerial flights, and the defence chiefs are attending a two-week conference on workplace safety and gender balance."
Turnbull fixes the messenger with a cold stare.
![Turnbull and Trump, who had a heated 25-minute phone call on Sunday.](/web/20170203054625im_/http://www.canberratimes.com.au/content/dam/images/g/u/4/e/i/d/image.related.articleLeadwide.620x349.gu4vok.png/1486094401703.jpg)
"I want their heads!" He hisses. "Their heads. Hear me!"
"Not at all sure if that's the sort of thing you should be saying out loud, sir," whispers an ashen-faced aide who has crept in from the balcony where he's been admiring the squillion-dollar view of Sydney Harbour in a brave attempt to stop himself questioning why he'd chosen such an uncertain career path.
![What's the Australian Prime Minister's name again? White House press secretary Sean Spicer.](/web/20170203054625im_/http://www.canberratimes.com.au/content/dam/images/g/u/4/h/q/e/image.related.articleLeadwide.620x349.gu4vok.png/1486094401703.jpg)
"I've destroyed Maggie Thatcher and her entire intelligence community," roars the Prime Minister. "I've faced down Kerry Packer and told him I'd take him out, in the knowledge he had a fully-loaded Glock 45 in his desk.
"I've shafted Abbott.
"I've stared into the abyss. Have you ever had to look deep into Conrad Black's eyes? Or Cory Bernardi's?
"I paid good money to save this nation from that phoney Shorten, friend of Melbourne's billionaires and other thugs."
"Not quite enough, if I may say so, sir," ventures the aide.
"Do you imagine for a minute I'm going to take this humiliation lying down?" froths Turnbull.
"Sir, I do understand how you must feel. What are we going to do with all those refugees if this deal with Washington goes upside down? It's perfectly monstrous. Those poor people. Nothing but chips on a gambling table."
Turnbull is silenced. He peers in astonishment at his aide, and it is obvious he is reassessing the fellow's worth and finding him in deficit.
"What in god's name are you talking about?" he demands.
"Don't you understand the gravity in all this?
"They don't know my name. Trunbull? Trumbull?
"I've never been so insulted in my life.
"Pull those defence chiefs out of their conference right now. No time for workplace safety now."