How arguing about next to nothing teaches student politicians everything

The world of student politics is usually trivial and frequently hilarious. And yet, unlike the petty deliberations of most tiny bodies composed largely of unjustifiably self-important people who seem addicted to grandstanding, what goes on is ultimately of great importance. Because student politics is, more often than not, what selects and shapes our future leaders.

Anybody who tuned into the shenanigans of the first meeting of the new Student Representative Council at the University of Sydney last Thursday night, or followed #repselect on Twitter, or read one of the media reports the following day, will have had the chance to see both the triviality and the hilarity up close.

As far as I can understand things from the media reports and from talking to some of the editors of the student newspaper Honi Soit, here's what happened. A number of Labor factions, which are generally aligned in name only, joined forces with the Liberal and other right-wing students to craft a deal that would exclude the previously powerful far-left students from positions of power on the council.

But then (cue sinister dun-dun-dunnnn sound) at the eleventh hour, the Labor Left faction reneged on the deal and joined forces with the "Grassroots" far left group/collective/junta/etc to instead exclude the Labor Right (ironically named Unity) and those further to the right of it. In other words, Labor Left left.

Consequently, some of the "victims" may have/allegedly/reportedly tried to stop the meeting that would vote in the office-holders for the year. They did it by trying to render the meeting without a quorum by walking out, which is known as pulling quorum.

Then someone unknown took the "pulling things" idea even further, and pulled out the fuses so there was no light.

Both campus security and the NSW Police Force were called in, for reasons they were unable to understand - but in short, one group was trying to stop the meeting from electing officeholders, and the other wanted to protect it so that it could.

I found the whole thing highly amusing, given the utter desperation of the tactics and the sheer unimportance of most of the positions being decided. I know this very well because I was once a student politician, and an especially ridiculous one at that.

I was elected to the same council in 1999 as the 37th of 37 representatives. I achieved this by running under the same ticket name as my friends and I were using to run to Honi Soit newspaper editors, on the basis that it would help us elude the strict spending caps applied to each category of candidates - a practice that endured many years afterwards.

At this same "reps-elect" meeting, I was elected Intercampus Liaison Officer, a role in which not only did I achieve zero in terms of furthering relationships between the unis many locations, but I couldn't even manage to organise any liaisons with anyone from another campus.

So it was with no little nostalgia that I sat late last Thursday night and watched the meeting on Periscope. Many of the speeches contained the usual dogma and charming lack of self-awareness, and they took forever. Just as they had in my day.

To be fair, many of my fellow student politicians were extremely dedicated, and devoted countless hours to working on policy and helping other students who had found themselves in trouble. The presidents of the Union and SRC that I knew worked really hard, and generally achieved much.

More broadly, of the campaigns that were run touched on matters of genuine importance, and made me extremely proud of our representatives.

And yet these were the minority of officeholders. Most of them, it seemed to me, were motivated purely by padding their CVs, or getting the numbers to build up credit within their own movements, or simply by the sheer joy of beating their ideological opponents. They won, and then did very little with the role they'd campaigned so hard to achieve.

Just like I did.

Student politics wasn't a game for the faint-hearted. The year before we won, I grouped together with some friends to try to run for the newspaper, and got utterly destroyed because we didn't have anyone political on our ticket, so we got very few endorsements. The job we'd do as editors seemed almost irrelevant - what mattered was being part of the machine.

And it's those machine skills that get honed in student politics. The ones who went furthest worked hardest, spending their nights chalking or postering or photocopying leaflets. They stayed up late making plans and cutting deals, and the ones who were best at it got jobs as staffers before they'd even graduated. Some even ran for office in grown-up elections, flying the party's banner in unwinnable seats to impress the elders.

When they graduated, many of these people became full-time staffers, or union reps, or think tank members, and before long got elected themselves. Malcolm Turnbull, Tony Abbott and Joe Hockey were all student leaders in their days at Sydney Uni. So were Michael Kirby, Geoffrey Robertson, Richard Walsh and Belinda Neal, to name but a few.

The people who join the student politics machines in their uni days, though, are not necessarily the best and brightest. They generally aren't the most charismatic, or the most likely to be seen on stage at the academic awards nights. They're the ones who'll work their butts off, and do what they're told. And they're the ones who'll pull out the fuses if it means they'll get what they want.

Most abominably, some of them are the ones who'll distribute so-called "shit sheets", unauthorised, anonymous leaflets full of untraceable, unfair innuendo so close to polling day that they can't effectively be refuted. When this kind of thing happened in the seat of Lindsay in 2007, the outgoing member Jackie Kelly called it a "Chaser-style prank". It wasn't a prank, and the style was undergraduate politics, not humour.

The attributes that so many have criticised in our politics - the willingness to compromise principles to win, the lack of non-political work and life experience and the tendency to get personal to win at all costs - all begin in student politics. In many, if not most seats at general elections, the only serious contenders on either side are these kinds of people.

So while we can all snigger at the pathetic infighting over incredibly slim pickings that occurred last Thursday night, that kind of behaviour constitutes the first few clips in a training montage that ends in the triumph of elected office.

We may enjoy paying out student politicians, and I certainly did myself back then. But we end up paying them to govern us.

Dom Knight is the only person ever to write an 80,000 word novel about an election for the Sydney Uni SRC.

Why Australians aren't going to cut down on bacon

Stop the presses, folks. And in particular, stop devouring that bacon and egg roll.

No less a body than the World Health Organisation has come out to warn us that sausages, bacon, ham, salami and other processed meats aren't good for us. The very idea that we should be cutting down on this stuff! My jaw would have hit the floor if my belly hadn't helpfully gotten in the way.

Admittedly, the idea that these meats are definitively linked to bowel cancer is something of a revelation, while the prospect that red meat may not be doing us any favours either is a significant shock to a country that has long been told that a lamb roast was worth giving up dinner with Tom Cruise - a proposition that seems more convincing the more Alex Gibney documentaries I watch.

But fear not. Australian election day, in which we swap the minor inconvenience of voting for the chance to devour a sausage lovingly wrapped in supermarket-brand white bread by an apron-wearing dad at the local school, is safe.

Because while the boffins may have proven that processed meats increase our risk of bowel cancer, it remains likely that anybody who regularly consumes bacon and sausages will succumb to heart disease long before a tumour has the chance to form in their colon.

It was no surprise to see Barnaby Joyce rushing out of the gate to condemn the WHO's advice as condemning Australians to living in caves.

"I don't think that we should get too excited that if you have a sausage you're going to die of bowel cancer because you're not," he said, which was highly reassuring unless you're the kind of person who tends to listen to the considered opinion of medical experts.

The only thing that might have prompted a more instantaneous response from the Agriculture Minister is if a Hollywood star tried to bring unauthorised dogs into the country. Apparently spoiled canines represent a clear and present danger to our biosecurity, whereas foodstuffs that have been proven to cause cancer are an inviolable part of our way of life.

I'm not sure, though, how the Minister would react to a Hollywood star who wanted to import dogmeat sausages.

What's more, if the World Health Organisation feels that a return to cave-dwelling would make for a healthier lifestyle, I'd be eager to hear about it, and presumably so would the residents of Coober Pedy.

Minister Joyce's reaction, though, will probably mirror that of most Australians. We know we aren't really meant to eat that stuff on a regular basis. The health-conscious among us will probably move from eating processed meats sometimes to eating them occasionally. I can't imagine Christmas lunch without ham, but sure - when I go to a sandwich counter, I'll probably go for chicken instead, or smoked salmon, or even - shock horror, a vegetarian option.

But our smallgoods tycoons can sleep comfortably in their beds before getting up for another hard day of whatever they do to make sausages, which, I am very clear, I absolutely do not want to know.

We Australians do not tend to choose healthy options, even when we know perfectly well what they are. We are most likely to be killed by preventable conditions, to the perpetual despair of public health authorities. Last year, the president of the Royal Australian College of General Practitioners had this to say:

Many of the leading causes of death in Australians could have been impacted by implementing simple lifestyle changes, such as quitting smoking, reducing alcohol intake and maintaining a healthy weight.

Bet you didn't get through it without yawning, am I right?!

Compared to losing weight, cutting down on booze and generally not eating unhealthy crap, the impact of cured meats is likely to be fairly minimal. As Cancer Research UK have pointed out in an infographic that has been doing the rounds today (along with a detailed summary of the results), everyone giving up smoking would have a far greater public health impact than everyone giving up cured meat and processed meats, simply because bowel cancer is far less prevalent than lung cancer.

In other words, these meats increase the risk of something that isn't hugely risky to begin with, making up (in the UK, at least) 3 per cent of all cancers, whereas smoking-related lung cancer is 19 per cent.

The kind of people who pay attention to public health messages probably don't eat much processed meat already, with the possible exception of lean ham, or red meat for that matter. These people will probably cut down on what little they consume.

The rest of us will go on, in blissful oblivion, until some preventable lifestyle disease knocks us over. Because whether consciously or otherwise, most of us have decided that we'd rather have a shorter life without worrying about staying healthy. Our approach seems to be Life, Be In It, But For A Relatively Brief Period Of Time.

No doubt processed and red meats will remain part of this picture for most of us, no matter what those exasperated public health experts tell us. Because if we wanted to listen, there are far more impactful lifestyle changes we could be making than cutting down on the odd rasher of bacon at breakfast time.

How to survive the HSC

Today is the first day of the HSC, those three letters calculated to terrify Year 11 and 12 students and which I still can't hear without experiencing flashbacks.

So, to all HSC and other Year 12 students, please allow me to offer you my sincerest condolenceswish you the very best of luck!

Talk to anyone who's slogged through and obtained the NSW qualification, or the VCE or WACE or anything like it, and they'll tell you that end-of-school exams are a uniquely cruel prank to play on 17-year-olds, especially when uni is never anything like as harrowing as the hoops you have to jump through to get there.

On the bright side, today is the first day of a few weeks of inconvenience you have to endure before getting on with the rest of your life, whatever that may entail. Which is hugely exciting.

Here are a few things that might help you transition from the ranks of those dreading their end-of-school exams to those delighted that they'll never have to do them again.

Sleep

You'll be tempted to stay up all night cramming, but that really isn't a smart idea. You've been studying all year. You've done the trials. You almost certainly know everything you need to know already, and the honest truth is that exhaustion will probably hurt your performance more than stuffing your brain full of last-minute facts will benefit it. Worst of all, you might end up confusing yourself in your exhaustion.

