Shorten sweet.

I think the first time Bill Shorten called me, I was in the biscuit aisle at Woolies, looking for Jaffa Cakes. Because we live in the worst of all possible timelines, Jaffa Cakes are impossible to find these days, and my local Woolies is, at any rate, a complete disgrace, so I was in a pretty poor mood when my phone rang. I figured it was some Nigerian Prince with a tasty deal on a new oil lease, or a helpful investigator from the Australian Taxational Authority demanding that I hand over my credit card details or go to jail.

I decided to take out my Jaffa Cake rage on this hapless spammer. Turned out it was Bill Shorten, wanting to talk about books.

Okay. That was weird and unexpected, but it wasn’t terrible. I think we chatted books for about half an hour. He was a fan, and at that time, he was also the Opposition Leader, spending most of his week on the road, firing off zingers, negging Scott Morrison. I wouldn't say that he was over it. He really wanted Morrison gone. But I guess he just needed to take a break now and then, so he called me in the biscuit aisle at Woolworths to talk about books. He was a big fan of my Dave vs the Monsters series.

Now, my phone is full of politicians’ deets from my years working at Fairfax, so I didn't think it unusual that he'd been able to get my number. And after talking to him for half an hour, I didn't even think it was unusual that he'd want to talk to somebody like me. He was a reader. He liked stories, he liked ideas, and I suspect that retreating into the imagined world of made-up stories and off-the-wall ideas, the sort of thing I write to pay my mortgage, was his idea of a good time.

Eventually, we signed off after I promised to send him an early-release copy of my next book. I added his number and address to my contacts because you never know when you’re gonna need to hit up future PM for a favour, and I gave up on the Jaffa Cakes. I didn't need the calories anyway.

I sent him the book, and he texted back at some point to say that he enjoyed it. We sort of left it at that. I think the next time I spoke to him was during the election that he lost to Morrison. He just released the ALP’s foreign affairs policy, which had some great ideas about the Pacific and a surprisingly cool name that I've forgotten now. I do like a nice turn of phrase, so without really thinking about it, I texted him to say, cool branding.

He called a couple of days later while I was in a café, enjoying a sneaky pastry and a coffee. Again, he wanted to talk books. I knew this time that he needed to take a break from his day job because we were deep inside the election campaign by then, and everybody needed a break from it. I took him through what I was working on, promised to send him a copy, and was about to order a second cappuccino when he asked, almost nervously, “How do you think we're going?”

I told him the truth as I understood it at the time. I said something to the effect of, “You are going to bury this prick at the crossroads at midnight, fill his mouth with salt and sew his fucking lips shut.”

Honestly, I thought he would. I made the classic mistake of confusing what should be with what would be.

Looking back now, without even checking Google or Wikipedia to remind myself of the details, I understand how that happened. I thought then, and I still believe now, that Bill Shorten would have been a great Prime Minister. (That’s not a totally partisan call. I think Julie Bishop, for very different reasons, might have been great for the Libs, too.) I thought Shorten’s policy work was outstanding. I thought that after so many years of truly shitty government by truly shitty people, that everyone would think the same as me.

Finally. It's over.

Yeah, nah, not so much.

We had a party that election night. About two or three in the afternoon, I tried to cancel it. I had this sick feeling that everything was gonna go sideways, hard. And, of course, it did. Morrison pulled off his miracle win, and we all went to evangelical Hell with him.

I remember seething with so much rage and loathing that night that I couldn't sleep. About three in the morning, I got up and wrote a whole screenplay. I just needed to pour this malign energy into something, somewhere. (I sold it a short time later, so I guess I owe Morrison that much).

Shorten was devastated by the loss. He took himself and his family overseas for a while. He did tell me where sometime later, but it wasn't an interview, and I wasn't taking notes. The Robodebt Royal Commission was in session, and Colleen Taylor, one of the few heroes of that squalid saga was testifying. A relatively junior public servant, Taylor had done her best to protect the victims of the scheme from its worst effects.

Twitter was going off, love-bombing Taylor, and I texted Shorten, the Minister responsible, saying he should check it out.

He called. He was already on it. I think he was busy drafting up her commendation for a Public Service medal. He sounded better than I’d ever heard him sound before. I didn’t even need to send him a free book. He was living well. The best revenge.

I'm glad he got there.

And I'm glad he's making this clean break with politics now. I think it says something good about him that he didn't stitch up a deal with Albanese to take up some diplomatic post somewhere. He applied for a job like the rest of us, and he got it. Good on him. I hope he has time for some beach reading.