Fleur Anderson - On Sleep

Fleur Anderson is a former political journalist and parliamentary sketch writer with the Australian Financial Review, ABCs Insiders panellist, a past vice-president of the Federal Parliamentary Press Gallery and a founding member of Canberras Women in Media.

After twenty years in journalism, Fleur Anderson decided to follow Dr Seusss career advice to go where its opener out there, in the wide open air to explore the new world of artificial intelligence and digital communication where its cool to take your dog to the office.

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MELBOURNE UNIVERSITY PRESS

An imprint of Melbourne University Publishing Limited

Level 1, 715 Swanston Street, Carlton, Victoria 3053, Australia

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First published 2018

Text Fleur Anderson, 2018

Design and typography Melbourne University Publishing Limited,

2018

This book is copyright. Apart from any use permitted under the Copyright Act 1968 and subsequent amendments, no part may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by any means or process whatsoever without the prior written permission of the publishers.

Every attempt has been made to locate the copyright holders for material quoted in this book. Any person or organisation that may have been overlooked or misattributed may contact the publisher.

Author photograph by Andrew Meares

Text design by Alice Graphics

Cover design by Nada Backovic

Typeset by Typeskill

Printed in Australia by McPhersons Printing Group

9780522873757 (paperback)

9780522873764 (ebook)

Once upon a time, a long time ago and in a land far away, there lived a man blessed with such intellect and wit that all those around him knew he was destined for greatness. He, however, had more modest goals: to marry well, to become prime minister and, if he was lucky, to own a racehorse.

Unfortunately, as in all good bedtime stories, there were obstacles. As a young boy, he lost his beloved father and it cast him into such deep despair that his personality changed forever. His reserved nature was mistaken for aloofness. His self-doubt for hesitancy. Where others would quickly overcome slights, he would dwell and stew.

Nevertheless he excelled at university, soaking up knowledge with his cleverness, and in time he succeeded in marrying a wellconnected, rich woman. He also bought a horse. Hoorah! With the encouragement of his wife, he entered politics, where he dazzled people with electrifying speeches, clever turns of phrase, his charm and lovely manners. He made his name in foreign affairs, travelling the world as one of his nations top representatives and urged world cooperation on the days big issues (while doing his best to advance the interests of his own country). It wasnt long until he had defeated his rivals to become prime minister.

But, of course (remember, this is a bedtime story), he was tormented secretly by the most terrible curse. For every brilliant speech that inspired the crowds, there was an endless night of sleeplessness. Every sparkling public appearance was followed by a debilitating slump of exhaustion. For years in the dark silence of his bedroom, hed battled the enemies of Nod and, on most nights, had come away the loser. Not even the peace he gained by moving his beloved wife and children into a separate, nearby house/castle was enough to calm his unruly mind.

Besieged by the constant backstabbing of his Cabinet colleagues and by tawdry rumours about his private life, soon our hero was taking heavy-duty prescription drugs to make it through the night and each following day. After a minor skirmish in the parliament, our hero quit and took his stunned Cabinet colleagues with him. But we could still yet win! they cried.

Bugger it, said our hero. Im too tired for this shit.

May you rest in peace, Archibald Primrose, fifth Earl of Roseberry, British Prime Minister, March 1894 - June 1895, and patron of sleepless politicians, their families, their staffers, the media that report on them and the public that endure them.

Not his actual words.

Not an actual patron.

Like a spider perched atop an ant hill, Parliament House crouches on Capital Hill, Canberra. Its web stretches along the avenues and suburbs beneath it. Its silk drifts out, catching some of us irrevocably, while others are only lightly brushed by its touch. It could be any other large organisationa hospital, a university or a corporate headquartersin which the daily and nightly lives of the inhabitants are shaped by institutional rhythms. But the political world is different because, to absolutely torture this analogy, it operates under the magnifying glass of the public glare. This scrutiny changes the behaviour of those living under it.

And most of us lie about sleep.

How are you?

Really well, thanks, we reply. (Oh God, Im dying inside. I didnt sleep a wink last night. I know its my own fault and today is going to be a terrible day, the internal monologue goes.) Our sleep is a hidden activity in darkened rooms behind closed doors; we dont parade our peaceful nights like fitness fanatics who boast to the world about their latest running times on social media. (Personal Best last night: 6h 30mins. #8hrssleep goal is in sight!)

Sleep is the most unambitious of pursuits. To sleep is to surrender. As any new parent knows, its a skill thats both innate and learned. Filled with postpartum hormones and experiencing extreme sleep deprivation, what new parent hasnt had that absolute moment of clarity, realising that the only course of action in the morning is to put their beloved firstborn up for adoption by more capable parents?

For the inmates of Parliament House, the contest between the need for sleep and the demand for public performance is a fascinating spectator sport. Some plod predictably and unremarkably through their many years in the place. Others blaze like a comet through the nightbrightly, memorablyand then are gone, as if never there.

For fifteen years, I attended press conferences and interviews in Parliament House and so often wanted to ask the leaders of the time how they slept. How do you switch off? I wanted to ask. Now, after leaving the hothouse of federal political journalism, its much easier to ask that big question of John Howard, Kevin Rudd, Julie Bishop, Bob Brown and others: How do you sleep?