Get a good pen

Boringly practical, I know - but if you've got a crappy biro, you'll write less and your hand will cramp. Get one of those nifty rollerball pens where the ink flows freely without needing any pressure from your hand. I got ridiculous and bought a fountain pen because I thought it would let me write the most, but there's no need to get that stupid unless you get a kick out of the idea. Oh, and get some spares, too.

Plan your essay answers

As a humanities guy, my HSC experience was full of 40 minute essays. Despite the temptation to start writing immediately, things always went better when I took a minute or two to work out some kind of logical structure.

Unfortunately HSC markers still don't recognise listicles like this one, so you will need to construct some kind of an argument. Being 'right' or 'wrong' isn't really a possibility - it's all about trying to write convincingly.

Find a way to take your mind off it

In Year 12, I convinced myself that what I should do right before any exam was play Tetris on my monochrome Nintendo Game Boy, because it's impossible to freak out about how maybe you've forgotten certain key characteristics of flowering plants when there are different-shaped blocks to stack to the sound of a mesmeric Russian folksong.

These days you probably have far more sophisticated games on your phone, but the point is the same - we benefit from taking our minds out of a stressful situation. Whether it's having a bath, lying in the sun or going for a swim, having some brain downtime will help.

Know that courses with higher entry requirements aren't necessarily better

At school, I had my heart set on a certain course because it was supposed to be prestigious, and I thought that if I got into it, everyone would think I was smart. I'd never even thought of that particular career before my ego and my insecurity combined to tell me that I should do it.

I got into the course, and got my qualification, but I've never been sure that it was a good decision - I've never really used it, and all it ended up giving me were a few more years at uni. In other words, I made a dumb decision because I wanted people to think I was smart. Better to be honest about what you'd really enjoy doing, and be good at.

Treat yourself

I'm not saying go out and rampage through every outlet at your nearest food court, but this is not the time to be imposing a rigorous new diet. I wouldn't have made it through the HSC without regular splurges on chocolate and ice cream, but your rewards program can work in other ways, too - two hours of study might buy one more episode of an entertaining TV show, or whatever works.

Don't worry - there are lots of pathways to where you want to go

These days, there are lots of way to get into just about any field. Most programs are available at graduate level, for instance, and Melbourne Uni is pioneering a model where everybody does generalist degrees when they first leave school. What this means is that while a mark that exceeds your target will let you get into a certain course, not getting in this time around won't permanently exclude you. It's tempting to feel that school exams are an all-or-nothing scenario, but they really aren't.

Or you might not know what you want to do, which seems scary but is really quite liberating - it's OK to take a few years to find out.

Drink cups of tea

Coffee before an exam, perhaps, but I've always tended to drink a lake's worth of herbal tea when I had to do a lot of studying or writing. Somehow, it's very soothing. I particularly recommend peppermint or rooibos.

Find out about your heroes, and how they did at school

It's hard to avoid the impression that your Year 12 mark matters immensely. Looking at the biography of just about anybody who you admire will show you that in fact, school results are a very minor thing in the context of most people's lives. In terms of my heroes, very few hilarious comedians, great writers or excellent musicians did brilliantly at school, and even if they did, their marks didn't particularly help them to become who they ended up being.

Get ready never to talk about your mark again

After the second week of uni, it becomes socially unacceptable to mention any high school accomplishment, and especially your mark - unless you do really well and the newspaper rings up 20 years later, I guess. You might put it on your first graduate job application, but you probably won't ever again after that. A few decades on, even you will struggle to remember the number that right now means everything.

Good luck, and I hope you get the mark you want - but if it doesn't work out that way, you'll almost certainly still be absolutely fine. You may even be considerably better off if you avoid a course you don't really want to do.

Regardless, in a few week's time, you'll never have to wear a school uniform again, and that fact alone makes it well worth saying - congratulations!

How did the world's most boring car company manage such epic fraud?

Of all the companies to get busted perpetrating massive environmental fraud, I would have thought Volkswagen the least likely. Even those skinny jeans-wearing eco-hipsters at Tesla might have seemed more willing to capitulate to the huge pressure to produce innovative green vehicles than Volkswagen, the world's most boringly consistent car company.

How on earth has a company dull enough to name its two most popular models after the world's two most bourgeois sports managed to concoct a scheme so dodgy that even cigarette company executives must be doffing their tar-encrusted hats?

The more I learn about the scheme, the more astonished I am. Their diesel system was clever enough to know when it was being tested by the likes of the US EPA; during these tests harmful emissions of nitrous oxides would be prevented, whereas under normal circumstances the cars spewed forth between 10 and 40 times the permitted amount.

(Which is incredibly dastardly, of course, but also yet another impressive piece of German engineering.)

The impact of these unauthorised extra emissions could be severe. It's estimated that diesel-powered Volkswagens in the UK may be responsible for as many harmful emissions of NOx as all the country's power stations put together. And the emission of nitrous oxides has been shown to cost thousands of lives annually.

The company's reputations for safety in crash tests and innovations in collision-avoidance systems seem fairly moot if what's coming out of its exhaust pipes is deadly.

And we're talking about Volkswagen, for goodness' sake! The company whose Beetle was the official car of flower power, and whose Kombi was so popular with hippies that it's mandatory for drivers to exchange peace signs when they pass one another on the highway. (Seriously, this is a thing, based on my travels in my friends' khaki model when I was a kid).

In recent decades, its cars have been predominantly associated with inner-city architect types who appreciate their Teutonic minimalism. I used to drive a dark grey Golf when I briefly lived in Surry Hills, and it was often hard to distinguish mine from the half-dozen other identical ones parked on the same street.

Sure, OK, the company has its roots in Nazi Germany, but that was a long time ago. Today's Europe is environmentally conscious almost to a fault. In fact, the switch to diesel to reduce CO2 emissions seems literally to have been a fault, given the subsequent impact on health from all those extra emissions.

Volkswagen drivers are, above all, boring. After five years with a capricious Peugeot, I got one because I wanted a car that would keep me safe in a collision, never break down, and fit into inner-city parking spaces. In other words, for reasons so practical that I'm embarrassed to report them.

VW is known as a reliable, predictable, safe brand. And that's perhaps what's most surprising about the Volkswagen controversy - it seems so profoundly risky. Given the multitude of car tests performed around the world, surely somebody might have experimented with emissions outside a lab?

Surely questions like these were always inevitable. Scientists had already noted that improved diesel standards weren't leading to the forecast reduction in deaths. And I discovered, after only a brief search, a 2014 study claiming that real-world diesel car emissions were much higher than reported.

And yet Volkswagen committed to a strategy that, if revealed, was always going to be devastating for both their bottom line and their reputation. They programmed their cars to evade detection. It wasn't an oversight or an accident, it was a deliberate deception when their whole brand proposition is based on safety and environmental consciousness.

Volkswagen's Australian website says:

Think Blue embodies Volkswagen's goal of creating environmentally friendly products and solutions, communicating and encouraging better environmental behaviour and getting involved in initiatives that contribute to a sustainable future.

Last week that might have seemed plausible, now it seems like so much corporate guff.

The reason for this crisis was that Volkswagen was expected to deliver more fuel-efficient diesel cars, with sufficient power, at a reasonable price. Something had to give in this equation, and clearly, it was emissions. Their "clean diesel" cars were based on a falsehood.

But the same market and regulatory pressures apply across the industry, especially in Europe. Will Volkswagen be only the first manufacturer to get caught out?

There's a German industry website called "Clearly Better Diesel", which trumpets the kinds of breakthrough that got Volkswagen into trouble:

Clean Diesel technology has changed everything. From the pump to the engine, it's remarkably improved the driving experience. Say goodbye to loud trips with dirtier exhaust. And hello to great MPG, powered with exhilarating performance.

Well, Volkswagen will now be forced to say goodbye to dirtier exhaust, to the tune of billions of dollars. What about all the other diesel manufacturers? Is current diesel technology itself incapable of producing low emissions?

If a company like Volkswagen can deceive supposedly tough regulators around the world so successfully for so long, it's clear that the green bona fides of large companies like it cannot be taken for granted. In particular, as the Climate Change Authority has noted, the idea of self-regulation seems risible given what we've learned about Volkswagen this week.

Clearly, the price of environmental safety is eternal and independent vigilance - along with improved emissions tests in real-world conditions. Then Volkswagen drivers might once again be able to flash one another peace signs without feeling like they're choking the planet.

8 things we learned from @RealMarkLatham

1) If there's an internet mystery, who ya gonna call?

Mark Di Stefano from Buzzfeed is the answer. The former ABC journo is fast becoming the nation's leading internet detective, whether he's trying to ascertain the veracity of an abusive Twitter account or identify the genius who drew those legendary DJ headphones on John Howard (caution - this link features language that is NSFW, but that is very amusing when not at work).

Connecting @RealMarkLatham's tweets to material appearing in subsequent AFR columns was revealing, but finding a link between the account and Latham's public email address was a masterstroke of internet-era sleuthing.

His work has been called a "social media campaign" by The Australian's Sharri Markson, but it could be more accurately described as investigative journalism.

2) As Taylor said, haters gonna hate

Sorry, Paul Keating - Mark Latham is Australia's most prodigious hater. His column, and the @RealMarkLatham account that's allegedly his (though this is denied), have repeatedly pummelled a wide range of targets - working mums, transgender military officers, people with depression, and not one but two Australians of the Year.

Among his list of targets, you won't find many of his fellow white, heterosexual men, with Peter FitzSimons a notable exception - but I'm sure he'd say that's because decent Aussie blokes aren't among the privileged beneficiaries of political correctness.

I'm always perplexed when people look at contemporary Australia and perceive white straight blokes like Latham (and me) as the underdogs, but presumably we media types are too busy swigging lattes to understand real Australia.

3) Even someone who was nearly prime minister can rail against 'elites'

There are plenty of people in privileged positions who rail constantly against the straw men and women they perceive to wield the real power in Australian public life. Some prominent commentators simultaneously rail against these 'elites' in their columns, on top-rating radio stations, and on television.

