Several months ago, I publicly disgraced myself in the halls of Australia's Parliament House. No, I didn't throw a shoe at Joe Hockey or vandalise the corridors with fake blood. But before I tell you how I debased myself, I need to explain how I got myself into this situation.
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Growing up, Parliament House never interested me. It struck me as a dull place where people with interesting hair had loud arguments - and I already had that from my parents. But as an adult and mid-level political nerd, I found myself in Canberra for work. So why wouldn't I also visit this throbbing organ of Australian democracy?
When I did a tour there, I was overwhelmed. The building is majestic. It covers more than 250,000 square metres (about the size of 200 Olympic swimming pools) and boasts a flag the size of a double-decker bus. But the details, too, are exquisite: Arthur Boyd's tapestry; Michael Nelson Jagamara's granite mosaic; the way the green of the House of Representatives and the red of the Senate reflect the colours of the land.
But what I loved most was how Parliament House is built into a hill, as though a very important hobbit lives there. You can literally walk over the prime minister's head. Its position in the earth symbolises so much: the Australian people's relationship to nature; that Parliament serves the people; and that federal MPs are essentially weird underground mole-people.
After the tour, I went a little nuts. At the gift shop I bought magnets, mugs and tea towels, while my partner stood by, quietly horrified. As the items were scanned, I daydreamed about other merchandising possibilities - Abbott-brand Speedos; Rudd sauce bottles; Gillard knives; Downer pantyhose - until the machine screeched. I had insufficient funds. Of course the souvenirs would be high quality and unexpectedly expensive. Unlike every other souvenir shop around, everything here was made in Australia.
