Party politics, or just an excuse to party?

"HE WHAT?!"

My excitement very nearly sent my shopping basket flying - the friendly lady in the shopping centre looked tempted to duck for cover.

"Well, that's what the papers are saying - Kevin Rudd will call an election today. For September 7."

It's a rare occurrence, but I'd been in a brief news void - and I'm not in the habit of getting political updates during my sleepy morning supermarket crawl.

"I thought you'd be excited," she confided. "How are the wedding plans going?"

I waved vaguely at my beloved, on the other side of the avocado stand. "Oh, he's still here, so that's a good sign."

The said beloved rolled his eyes. He knew the truth.

While Kevin Rudd kindly avoided an election scheduling clash with my wedding, that wasn't the sole source of my excitement.

Fact is, I love elections.

And with no romantic engagements on September 7, I'm now faced with another awkward social situation on my hands. Do I have an election party?

I can't remember the last election that didn't involve some sort of fancy soiree. Well, "remember" may be a strong word.

In 2010, I recall events got pretty hazy pretty early - but I certainly remember walking in.

And a TV might have exited via a window. (That's not to reveal my political preferences - I'm a journalist, so I have none. It's just how journalists cope with no meaningful result. Much like the rest of the country, actually.)

The year that rhymed with Kevin was more memorable.

A sea of freshly-minted Kevin07 t-shirts, party-goers were encouraged to wear their party colours on their sleeves.

There was a small smattering of green - and three blues. (A Nationals-loving lass from Dingo, and gay couple who got teary halfway through Howard's speech.)

I may struggle trying to recreate the event in Gladstone - not for the shortage of gay friends, but for folks who actually have political colours.

I've been subtly floating the idea, like a ninja candidate dropping hints to voters.

So far, it's as popular as a hung parliament.

"Who cares about politics?" is the standard line. "But, BEER!" is my desperate response.

Maybe I should spare Gladstone my drunken political commentary after all.