But the enormous chip on Mark Latham's shoulder is perhaps unique in Australian public life. Others may see him as a white, male, straight University of Sydney graduate who rose to the top of the nation's oldest political party and consequently enjoys a generous parliamentary pension and, until recently, a columnist's income to boot. Whereas Latham views himself as a Real Australian from the Western Suburbs who tells it like it is, unadorned by the silly political correctness of inner-city types who don't have access to the rich seam of Genuine Australianness that flows right through his dinkum Aussie backyard.

In his mind, he's the voice of suburban Australia:

The most telling initial sign, I thought, that @RealMarkLatham was the actual guy was the first word in the account's Twitter bio - "Outsider". It's a fairly extraordinary self-perception for someone who nearly ran the country and until recently wrote for a newspaper that costs $780 per year to read, but identity contradictions like these have always defined Latham.

You can say one thing of his mentor and predecessor as Member for Werriwa, Gough Whitlam - nobody could accuse him of claiming to be an ordinary Aussie.

4) Dubious tweets are worse than dubious columns

Latham resigned, the story goes - but before that happened, he and the AFR withstood months of sustained criticism (and at least one lawsuit) before he was linked to these tweets. What's peculiar about this is that his column was far more prominent than a Twitter account that only ever had a smattering of followers, and contained some of the same material.

Or could it be that Latham's falling out with the Financial Review was the realisation that he might have been giving away for free on Twitter the same zingers about Tara Moss' Facebook page that he was serving up in his premium-priced, paywalled-to-the-hilt columns?

5) High-profile women can complain all they like, but you don't want to offend the sponsors

Is it a coincidence that Latham's departure follows Westpac, which sponsors the 100 Women of Influence Awards with the AFR, expressing concern about him? Buzzfeed had an exclusive here, too, publishing an email from Westpac, sent last Thursday, that agreed Latham's language was "derogatory and offensive".

The Fin acknowledged the issue in its announcement as follows: "Some feminist websites and activists have campaigned against Mr Latham's columns, including by complaining to Westpac, which presents the successful Women of Influence awards with the Financial Review."

It doesn't mention the bank's response.

6) Yet again, aggression has overwhelmed Latham's gifts

Once upon a time Mark Latham was seen as Labor's leading Third Way intellectual, able to fuse scholarly economic insight with the social values of the middle Australia from whence he came. But then there were incidents like that notorious, allegedly election-losing handshake which cemented a public perception of bullying hardly helped by the colourful stories of cabbies and broken arms.

The party trusted him to lead them forward, and Latham was ahead in the polls for a long period before the 2004 election. Ultimately, he led them to a rout that gave the Coalition control of the Senate.

The Latham Diaries similarly veered between powerfully frank insider (cf "Outsider") insights into the political process and extraordinary fits of bile, but the attacks in his AFR columns and on Twitter have been jaw-dropping. It's one thing to go in hard on fellow politicians, but the attacks on Rosie Batty, whose story broke the nation's heart, were simply extraordinary.

Latham has at times offered telling insights into the problems with the Labor Party in particular, but it generally isn't long before things get heated.

7) Mark Latham apparently has a friend

What's more, according to the reputable source @RealMarkLatham, this friend, Mitch Carter, actually ran the @RealMarkLatham account:

What a top bloke!

As Di Stefano pointed out, he must have been a particularly top bloke to supply "Lathos" with so many choice quotes that later made it into his column. And his generosity in running the account despite it being linked to Latham's personal email address is also impressive.

No doubt as you read this, Mitch is shouting "Lathos" heaps of beers this week while he complains about how "Buzzfed wankers" (sic) and "bourgeois left feminist" women robbed him of his column.

8) For the umpteenth time, social media can be career-ending

Whether thanks to resignations, "resignations" or sackings, the annals of Twitter and Facebook are full of examples of people who have lost their jobs for things they shared in a moment of poor judgement. Carrying a smartphone means you can make or break your career in an instant, and sometimes at moments where you shouldn't be communicating with the public.

The Latham case is yet another reminder that what you do on the internet stays around forever, and it's very hard to keep a genie in the bottle, especially when that genie is regularly given to fits of rage, and even more especially when those fits of rage use the same material that has featured on an obscure Twitter account with your name on it.

The phones themselves may be smart, but often the people using them do very dumb things indeed.

A farewell to ABC Shops

It used to be all about the bananas. The ones in pyjamas, of course - B1, B2 and their other pals from Cuddles Avenue. An endearing song from Play School spun off into its own series with all the merchandise imaginable.

In their prime, the Bananas in Pyjamas had a network of embassies across the country, with ABC Shops in most major malls and city centres that sold their replica toys, books, DVDs. The perfect gift for Christmas, if you like anthropomorphic, sleepwear-clad fruit.

There were the Wiggles too, of course, bringing skivvies back into the mainstream where they have always belonged, and let's not forget Doctor Who. Even before the series returned, it was one of the most highly-trafficked areas in ABC Shops, and the reboot has unleashed a huge range of DVDs, novels, toy Daleks and TARDISes, and even funky Doctor Who cushions.

Sometimes past incarnations of the Doctor would even materialise for an in-store signing, leading to enormous queues and keeping the cash registers beeping more rapidly than the console on a Gallifreyan time machine.

Nowadays, Peppa Pig is queen of the ABC Shop. On a recent visit to the Queen Victoria Building branch, my five-year-old nephew and I counted no less than seven incarnations of her, each one larger than him, although a range of sizes is of course available. Books, games, clothes, backpacks, water bottles, books, and even a Peppa playhouse are on sale - no less than 272 products in all.

PHOTO: ABC Shop staff and customers celebrate the 50th anniversary of Doctor Who in 2013. (ABC: Winnie Choo)

My nephew and I had a ball looking at all the different ABC products, but what excited him most was when we discovered the little table in the corner with a range of iPads tethered to it, each one running iView. We lingered while he watched his favourite programs for free as he navigated around an app that he could operate before he could talk in complete sentences.

And therein lies the ABC Shop's problem, and the reason the national broadcaster announced today that its national network of 50 retail outlets will close in the coming months. Today, there's an ABC Shop in just about every major mall across Australia, 50 outposts where you can feel the comfy embrace of the national broadcaster as soon as you walk in the door. By 2017, there will in all likelihood be none.

It's hard to dispute that the internet offers a better way to distribute video and audio content than DVDs, CDs, and even those USB sticks of Richard Fidler's Conversations that have apparently done brisk trade in recent years. In these cases, the end viewer and listener experiences are more or less identical, but the delivery platform is instantaneous.

I will argue loud and long with anyone who thinks print books have no future, but even here the internet can provide mail-orders from a larger range than any retailer can offer.

I've long shopped at the ABC Shop for Christmas and birthday presents, especially for little kids who love nothing more than a stuffed toy, but no retailer could survive just on those kinds of items, especially when they're also stocked by those ubiquitous discount department stores.

This change has taken place across the retail sector. When I was growing up, music and video stores were everywhere, and I would constantly drop in to listen to the latest releases on a CD listening post. Nowadays, when a new album is released, I just go straight to a streaming service.

I haven't bought a DVD or CD for personal consumption in many years, so I'm one whose purchasing practices have driven yet another nail into the coffin of these kinds of retailers. Many, like Brashs, are long gone, while other operators like JB Hi-Fi who once sold mainly media items have shifted to sell devices instead, but that's not an option for the ABC. In some respects, it's remarkable those Shops have survived this long.

And yet the closure of the ABC Shops will mean more than just a reduction in our Peppa-purchasing opportunities. I've visited more than my fair share over the years, thanks to the Chaser's brief heyday in the mid-2000s, when we used to make pilgrimages around the country signing books and DVDs, and I'll miss them.

To regular customers, ABC Shops are the ABC, and the staff will tell you that they're constantly fielding enquiries, comments and occasionally brickbats about programming, transmission and all other aspects of what the national broadcaster does.

When the doors close, it will no doubt feel to some as though the ABC has in some tangible sense departed from those communities. On-air personalities won't drop in regularly to the places where most of us do our weekly shop, and the regular outside broadcasts in those stores, often timed to coincide with Christmas shopping, will cease.

But that said, the ABC's connection with the community is moving online too. If you want to contact the national broadcaster, you don't need to go and chat to a teenager working a retail job while they study. Nowadays you can directly tweet Leigh Sales, Costa Georgiadis and even the managing director himself.

Still, I'll miss the chance to walk through the doors of an ABC Shop - there's one in the foyer at Ultimo, and I pop in regularly. They're calm, friendly, reassuring places, with thoughtful staff who love a chat and are always handy with a recommendation. When I stream the latest triple j Hottest 100 collection as opposed to buying it on a CD, I don't get to chat to somebody and wander around a space where I feel a connection with the ABC family of programs that I grew up with, and that's a pity.

The whole thing's a pity, of course, especially for those who will be losing their jobs. But sadly, they're our ABC Shops, and we've already voted with our wallets.

An end to Watto Lotto?

Shane Watson, out leg before wicket. It's a refrain that has been heard 29 times in his 59 Tests, frequently after a slight break to allow the decision review system to confirm the obvious.

Watto is out. We've said it so many times over the years, often as he failed yet again to convert a half-century into a big score. He's accumulated 24 half-centuries and a mere four tons. Sadly for Watson, four Test centuries is too few for Cricinfo even to bother counting the accomplishment in its league table of Australian century-makers. It's less than 10 per cent of Ricky Ponting's record 41.

But now Watto is out of the team, many years after Australians stopped wondering whether he was somehow sacrosanct, and assumed he had footage of the selectors doing nuddy runs around the MCG.

Traditionally, a long-serving Test all-rounder is worth two players, but when it comes to Watson, it always seemed that the selectors were satisfied that being a half-decent batsman and a half-decent bowler was enough to make him a complete cricketer.

But now Watto is out of the team entirely, and at the age of 34, it might be for good, both in the sense of being permanent and for the good of the team, which in the first day of the Second Test has not exactly felt his absence.

Watching this compilation of some of the eight times - eight! - that Watson has been out LBW in Ashes Tests, I came to recognise the expression of wincing incredulity that crosses his face whenever the ball has yet again crashed into his legs instead of the bat. Why hasn't the universe been kinder, Watto is wondering. Why haven't more of my dreams come to pass? How can I be out like that, again?

