Nothing like chips, lemonade and bad TV to get you off the sick bed, writes Simon Walker

RUNNING ON EMPTY: Laid up on the couch  listening to politicians argue energy can leave viewers lacking energy themselves.
RUNNING ON EMPTY: Laid up on the couch listening to politicians argue energy can leave viewers lacking energy themselves.

Lemonade, chips and a stint on the lounge – what a healing combination they are when you’re injured. 

Particularly when combined with a loving slab of  indulgence from a  carer.  

If you’re lucky enough to have one.

Although I’m not sure the carer necessarily sees it that way. 

I was laid up for a few days last week after falling off my bike, and it gave me time to think. Mainly about how there was nothing on television except politicians raving about energy policy. And how I’d like a bit of toast. With butter and vegemite. Cut into four neat triangles.

It gets a bit like that when you’re recuperating. The simpering self-pity.

Thank goodness for that loving someone who cared just enough to go put the toaster on. Possibly to get out of the   room.

Dreams of running the City to Surf had been thwarted by the fall. After all the training,  I was beyond heart-broken. I was man-broken. The hurtin’-est kind of hurt imaginable. Ask any  carer.

Alas, the doctor had recommended it wasn’t a good idea  taking on Heartbreak Hill with 11 stitches in the ear.

Can’t help good luck, the inner couch potato had rejoiced, which brought into sharp focus the love-hate relationship  the runner has with running.

Time on the couch also brought into sharp focus the love-hate relationship the  liver has with living and chips and lemonade and  listening to politicians rave on about energy policy.

Amazing how the national interest  always seems so closely aligned with their own.

But enough of Fraser Anning’s maiden speech. Hater’s gonna hate. And the Katter Party’s gonna rejoice – all two members of it. Make that 19 votes. What a joke, giving oxygen to speeches like that.

Oxygen would have been in short supply, if I’d run the City to Surf, that’s for sure. 

Make no mistake,  I’d been focused  in the lead-up on all those things runners fixate about – lungs, chaff, red frogs. And then the bike crash. Gets you thinking about luck, and how one minute you’re good and the next you’re broke. 

Barnaby Joyce and Tony Abbott will tell you that’s because of your spiralling electricity bills.

Ironically, if ever there was a case for renewables it’d surely be those two blokes. 

Remind me again why they’re back front and centre in the national media? 

Weren’t they exiled to the backbench as objects of national ridicule just the other day? And won’t they possibly remain objects of national ridicule  if they remain in front of a camera?

It’s a free country I suppose and they have  the right to fire up for what the coal industry believes is right. Truly right.

But not as far right as Fraser Anning. Yet.

Ultimately a stint on the couch with my lemonade and chips has healed me of any desire to stay there listening to such stuff.

My only conclusion being that if we could harness the hot air politicians so reliably blow, we wouldn’t need an energy debate at all.