Acknowledgements

When I wrote 10 years ago that I thought Scott Morrison would one day lead the Liberal Party, it never occurred to me that it would happen so soon, under such extraordinary circumstances, and that I would still be around to write about it. I thought I would be out of the game well before then – just like I thought, after Tony Abbott won, I would never write about his road to ruin.

Then, on 24 August 2018, when the Liberals seemingly went mad and installed their third prime minister in three years, I followed suit by deciding to write a third book. I only ever thought I had one book in me; then, after the second, I told friends and family to feel free to slap me if I ever looked like writing another. To be honest, I never thought the need would arise; I was sure that events would spare me the physical and mental ordeal of trying to reconstruct the destruction of another prime minister. It seemed to me that Malcolm Turnbull would lead the government to the 2019 election, that he would more than likely win it, that afterwards there would be little to say about it, and that by the time he was gone, I would be gone, too.

But, like many other Australians, after it happened, I wanted to know why it had happened. Why, with so much at stake, would they risk everything to remove another prime minister? As bad as Abbott was, they had only just got away with it when they ditched him. Surely they risked retribution from the gods? Wrong. The heavens sided with Morrison.

Most of my interviews and conversations with politicians, staff, and officials occurred before the election, with the explicit understanding that nothing would appear until after it. I offered that guarantee in the hope that they would be more honest and more forthcoming about what happened. Many of them were, and I am grateful to them for that. While I had been speaking to people during the week of the coup and in the weeks before for my column for The Australian, I also began speaking to key people for this book from the very next day, the Saturday, the day after Turnbull was deposed, because I wanted their recollections to be fresh. And raw. And unaffected by the result of the election, whatever it was. I thank them for that, too.

They were such difficult days for many of them. I have done my best to convey that, because too often we think of politicians as robots, devoid of emotion, programmed to react a certain way, rather than as human beings with the foibles and flaws, ambitions, and emotions that we all have. There were those reluctant to speak, particularly after I also told them I was not interested in quoting anonymous sources. Gradually, most of them relented. A few, particularly in those early stages, told me their sessions with me were like therapy. Some (such as Mathias Cormann and Tony Abbott) refused to even respond to requests for interviews, and others (such as Barnaby Joyce) said they would speak, but somehow couldn’t find the right time. Malcolm Turnbull, writing his own book, agreed only to check a couple of facts with me.

My great good fortune has been to have the same cast and crew around to help and support me this time as I did a decade ago when I wrote my first book, So Greek – except, of course, for the late, great Elpiniki Savva. Elpiniki would have described my compulsion to keep writing as a sickness, the same one that drove her to never give in or give up, while our darling Christina, who has inspired so much of everything I have done, would have been as lovingly supportive as always.

Henry Rosenbloom, the founder of Scribe, has published and edited all three books. After The Road to Ruin, I told him, like I told others, that I was never writing another book, and begged him not to even think about asking, but Henry is nothing if not persistent. And a dream as an editor. I know this one was the hardest. Because of the number of characters involved, and the number of incidents to recount, it was the most difficult to write. Thanks to Henry, it makes sense. And also thanks to my great friend and mentor, and the best political journalist Australia has produced, Laurie Oakes. He was the first person I told I was writing this book, and the first to tell me what I already knew: that I was mad. Nevertheless, Laurie did what he has always done for me: helped me with advice, listened to my whingeing (not always sympathetically), and then became the first person to read and correct my manuscript.

Computer genius Matt Peacock, my personal Mr Fixer, was available for the third time to help me through all the glitches and essential rearrangements of chapters and notes, as well as transcribing two extended interviews. The most common phrase heard around our house for months was, ‘Thank God for Matt.’

My husband, Vincent Woolcock, after an initial harsh but true assessment of my state of mind, soon rallied, more confident than I could ever be about the final product. My brother, Steve; his wife, Dana; my nephews, Andrew, Peter, Thomas, and Christian; and my nieces Laura and Maria (with new baby Savva) were on board from the get-go, loving, supportive, and enthusiastic – all of which is made easier because they don’t have to live with me or even close by me during the production process.

My great friend Elissa Fidden, with dry good humour, provided valuable moral support and acute political observations, and gave me the best piece of advice any author could have when I was immersed in writing So Greek, and that was to polish, polish, and then polish some more. I wish I could have done better, but ultimately you can only do your best. Elizabeth McCabe, all class, came through with some much-needed photographs and empathy. Payment will be made on the next Hawaiian excursion.

Sue O’Leary produced another delicious Christmas cake, as she should after once again insisting I had to write the book. Showing no sympathy whatsoever, she would simply urge me to keep writing. My friend Jack Kunkel has grown into the most amazing young man, brilliant at everything he does; he even helped keep me going with a batch of delicious amaretti. Pretty soon, I will stop cooking for him, just like I stopped playing Scrabble with my nephews when they got too good. Knowing when to quit is important. Thanks to so many other dear friends – Denis and Denise Page; Lajla and Beat Sidhu; Chris and Rob Hunter; Charles Mailler; Eric and Georgina Koundouris; Laura Grande; Laura Tingle; and Kerry-Anne Walsh – for their interest, encouragement, and confidence in the outcome.

The final clearance for this project was provided by Antonio Didio and Walter Abhayaratna, who between them care as best they can for my various declining body parts. That came at the beginning of September 2018, when they were out on their regular Sunday walk. My adrenalin rush had worn off, and by that time, confronted by the enormity of the task, I was hoping they would say no. I have cursed them both many times since for their enthusiastic go-ahead, which I suspect came because they – like me – are full-on political tragics.

I remain grateful to The Australian, particularly Christopher Dore, John Lehmann, and Alan Howe, for having run my column for almost a decade. Apart from one quibble several years ago, no one has ever told me what to write or taken issue with what I have written, even though at times I have been out of sync with the prevailing sentiment.

After watching others in envy for years, I began appearing on Insiders in February 2011. When Kellie Mayo and Barrie Cassidy rang to invite me on, I thanked them, and told them I had been hanging out for a year after my re-entry into political journalism, waiting, hoping, to be asked. It was a blast, a terrifying one, to get a gig on one of my favourite programs and to work with such wonderful people, from Kellie to Barrie to Sam Clark, Robyn Powell, and particularly all the cheery magicians in the make-up room – Thelma, Sarah, Claire, Esther, Justin, and Sylvie.

Having a platform, whether in print or on screen, to express a point of view is an absolute privilege. Because nothing lasts forever, it will all come to an end one day. While I will be devastated, I will do my best to dwell on how lucky I have been that it has lasted so long; that for so many decades, people have been willing to pay me to do something I love. Thank you one and all, from beginning to end.