Sport, and life, are like that. Some of us just always seem to get there, while others just always seem to miss out. Why was Kevin Rudd and not Kim Beazley the one who finally led Labor to victory? Or, as Simon Crean would ask (but only Simon Crean), why not him?

Some people are just unlucky. Others are not good enough, of course - but when it comes to Shane Watson, we'll undoubtedly never know which he was.

Watto has long been a figure of derision in a country that's used to winning, and winning big, and if that means winning ugly, then that's okay. But there are other cricketing nations who might have treasured Shane Watson as a prodigy. Okay, so I'm probably not talking about nations with full Test status, but nevertheless, it's conceivable.

And even for Australia, there are other times, during the period of West Indian domination, for instance, when he might have seemed a stalwart.

Shane Watson's experience in the Australian Test team is not unlike my own recollection of playing the sport. There were days as a batsman when it seemed I could do no wrong, when the ball just flew to the boundary, as it often did from my most reliable scoring shot, the accidental edge. They were precious, joyful days, and their rarity made them all the more special.

Sure, my all-time high score was 16, while his is 176, but we are similar in that there weren't many days that good. Looking at his career batting graph, that score in the drawn fifth Test in 2013 towers above the rest of his performances like the gulf between his potential and the reality of his career.

And at least he got to play, and play for many years. He was much more fortunate than poor old Scott Muller, who played a mere two Tests in which he dismissed seven recognised batsmen, but is now remembered only for the "can't bowl, can't throw" scandal.

Darren Lehmann says Watson's career is not yet over. But in Lehmann's words, one can detect the faint praise that has so often accompanied his career. "He's been an experienced player for us," Lehmann said. He certainly has - but arguably not a great one, sadly.

"Form is going to dictate what Shane does," Lehmann went on to say. Which is something of a first, in recent years, admittedly. But while there's the prospect of injury to better players, there's surely hope.

Steve Waugh is more sceptical, saying there's probably no way back now, given Watto's age. If he's right, we'll never see Shane Watson's legs before a Test wicket again.

But if we know Watto, and we do, we can be certain of one thing. Somewhere over there in England, he's asking for this decision to be reviewed.

Texting while driving, and other smart tech to help morons

Do you text while driving? One in three do, apparently. Which means that even though it’s a leading cause of accidents, a lot of us are such utter idiots that it’s a miracle any car gets to its destination intact.

Our capacity to act against our obvious self-interest has inspired inventor Scott Tibbetts to create a device to solve a problem that really shouldn’t be one. It’s a little box that stores the text messages up, only delivering them to our phone when we’ve arrived at our destination. The theory is that we’re all so thoroughly programmed to be distracted by a “little bing”, as he puts it, that we need to ensure that these messages don’t arrive in the first place.

It seems a brilliant solution to a moronic problem. The equation whereby answering a text message is more important than keeping your eyes on the heavy machines hurtling towards you makes absolutely no sense. The extent of this problem must mean that somehow our phones have bypassed our instinct for self-preservation, and induced some kind of Pavlovian response whereby we simply cannot concentrate on anything else once we hear a message arrive.

Getting into a crash because of a text message is bad enough, but there are even more irrelevant distractions than SMS on our phones these days. Writing off your car because someone tagged you in a Facebook photo is an even more ridiculous possibility, but we can more or less guarantee that somewhere, sometime, it’s happened.

Have our intense yet indulgent lifestyles have completely destroyed our capacity for self-control? It seems that way when you consider that lifestyle diseases are the world’s biggest killers. It’s dumb to overeat, or smoke, or reply to a text while you’re navigating a busy highway, and yet we can’t say no. Just like it’s dumb to build up a huge credit card debt, or go BASE jumping, or go and see an Ashton Kutcher movie, yet still many of us do, time and time again.

It may seem ironic that the solution to a problem caused by technology is more technology, but appealing to our self-preservation instincts clearly doesn’t work. That’s why the government insists we buckle our seatbelts and wear bike helmets, even though not doing these things is as self-evidently bad an idea as an island full of genetically-engineered dinosaurs.

So if self-control is genuinely no longer an option for us as a species, here are some machines that inventors like Tibbetts might want to work on.

A car distance lock

While we’re adding features to our cars, what about a feature that disables the engine if the distance you’re proposing to drive is within walking distance? It would also somehow have to be able to prevent us from hailing cabs.

A flame preventer

The technology that can stop us getting text messages while driving may also be able to prevent us sending those angry messages that spiral into a pointless, time-wasting exchange of bile. It would be especially useful on websites that feature anonymous comments from the public. (Hint, hint.)

A stomach controller

Gastric bands reduce the size of the stomach on a permanent basis, but I’d love to see a machine that can induce a feeling of intense fullness whenever I walk past a bakery, but give me a ravenous hunger when all there is on the table in front of me is lettuce.

A pokie controller

Playing the pokies is fundamentally illogical, as Tom Cummings once explained on The Drum. Even if you win, that will encourage you to keep playing, and in the end you’ll almost certainly lose, because they’re programmed to give a return to player of something like 85%. We need a machine that sits on our ear and constantly says “DON’T PLAY, YOU WILL DEFINITELY LOSE”, and then, when that doesn’t work and we try to play, disables our fingers.

A humblebrag nausea-inducer

Remember how in A Clockwork Orange, Alex has a treatment that makes him queasy whenever he thinks of violence? I’d like to see people getting that fitted so that whenever they say something like “Don’t you hate it when the paper prints a terrible photo of you in the social pages?” or “Seems like they were really desperate for Order of Australia recipients this year, you guys!” they immediately feel as ill as everybody around them does.

A selfie deleter

Simple – if you take a photo of yourself, not only is it immediately shredded before your eyes, but you receive a mild electric shock. The more selfies you take, the more intense the shock gets. This may be fatal in the case of certain celebrities, which means that it’s all upside, really.

How to enjoy the Midwinter Ball

So you're heading to Parliament's Night of Nights, the Midwinter Ball! Or maybe you're just curious about what our politicians get up to when ordinary Australians are distracted by State of Origin? Here's an exclusive guide to enjoying the only social occasion within the Parliamentary Triangle that's more entertaining than Senate Estimates.

The dress code

Any of the following options is acceptable:

• Tuxedos (for men)
• Ballgowns (for women)
• Hi-vis (for Tony Abbott)
• Leather jacket (for Malcolm Turnbull)
• Kaftans (for Greens)
• White International Youth Year '85 t-shirt (for Hot Albo)

How to get there

Most attendees arrive via ComCar, while Clive Palmer generally likes to arrive on the back of an animatronic dinosaur. To really get people talking, make a dramatic water arrival, crossing Lake Burley Griffin in an unseaworthy fishing vessel for just $US5,000 cash.

Where to sit

Seating is strictly partisan - not so much for the various political parties, who don't mind socialising on a rare night off, but for Fairfax, News and the ABC. If unsure where to sit, you are likely to find a vacant spot at Clive Palmer's table, and more spaces may well open up as the night goes on. Be warned that guests sitting at Sarah Ferguson's table are liable to find themselves being artily questioned about their behaviour between 2010 and 2013.

Etiquette

• If anybody brings up an uncomfortable topic, all attendees are permitted to cite "operational matters" and refuse to answer.
• Leaders are generally required to attempt uncharacteristically humorous speeches like Julia Gillard's in 2013.
• However, in the interest of an enjoyable evening for all guests, Bill Shorten will not permitted to make any jokes into a microphone.
• Smoking is not permitted within the Parliament House precinct, except cigars for which Joe or Matthias can 100 per cent hook you up.
• Expect 90 per cent of conversation tonight to be restricted to The Killing Season. No, seriously, did you see that scene where...

Charity auctions

There are always multiple auction items that allow successful bidders to hobnob with our political leaders for a good cause. It's worth having a bid, even though every single one is always won by GetUp. Here are some of the options this year:

• An "on-water natter" with Minister Peter Dutton! Take a pleasant cruise into international waters with the Immigration Minister. Be advised, though, that the boat will turn around at a time of his choosing, and you won't necessarily have a passport upon return.
• A Labor dinner experience! After bidding on an affable night in the company of Anthony Albanese, you'll discover that Bill Shorten has done the numbers and you'll be dining with him instead.
• Brunch with Bill Shorten! Alternatively, you can join the Opposition Leader for his favourite meal, which can constitute breakfast or lunch or anything between the two depending on the latest polling.
• A coffee at Aussie's with any government MP! This is your chance to catch up and shoot the breeze with any Coalition MP you like, and also Peta Credlin whose attendance is non-negotiable.
• An exclusive afternoon tea with Senator Dio Wang! Who is the elusive PUP Senator, really? Win this prize, and you'll be the one person who knows.
• A North Queensland camping experience with Bob Katter! It'll be just you and Bob, camping overnight under the shelter of his enormous hat as he regales you with facts about the North Queensland banana industry.
• A powerbroker's lunch with Don Farrell and Senator David Feeney! You'll feel like a king when you dine with the Killing Season kingmakers. Enjoy a series of rolls as you toy with colleagues' leadership aspirations.
• A good meal at a good price with Joe Hockey! Enjoy fine dining with the Treasurer as you discuss just how affordable housing can be with a parliamentary living allowance.
• A dinner with Clive Palmer and Malcolm Turnbull! As well as a pleasant lakeside meal featuring Canberra's most renowned banana split, this is your chance to feature in yet another round of intense leadership speculation.
• An internet chat session with Senator Scott Ludlum! You'll have a no-holds-barred, guaranteed-hacking-free tête-à-tête with the Parliament's nerdiest senator after your Skype call to WA is routed through VPNs located in all 193 UN member states.

(Note: You can bid on the real charity items.)

A final cautionary note

Whatever happens at the Midwinter Ball stays at the Midwinter Ball, by prior agreement of politicians and press gallery members in the interests of all. However, be advised that whatever happens in late-night Kingston bars will definitely be in Crikey tomorrow.

Give us a home among the gum trees

A few summers ago, I was sitting in a beer garden with half a dozen friends who work as commercial lawyers in major firms. The conversation drifted to property, as it always does in Sydney, and each of them confessed that they were looking for a house so their young kids could have access to a backyard. Then they all sighed and said that there was absolutely nothing affordable even remotely near the city, and they couldn’t look too far afield because they didn’t want to spend an hour plus each way commuting.

They were keen to reiterate that they weren’t looking for anything big or fancy, just a little terrace or something with a modest rectangle of backyard so that their kids could burn off some energy within the safe walls of their yard. Maybe, they pondered wistfully, they’d host the occasional barbeque, as well?

Not being a commercial lawyer myself, the conversation made me wince. If these people, who had jumped through all of society’s hoops to guarantee themselves success and a healthy income, and put in long, dedicated hours doing finicky work for demanding commercial clients, were having trouble finding a house that wasn’t a brutally lengthy commute from the CBD, what hope did I have?

I grew up in a pleasant, middle-class environment in North Sydney where just about everyone I knew had some manner of backyard where we’d make cubby houses, bounce on trampolines and generally muck around. The houses in which I grew up were never big, but my parents put in partitions and fixed things so that my brother and I had our own rooms, and there was enough space to accommodate two boys who liked playing cricket or soccer outdoors. I had my 21st birthday party in our backyard, and although it was about the size of half a tennis court, we festooned it with lanterns, and it was a great night.

My generation, who is on either side of forty, is surely the first in the history of Australia to grow up feeling that the dream of owning a home like the one we grew up in is unattainable. In previous decades, houses have grown bigger and bigger as the nation grew wealthier, but the vast property wealth accumulated by our baby boomer parents and grandparents has put an abrupt stop to this.

As macabre as it seems, the best hope most people my age have of owning a house is inheriting one. What’s more, our parents are living ever longer (which is vastly preferable, of course!), so what will probably happen is that many of us will inherit significant property in their sixties, right when our kids are leaving home, and we no longer need it.

I know that many may think that the complaints about housing affordability are a whinge from a group that’s already extremely privileged, and I’ve not much defence against that suggestion except to point out how consistently Sydney prices have outperformed inflation over many years. Yes, growing up in the heart of one of the world’s most beautiful, safe and comfortable cities was a huge privilege, but it’s also one I’d like to be able to extend to my children some day.

When the Treasurer says “get a good job with good pay”, I wonder exactly how good a job you have to have to be able to afford a house in Sydney? The lawyers I know have extremely comfortable salaries, and they’re struggling to afford one. Even the Prime Minister, who presumably bought long ago when prices in Forestville were considerably lower, has admitted to suffering “mortgage stress”, even though the Abbott family, like so many, is a two-income household.

In these days of million-dollar mortgages, the concept of property ownership must seem absurdly unattainable to people in their twenties, many of whom struggle to afford their rent. Maybe their values are shifting, and home ownership isn’t as important as regular travel or employment satisfaction, so the thought of being a lifelong renter isn’t as off-putting as it feels to my generation. Then again, I’m pretty sure my cohort felt that way once, too, but now that so many of us are having kids, the lure of the backyard has become extremely strong for us.

Perhaps the reason why Joe Hockey’s comments have inspired such a strong reaction is because home ownership is such an emotive area for Australians. Owning a home makes us feel safe, both financially and physically, comfortable in the knowledge that when we own a place, a capricious landlord can never evict us.

The Coalition has campaigned successfully on being the party that keeps interest rates low, which shows that Joe Hockey’s party previously understood the place that home ownership had in Aussie hearts. Labor is talking a lot about the issue, too, but is unlikely to rock the boat with any major policy shift in areas like negative gearing – alienating existing homeowners is far too risky.

Prices rise when demand exceeds supply, of course. Unless Australians suddenly decide to reverse our centuries-long trend and abandon our cities for the joys of regional or rural living, or unless the economy wilts to the point where mortgages are once again 18% like they were in the mid-1980s, the only solution is surely to attempt to radically increase supply. This would place further demands on our already groaning infrastructure, and it might mean that we need to stop fantasising about backyards and be satisfied with balconies. But at least then future generation of Australians could feel more confident about their place in the world, because they owned a place in the world.

Eurovision 2015 was disturbingly freak-free

This year's Eurovision Song Contest was pretty good.

As reactions go, that's roughly on par with saying you found the new Mumford & Sons album not in the least bit effete, or that you were moved by a recent episode of Keeping Up With The Kardashians.

In fact, both observations have been made recently after recent instalments from the Mumfords and Kardashians pleasantly surprised critics. Which goes to show that just because a live, international television broadcast has been one way for an astonishing 59 years, that doesn't mean it can't achieve the unexpected.

This year, for its 60th anniversary, most countries somehow lifted their usual standards to produce a perfectly respectable, non-wacky effort. Which might just have made it the most disappointing Eurovision I've ever watched. In fact, it was so solid that one could almost have been forgiven for taking the whole thing seriously.

As I watched this year's Eurovision, I found myself not really minding most of the songs, until I got up to Guy Sebastian and looked back to realise that very few of the staples of Eurovision, those tried and tested elements that have kept fans coming back for decades, were in place this year.

Where were the wacky wardrobe reinventions transforming an already-absurd national dress into something stranger? Where were the woefully out-of-tune pretenders? Where was the troupe oftuneless grandmothers singing about parties with dour looks on their faces? Where were the performers dressed like aliens whose home planet can only manufacture alfoil? Above all, where was this year's monstrous Lordi?

If you take a wander through some of the Eurovision entries past, you will find that this year's entries are all vastly better in musical terms and vastly worse in peculiarness terms, and both of those developments are most unwelcome.

The only truly odd thing about the 60th Eurovision Song Contest was the random inclusion of Australia, but when our representative turned out to be Guy Sebastian, there was no way that even the inclusion of a nation located thousands of kilometres from Europe could produce genuine bizarreness. SBS chose the safest possible pair of hands, and you can't get any safer than Guy Sebastian without poaching staff from Play School.

I mean, the favourite from Sweden won. Could Eurovision 2015 have been any more predictable?

Admittedly, there were a few moments to remind us of the magnificent heights of eccentricity achieved in past years. France sent out an army of gold bodysuited drummers to accompany Lisa Angell for a touch of Les Gliterrables; Serbia's Bojana Stamenov and her dancers seemed to have raided an under-resourced primary school's drama cupboard for their outfits; and Montenegro's Knez sported a pencil moustache, goatee and pronounced leer that surely frightened children across Europe.

Italy's entrants mistakenly thought they could make opera cool by adopting wacky glasses, while defending champion Austria provided the night's only moment of true amusement with a piano that burst into flame, but that still wasn't enough to avoid last place. A valiant effort all round.

By Eurovision standards, though, these antics barely registered. It was as though the spirit of Guy Sebastian had infused the entire event, his unquestionable competence and professionalism seeping throughout the event to make it moderately, but not overwhelmingly, impressive.

I was genuinely proud of Guy's effort on behalf of Australia, too. Not only is he a great singer, but his song attempted to infuse some much needed funk into Eurovision. Since we'd only been invited as a one-off, I guess I can understand why SBS chose the safest possible pair of hands, and you can't get any safer than Guy Sebastian without poaching staff from Play School. Even Lee Lin Chin played her scorekeeping role dead straight, which must have taken considerable effort.

As expected, Guy's performance was the opposite of embarrassing. Sure, that may also have made it the opposite of what I love most about Eurovision, but since he was representing Australia, he clearly did us proud. Finishing fifth overall is perfectly commendable, and he managed to do well without interfering with the major positions, like the perfect guest.

But Eurovision 2016 needs to let its freak flag fly. In particular, any song which could slot seamlessly into my gym's playlist needs to be vetoed before it even hits the semi-finals.

The music industry is highly adept at producing radio-friendly chart fodder, and Eurovision should be the one time of the year where they don't get to. Because while I was very proud of Guy's efforts with 'Tonight Again', I've no desire to spend four hours watching a show like tonight again.

Budget 2015: the definitive best guaranteed accurate winners and losers

Budgets are complicated documents in which a multitude of complex changes to expenditure and taxation are delivered in one go. It’s for this reason that media organisations helpfully break the detail down into concise lists, usually with groovy little graphics like these ones.

I read every single one of the 93 winners and losers lists published by the Australian media on budget night to bring you this, the most definitive list of all.

Which I suspect makes you the winner and me the loser.

WINNER: Adelaide

Joe Hockey said that this was “a budget for a start‑up business in Adelaide”, which is fabulous news for whoever owns it. There will undoubtedly be more, as the City of Churches is inundated by froyo shops.

LOSERS: Backpackers

Travellers on working holidays visas will no longer have access to the tax-free threshold that’s available to Australian residents, so they’ll have to pay income tax on all of the non-cash-in-hand income they almost never earn.

WINNERS: Small business

Assets worth less than $20,000 will be able to be deducted immediately. There will also be lots of work for accountants, as the threshold of $2 million will see all major Australian businesses restructured into related entities with turnover of $1,999,999.99.

LOSER: Apple

The US device maker is being targeted, along with 29 other multinationals, in an attempt to bypass its complex tax minimisation and profit-shifting measures. Fortunately, any increased tax it pays will be more than offset by the deluge of small business owners buying tax write-off iPads.

WINNERS: Smash repairers

Not only will they be able to invest in new equipment, but there’s a bonanza on the way from all the small business owners who misunderstand Hockey’s invitation to go out and write off their assets immediately.

LOSERS: Expats

They’ll now have to pay back the HECS they’re using their degrees to earn money in London or New York instead of here. And if they don’t pay it, presumably we’ll seize the sweet little apartment they bought themselves with the first home owner’s grant. That’ll teach you to abandon Australia, brain-drainers. Or to leave to get educated even earlier.

WINNER: Netflix

Sure, customers will have to pay an extra 90c a month to use their service, but does anyone really think that’ll make any difference when figures published this week say that their market share’s already ahead of Foxtel’s? After all, they have Orange Is The New Black, while their local competitors may discover that their new black is red.

LOSER: Indonesia

Along with our ambassador, we just recalled 40% of our aid, presumably because if the country can afford to send air force jets to escort a handcuffed pastor and painter from one prison to another, they don’t need so much of our help any more. Although we might want to pay for Joko Widodo to get an answering machine, so he can do a better job of returning Tony Abbott’s calls. That said, phones have been a contentious subject in recent years.

WINNERS: Waterslide lovers

The Treasurer promised an “immediate tax deduction for new investment in water facilities”, which we can only hope inspires the construction of dozens of aquatic theme parks right across the country.

LOSER: Anti-vaxxers

Their childcare payments will be reduced unless their kids are inoculated, although if their approach to the science of mathematics is the same as their approach to the established science on vaccination, they might not actually notice.

WINNER: Hockey Real Estate

The Treasurer mentioned how his family’s family real estate agency “put a roof over our heads” and “gave all of the family a chance at a better life”. No doubt the whole country was listening, and thinking hey, why not ask the Hockeys to put a roof over our heads too? No word on whether you get a cigar for a successful transaction.

LOSER: Shadow Treasurer Joe Hockey

Do you remember that guy, who said things like “[Wayne Swan] wants you to believe he can deliver a Budget surplus, but as each day goes by there’s increasing doubt that he ever will (2011)” and “Labor’s planned return to surplus is not credible and presents a potential black hole in future Budgets (2013)”? Being unable to resisting the direction of the global economy seems far more forgivable when you’re on the Treasury benches.

WINNER: Northern Australia

$5bn of loans will be made available for anybody who wants to build a port or other major infrastructure up there. Which is presumably the government saying it can't be bothered, because it’s just so incredibly hot and humid up there – but sure, knock yourself out, Gina et al.

LOSER: Bill Shorten

Last year’s budget was so unpopular that Bill Shorten went on a months-long spree in the polls. But now the government has remembered that it needs to make people like it to win re-election, so it’s been doling out money to the voters whose support it needs, the way John Howard used to. Which means Bill Shorten’s job just got a whole lot harder than it was when he was ahead in the polls as a proxy for “anyone else”.

LOSER: Bill Shorten again

This time because it was his birthday on budget night. Seriously, who wants to spend their birthday wading through financial documents? (Well, Albo would have been up for it, but that’s still an awkward subject.)

WINNER: Joe Hockey

After the criticism he’s weathered from the media, the pollsters and even some of his colleagues over the past year, it’s a huge triumph for him even to be delivering this budget – even though Scott Morrison got to sell the most attractive bits. Nobody can say that Joe didn’t follow his own advice and have a go, even if some of his colleagues ultimately conclude he has to go.

Charlotte Elizabeth Diana: what’s in a Royal Name?

Congratulations to his current Royal Highness and future Britannic Majesty William, Duke of Cambridge, Duke of Cambridge, Earl of Strathearn, Baron Carrickfergus, and future king of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith, the fifth of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, on the birth of his daughter!

And of course congratulations also to Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge, who seems to have handled matters ever so well for a commoner. She is now Mother of Heir and Spare, having admirably prolonged the House of Windsor into yet another generation, unlike newfangled dynasties like the House of Cards, which sank into mediocrity in only its third year.

Especial congratulations too to the family on the choice of the child’s name, Princess Charlotte Elizabeth Diana of Cambridge. It’s a fine choice, full of heraldic significance. A name befitting a princess, really, which is lucky, because unlike your computer-animated Disney versions, this is an actual, proper princess, with access to castles and everything.

Those of you who are not long-term royal watchers, and, some have suggested, trusted confidants of the royal family – although of course I would never be so uncouth as to confirm that – may not understand the full significance of the three names, so let me enlighten you.

Charlotte

Principally, of course, Charlotte refers to a dessert, popular in the very finest of English stately homes such as Downton Abbey. It includes trifle, which symbolises the trifling matters which will regrettably distract any young royal throughout much of her life, and custard, because this is a British princess who will inexplicably love the stuff.

Charlotte is also a city in North Carolina famous for its basketball team, the Hornets. Could William have chosen such symbolism as a rebuke of those buzzing irritants in the press whose sting his family has felt many times before?

Famous Charlottes who may have inspired the name of the little princess include the professional wrestler Charlotte the Southern Belle, Charlotte the Spider and of course Charlotte McLeod from McLeod’s Daughters.

While my sources indicate these are the principal reasons, or rather the princessipal reasons, for the choice of name, Charlotte is also named after Prince Charles. The family will be hoping that she merely derives her name, and not her ears, from the heir to the throne.

Elizabeth

My exclusive sources tell me that Elizabeth is a feminine given name derived from the Greek Ελισάβετ, which is a form of the Hebrew name Elisheva (אֱלִישֶׁבַע), meaning "My God is an oath". The name remains popular with the royal family despite its sweariness.

While on one level the name is derived from Elizabeth II, the baby's great-grandmother, it's my understanding that the primary reason for the choice of name is the Royal couple's hope that their daughter will be a Betty, as opposed to a Veronica. In other words, one need not act like a total princess merely because one is born one.

Elizabeths are often known for being the most admirable members of their family, such as Elizabeth Olsen. This is in no way intended as a slight on Princess Margaret, but let’s just say that her face was never on the coins, was it?

Other well-known Elizabeths include Elizabeth I, who famously never married, and Elizabeth the Queen Mother, who famously did.

Diana

Finally, there is Diana, who is of course the Roman goddess of the hunt, reflecting the Royal family’s centuries-old devotion to exterminating grouse. She is also associated with the moon, reflecting the traditionally round faces of the royal family, currently well illustrated by her brother George.

It’s also likely that Diana refers to Diana Prince, the secret identity of Wonder Woman. This little princess will certainly need to be a Wonder Woman to put up with the endless scrutiny from the army of dronebots that are tipped to replace paparazzi by 2018!

Of course young Princess Charlotte’s grandmother was Diana, Princess of Wales, but this is probably a coincidence, as it would be a lot of pressure to put on the little girl, given her rampant popularity and ‘People’s Princess’ title. Prince Charles should be a great deal easier to live up to, as long as little Charlotte likes watercolours and writing letters.

Charlotte Elizabeth Diana

Some have asked why all three of the royal baby’s names have arguably been derived from William’s immediate relatives, and none of the Middletons. I hope I have amply demonstrated that there is more to the names than just William’s two parents and the Queen, but if not, then let’s not forget that the Middletons should consider themselves lucky just to be there.

Finally, because no detail is too trivial for a veteran royal-watcher to analyse, consider the poignant order of the names. Many sources have suggested that it was the Queen who ultimately asked Charles and Diana to divorce. And indeed, Elizabeth is there in the princess’ name, keeping Charles/otte and Diana apart all over again.

I’m sure you will agree that the Cambridges have chosen the best possible name for their new daughter. Let’s not forget, though, that the younger sibling of the monarch is only really required to muck about having a good time, like Margaret, Andrew and of course Harry. If George ascends the throne and reproduces, Charlotte will have fulfilled her Royal purpose as long as her inevitable scandals are relatively minor, and she doesn’t try to bring back It’s A Royal Knockout.

Thirsty for a 'Straya less obsessed with booze

Controversy has always come to Shane Warne as effortlessly as that cheeky grin and those huge leg breaks. Last night, the genius spinner who can get himself into trouble with nothing more than a mobile phone and his own legendary libido managed to cast an idiosyncratic shadow over the moment when his former teammates won their first-ever home World Cup.

Mark Taylor often does the on-field interviews on Nine's Wide World of Sports, and tends, boringly, to ask his fellow cricketers about the game. Not our Warnie. All he wants is to ascertain their level of thirst.

And we aren't talking about thirst as a metaphor for desire to win. We're talking about the consumption of liquid, and not the sort that gets brought onto the ground on a little cart shaped like a giant bottle. At Warnie's journalism academy, all that matters is the likelihood of a cricketer smashing a Boonyesque number of tinnies to celebrate.

Just as he once used to keep probing at batsmen, tempting them to sweep a flipper that instead crashed into their pad, Warnie kept coming back to his signature question. "You gonna get thirsty tonight, Smithy?" he asked Steve Smith, who had just become the first batsman to score a half-century in a World Cup quarter-final, semi and final. And he wouldn't even wait for an answer, continuing with "The boys are thirsty, they seem."

Of course, "Smithy" agreed, despite looking somewhat taken aback. Darn right he was thirsty! Somebody get the man a drink! And not a mineral water!

"What's the plan, besides lotsa drinkin'," Warne asked Watson, teasing his global audience with the suggestion that he was asking him about a topic besides his pending obliteration. But no. "How long's that gonna last, one night, two nights; we saw Darren Lehmann say it might last a week. Reckon it'll go longer than that?"

Watto's reply: "What do you reckon?"

Ha! I reckon you're thirsty, Watto!

Geoff Lemon wrote recently about how banal cricket commentary has become in Richie Benaud's absence, descending into locker-room talk that's "all about being the matiest mates who ever mated". And the sheer dullness of Warnie's boozy chats is the most obvious problem with them, alongside the rather depressing spectacle of a guy who's too old to play desperately wanting still to be one of the boys.

I doubt anyone would bet against the prospect that even as you read this, our Shane is still celebrating right alongside the team captained by his best mate, pushing them to go hard right when they just want to get to sleep.

But beer's relationship with the Australian cricket team goes much deeper than boofy, blokey banter after a famous victory. At the ground, fans churn through schooners themselves and turn their plastic cups into enormous "beer snakes" that writhe around the outer recesses of the ground, just as many of those same spectators will writhe around on the ground later in the night.

And the Australians who held the trophy aloft at the MCG last night had a beer logo on their sleeves. Theamber fluid has long been one of the major sponsors of Cricket Australia, whose curiously unhealthy approach to revenue generation has also led them to associate themselves with fried chicken, sugar water and gambling.

In this cosy relationship, Shane Warne symbolises more than just a larrikin with a mike in his hand. He's so closely associated with beer that the game's sponsor once gave away talking Warnie dolls, and sent a huge statue of him to tour around the Ashes grounds.

Boonie and Warnie are the perfect pitchmen to Aussie blokes who reckon they're still in their prime even though their bulging guts say otherwise.

That's because, like Boonie, Warne is that rare sportsman who seems to be able to both succeed and drink. David Boon's big belly only somehow made him more indomitable, and Warnie only ever needed to be fit enough to take a few skipping steps up to the stumps. They're the perfect pitchmen to Aussie blokes who reckon they're still in their prime even though their bulging guts say otherwise.

Like drinking itself, this sort of blokey bravado is all in good fun until it isn't. And while cricketers are involved in fewer alcohol-related dramas than footy players, there are still plenty of problems in the "gentleman's game". Have we really forgotten Andrew Symonds, who helped win previous World Cups but was ultimately axed from the game for binge-drinking? I wonder what he thought, watching his former teammate's antics last night. Even the great Ricky Ponting got into hot water early in his career while out boozing.

But I don't want to be too critical of Warnie, because then I'd violate the Aussie code of being a good bloke.

As Warne himself Tweeted:

Ah, Warnie. Legend. Top bloke. Etc.

The tendency of Aussie blokes to make everything about beer is becoming embarrassing. And it's not just cricketers - even a former Prime Minister happily smashed a schooey at the SCG a few summers ago. (Bob Hawke, obviously.) That video's already got 1.3 million views on YouTube, because of course it does.

By contrast, I find it hard to believe that our current generation of cricketers isn't too fit and professional to make boozing a regular part of their ritual. Michael Clarke looks like the kind of guy who does Pilates, and in a nation whose waistlines are becoming dangerously stretched, we should surely be admiring him for it.

Of course there's nothing wrong with a few beers to celebrate, especially after a World Cup that's dragged on for months. But it should be done privately and subtly, in a way that doesn't encourage people to emulate their sporting heroes. It certainly shouldn't be glorified in front of an audience of billions the way it was last night.

We've seen that when cricketers put their mind to it, they can be fabulous role models - look at how they've embraced the McGrath Foundation, to the extent that they wear pink for a day each year. Pink! Like girls!

So why can't the same maturity be extended to their approach to alcohol? Why can't our sporting triumphs just be about the triumph, instead of the drinking that follows?

Or does that make me a bad bloke, Warnie? A politically correct killjoy? Sorry, mate. I'll buy you a few beers sometime, eh? #Thirsty!

Some real vision for Australia's Eurovision

As of today, Tony Abbott has a fresh global accomplishment to chalk up alongside his three free trade agreements and whatever is happening with those submarines.

This year, Australia will be allowed to compete in Eurovision in honour of the song contest's 60th anniversary - despite the country being thousands of kilometres away from Europe, and further away still in terms of musical taste.

We are the only ones being so honoured, presumably in reflection of the great loyalty we have displayed by watching in large numbers each year. I can only imagine the Eurovision organisers don't realise that 97 per cent of viewers watch for the purpose of sniggering at the many inadvertently hilarious entries. After all, Europe may be the cradle of Western civilisation, but it is also the cradle of pop music so heinous that it only gets played in gyms in order to encourage people on treadmills to run away as quickly as possible.

I have always imagined we watched so avidly because it makes us feel better about ourselves. Even our immense cultural cringe cannot help but be diminished whenever we observe bodysuited Bulgarian peasants twerking with a giant pink tractor.

So, Eurovision is precious to us here in Australia, and it's deeply flattering for our nation to be invited to compete. It's kind of like getting invited to Kim and Kanye's wedding - a massive honour, even though you'll be sniggering up the back all night.

Nevertheless, there is a flaw in the plan, a flaw as self-evident as the need for the Francophone countries to give up on delivering their Eurovision scores in French, because it's starting to look le petulant.

If Australia competes in Eurovision this year, we, as the nation that gave the world not only Kylie but also Jason, will obviously win. When we do, we will gain the right to host next year's song contest at Melbourne's Federation Square (I was going to suggest the Sydney Opera House, but SBS is based at Fed Square, and somehow its fractured puce architecture seems more appropriately Eurokitsch).

So it won't just be the one time that we'll be competing, will it? In fact, by chalking up win after win, our involvement could continue in perpetuity.

So, in anticipation of our inevitable victory, the only thing that remains for us to decide is who will represent Australia. While once this would of course have been determined by captain's pick, we are a more consultative and collegiate nation in this new era of good government. So unless the Australia Day council decides, I assume the singer will be determined by some kind of excruciating national pageant.

In the hope of influencing that, I offer the following suggestions.

John Farnham

In recent years, veteran artists have appeared at Eurovision in increasing numbers, so who better than our very own Engelbert Humperdinck? There's also a chance of a reverse transportation-type deal that would see him permanently returned to the UK.

Lorde

She is from New Zealand, but so were the Finn brothers, and that didn't stop us from claiming them since forever. (Note that if she is unavailable, Russell Crowe is not an appropriate Kiwi muso replacement.)

Chet Faker

The immensely talented Hottest 100 winner could sample all the other entries, and somehow fuse them into something listenable.

Angry Anderson

The Rose Tattoo frontman was unable to win a seat in the last federal election, so this would be another way for him to represent the Australian people. He could delight and baffle Europe with 'Suddenly'. What better anthem for Eurovision than the song that played as Scott and Charlene walked down the aisle on Neighbours?

Collette

The 'Ring My Bell' singer's suitability for Eurovision can be proven in just one word: Lycra.

Taylor Swift

Will be the contestant if the competition is administered by triple j.

Nick Cave

Eurovision voters are OK with a black sheep entrant offering a darker vibe, having flocked to the terrifying Finnish monster Mr Lordi in 2006. Furthermore, Nick Cave would surely never mean one of his murder ballads more sincerely than when looking out at a room full of Europop singers.

Prince Philip

Russia recently came second with an act featuring six grandmothers, and we can top that with our most prominent great-grandfather. He could sing a Prince cover, or perhaps a song in recognition of two of his many titles, Stevie Wonder's 'Sir Duke'.

Midnight Oil

As committed environmentalists, the Oils have long railed against waste of all kinds. Who better to deliver a passionate indictment against the enormous resources that go into broadcasting Eurovision? The smoke machine emissions alone are surely scandalous.

Jessica Mauboy

She's probably ruled out because she did the Aussie cameo at last year's Eurovision, but she would be really great. Which is another reason why she won't be chosen, because that's just not how Eurovision works.

Sia

This is who should probably do it if we want to guarantee a win. Plus, her tendency to cover up her face may prove influential, improving future Song Contests for years to come.

So, musicians of Australia, sally forth and make our country proud with your brilliance and artistry! Or, if you're not in the mood for that, why not apply to represent us in the 2015 Eurovision Song Contest?

Spill averted, but for how long?

Tony Abbott is holding on, but only by his powerful fingers. 61-39 is hardly a hearty affirmation of a prime minister's leadership less than halfway through his first term. As an endorsement, it's about as enthusiastic as Kevin Rudd looked in that notorious 2010 photo shoot with Julia Gillard.

It's important to note that this morning's vote should be adjusted for cabinet solidarity - even Malcolm Turnbull promised that he would vote to oppose the spill. Consequently, the real margin of dissent is likely closer. The PM still has a sword in close proximity to his neck, and it's not about to tap each shoulder and award him a knighthood.

In the short statement he made after the spill motion was defeated, Abbott said: "We want to end the disunity and the uncertainty which destroyed two Labor governments." But as of today, "we" only means 61 per cent. The other 39 per cent were perfectly willing to tip him off his road bike without so much as a declared challenger.

There's a pattern to how these situations tend to play out from here. Unless the polling improves, the rot of dissent will fester and grow as insidiously as One Direction's fanbase, until close to election day, the undecideds figure things couldn't get any worse, and pull the trigger.

In the meantime, the leadership remains a constant distraction, making improvement for the incumbent that much harder. Senior ministers will talk about getting on with the business of governing, as they have been doing already, but everyone else will be talking about the leadership.

Despite the extraordinarily thorough job many senior Labor ministers did of attacking Kevin Rudd in the intervening years, the party room went back to him in the end because they figured shaking things up was a better option than an almost certain loss. One thing today's vote tells us is that Liberal MPs are unlikely to be more gun-shy than their opponents were.

The truly strange thing, of course, is that we are here at all. In September 2013, the one scenario for Abbott that any pundit would surely have ruled out is this one. He might have lost his first election as Prime Minister. He might have fallen victim to some freak cycling accident, or imprudently attempted to smuggle his notorious budgies at Portsea.

But this Prime Minister, of all people, was not supposed to face a backbencher revolt like the ones from which his standing benefited so spectacularly.

And yet, just 17 months after defeating Kevin Rudd, Abbott's numbers are challenging Blake Garvey's position as the least popular man in Australia, and the PM has only been breaking election promises, not bachelorette engagements.

The situation is laden with multiple ironies. Abbott has had trouble with ornery crossbenchers and post-election backflips, much like Julia Gillard. Some colleagues have lost faith because of the excessive centralisation of his office, much like Kevin Rudd. And perhaps most ironically of all, the precipitant of this attempted spill was a burst of the royalist fervour that sparked one of Abbott's greatest triumphs in the 1999 republic referendum.

Now, not only does the PM need to woo the voters, whose dissatisfaction was made abundantly clear in last night's Newspoll, and the crossbenchers, whose diverse whims control the passage of any legislation and at least one of whom has vowed to block every single bill until he gives the military a pay rise - but he needs to win over the dissenters in his party room. The first two challenges were Herculean enough, but the most pressing task for the captain now is to win back his team.

That's not to say he won't be able to do it, of course. Abbott is one of the few politicians in our history who's a fighter literally as well as metaphorically. The shock of today might be enough to prompt a far more comprehensive reversal, as opposed to the minimal tweaks we've seen so far. Surely if the PM doesn't become more consultative and collegiate now, he never will. As a former college boy, you'd imagine he knows how.

If there's one consistent theme at the heart of Abbott's difficulties, it's that despite his years of basking in the glow of John Howard's victories, he's yet to learn how his mentor did it. As prime minister, Howard was as reassuring as donning a Wallabies tracksuit for one's morning stroll, whereas Abbott has left many voters feeling exposed to the elements.

Howard kept his eyes fixed firmly on those voters in places like Western Sydney who weren't traditional Liberal voters, but had grown sufficiently fond of him to keep re-electing him. The former PM made the voters in the centre feel financially secure, and that they had a prosperous future, whereas last year's budget left voters fearful about health care for their families, education for their kids, and pensions for their retirement. Bill Shorten, having remorselessly stuck to the Abbott opposition playbook, has been reminding them of this daily ever since.

It's all very well to worry voters about "debt and deficit disasters" in opposition, but in government, you're supposed to make people feel, as John Howard famously put it, "comfortable and relaxed" about the future.

There is no point delivering for the people who always vote for you if in so doing, you lose the people who don't. That may well mean shelving issues that please the base but worry the centre, like reforming the Racial Discrimination Act. (If Abbott can't rely on the endorsement of the IPA and Andrew Bolt regardless, then there really is no hope for him.) But instead, when the Government seems to be losing one fight, it simply picks another, even to the extent of talking about raising the GST last month.

Abbott has acknowledged the need to "scrape off a few barnacles" and in recent weeks, even dumped his treasured paid parental leave policy, but he has not managed to refocus his platform to appeal to centrist voters' bedrock concerns. The Abbott Government has stopped the boats, and removed the carbon and mining taxes, as promised. But now the electorate has gravitated back to what swinging voters always care most about - their family's future.

His mentor Howard achieved this by doling out generous, non-means tested payments courtesy of the mining boom. The Abbott Government's only freebie thus far has been vouchers for marriage counselling - and they've just been dumped.

Abbott's task is made harder, of course, by the fact that Malcolm Turnbull is instinctively more of a centrist than Abbott. Nevertheless, today the PM bought a bit of time to try to turn things around. Given the vote this morning, surely no colleague could blame Abbott for reshuffling his Cabinet more extensively, and refocusing the Government's priorities on the voters who put him into the Lodge.

In recent weeks, he has proven willing to perform mea culpas and jettison unpopular policies. It may well be time to try that on a much grander scale. If the voters who trusted Abbott in 2013 feel that he once again understands what they want, they may yet save him.

In the meantime, those Liberals who have come to resent the PM's captain's picks will be pondering whether to pick a new captain.

A good knight?

Yesterday, our Prime Minister pondered the relative merits of 22 million Australians, and decided that two men were worthy of our nation's top honour - a widely respected military leader, and that Greek-Danish fellow who is married to the Queen.

In so doing, Tony Abbott ensured that the nation spent this year's Australia Day discussing the merits of a nonagenarian who lives on the other side of the planet, instead of the person we would all have been discussing otherwise, Taylor Swift. Still, at least Rosie Batty got one evening atop our news headlines.

The decision has been met with a little criticism from the graffitists on social media, but in some respects, Prince Philip is a perfect choice. All of the other recipients since knighthoods and damehoods were reinstated have been vice-regal and/or members of the military. Philip is not only ex-military, but he's so downright regal that he lives in Buckingham Palace.

Despite the ongoing gnashing of republican teeth, we are a constitutional monarchy, and the latest Knight of the Order of Australia is a key part of that, having ensured its continuity into the 21st century by fathering four children, a healthy 75 per cent of whom are not currently embroiled in an underage sex scandal.

But despite the pomp, nothing could be more democratic than Mr Abbott's latest "captain's call", so-called because everything makes more sense with a cricket analogy, except when you recall that Australia's cricket captains don't in fact pick the team.

Australians were given a choice whether to dispose of our royal family in 1999, and overwhelmingly voted to retain it. Not only that, but we recently elected the former national executive director of Australians for a Constitutional Monarchy as Prime Minister - and with a majority as whopping as any of Her Majesty's estates.

Admittedly, Mr Abbott chose not to share his plans to reintroduce knighthoods and damehoods with voters during the campaign, presumably realising that it might have created some little distraction from his highly successful mantras about taxes and boats.

But our system is that our government gets to do whatever it likes, subject only to the Senate and the courts, before the public gets to review its contract. And besides, if we had been asked whether there was any chance of a man whose favourite TV show is widely known to be Downton Abbey opting to reintroduce an ancient heraldic tradition, who among us would definitely have ruled it out?

And even if we had, given recent governments' attitudes to election promises, what would have stopped him deciding to do it anyway?

Prime Ministerships ultimately reflect their occupants. Bob Hawke smashed a beer while wearing the world's most garish jacket and suggested that everyone chuck a sickie the day after Australia II won. Whereas Mr Abbott gave the Duke of Edinburgh a knighthood. Different men, different priorities. But we knew what they were into when we elected them.

Since we have chosen to be a constitutional monarchy with a monarchist leader, surely giving a knighthood to the Queen's husband is an utterly unremarkable thing to do? He's been our monarch's consort for 62 years - more than half of our existence as a nation. He is already a Companion of the Order of Australia, our previous top honour, and his son Charles is already a Knight of the Order of Australia. The Queen's rellos accumulate knighthoods the same way that Clive Palmer accumulates replica dinosaurs.

If Mr Abbott had wanted to do something truly unexpected, he could have emulated some of the residents of the island of Tanna in Vanuatu, and announced that henceforth, we'd be worshipping Prince Philip as a god. But a constitutional monarchy giving a knighthood to a man who already has three is about as surprising as American Sniper playing to big houses in Texas.

Despite the relatively small proportion of his 62 years beside our monarch which he's spent here, there's something deeply Australian about Prince Philip. Some have pointed to his history of what many have called gaffes and others might call especially robust examples of free speech in action.

But what could be more Australian than the odd moment of awkwardness when it comes to race relations? The Prince/Duke/Knight might not have entirely figured out what to say when he meets Aborigines, but our nation still hasn't figured out how to deal with the day on which his knighthood was granted also being a day of mourning for many of Australia's original inhabitants. And controversial gaffes are as enduring a part of Australian public life as Fred Nile.

When Tony Abbott reinstated knights and dames, he said that "this new award will go to those who have accepted public office rather than sought it". Well, surely nobody has sought their office less than someone who was born a prince.

Here endeth the ethics lessons?

Fred Nile is now the longest serving member of the NSW Parliament, having stuck around in Macquarie St for even longer than his own eyebrows. In what he promises will be his final term, either God, fate or the folly of the NSW electorate has granted him the balance of power. And Rev Nile has celebrated by proposing an “Ethics Repeal Bill”, whose name would surely be too absurd even for the writers of The Thick Of It. He's argued for the cancellation of ethics classes in NSW schools by claiming that they have been shown to bring about Nazism and, simultaneously, communism. All of which would seem a terribly jolly farce if he wasn’t in a position to pass his bill by cutting a deal with Barry O’Farrell.

So why in heaven's name is an ordained minister not a fan of kids learning about right and wrong? Because they provide a secular alternative to “special religious education”. The classes were introduced by the former Keneally Labor Government, whose members were reminded of the value of ethics on almost a weekly basis by ministerial scandals, to solve a silly situation whereby students who opted not to receive religious instruction weren’t allowed to study anything useful in case it disadvantaged their classmates.

Furthermore, as Teresa Russell pointed out in Eureka St, the churches even objected if the “non-scripture” kids learned chess or knitting, in case all of that knee-slapping fun tempted kids away from the Good Book. But honestly, what chance does a juvenile religious conviction have of surviving into adolescence if it can be undermined by the siren song of knitting?

Not every Christian shares Nile’s view that this ethics course, which was developed with the help of the St James Ethics Centre, is a recruiting programme for the minions of Satan, however. The Anglican bishop Rob Forsyth even suggested that Christian students might do well to attend them.

So why is cancelling them so important to God’s Man in Macquarie St? Long-term Nile connoisseurs might assume that his jihad on ethics is just another ultra-conservative thought-bubble from a man who is amusingly incapable of mentioning the Greens without calling them “pagan”, as though they spend their spare time dancing naked in forests and – wait; actually, perhaps the sandal fits. But while it’s asinine to argue that ethics classes will lead to the Third Reich, they do pose a genuine threat to scripture classes. The Anglican Church says its classes have lost half their students since ethics came in.

Given my hazy primary school memories of drawing pictures of Noah’s ark, singing maudlin choruses and being scared by the prospect of hell, I’m not enormously surprised that kids are switching in droves. I went non-scripture in Year Six myself, happily spending the time playing poker instead. But instead of improving the appeal of the scripture classes, Nile simply wants to ban the alternative. It’s almost like how when Jesus came along, the Pharisees felt threatened and tried to – actually, let’s not get into that. In short, though, the scripture teachers want to run a cartel.

If Nile’s bill succeeds, non-scripture students will once again be forced to waste hours of school time doing nothing. But really, when some students are getting a stimulating course in addressing moral complexities delivered by trained teachers, and others are getting a double-up on stuff they could and in many cases do learn in Sunday School, the solution’s as straightforward as turning water into wine to gee up an outdoor event. What should be dropped is not ethics but scripture.

This is hardly a radical suggestion: in fact, in the US, it’s the law. Despite being a more devout nation, religion classes and even school prayer are banned because of the First Amendment. Our Constitution contains a similar guarantee, and why the mandated separation of church and state isn't extended to our own public schools escapes me.

How did we come to accept the idea that people with no formal educational training should be allowed to take up precious school time for religious indoctrination? Why can’t parents who want their children to share their beliefs teach them at home, or hand them over to religious instructors on weekends, or enrol them in a religious school? Moreover, why did we for so long accept a situation where, so some kids could learn religion during school hours, other kids were required to sit around twiddling their thumbs?

Parents aren’t allowed to impose any of their other beliefs in the public school classroom. Science classes aren’t split down the middle according to whether mum and dad believe in evolution. Year 3 never divides according to their parents’ football team so some can study the history of the Sydney Swans while others learn the words to “Good Old Collingwood Forever”. And a good thing too – there are already too many Collingwood supporters.

What's more, the scripture classes on offer can’t possibly cover the smorgasbord of beliefs in our multicultural society, wth the result that kids who belong to a religion with a lot of adherents are allowed school time for their beliefs, but those who subscribe to a creed with fewer members – including Buddhists and Muslims in my primary years – are obliged to go without. The effect of this is for state education to inequitably privilege certain religions over others. And if Christian kids can study the Bible, surely those kids whose parents who identify as Jedis should be allowed to watch Star Wars during scripture?

With compulsory ethics classes, some religious topics could still be covered in the classroom, and the learning process would benefit enormously from all the kids studying together. Those who believed could share their perspectives, which might inspire others to find out more about their religions. Wouldn’t that be a better preparation for living in a society where not everybody shares the same beliefs, and yet we have to work through complex moral issues together in order to co-exist harmoniously?

That's not Rev Nile’s forte, unfortunately. Whatever you think about ethics and scripture, I’m sure most NSW residents would agree that he’s not best placed to decide such a sensitive question of public policy. He claims that Jesus is “history’s greatest teacher of ethics”, and yet has throughout his political career conspicuously failed to follow one of Jesus' most basic commandments, which is incidentally an excellent topic for an ethics class. Nile is not a man with a track record of loving his neighbours if they happen to be gay or Muslim, as he's demonstrated yet again this week with some astoundingly insensitive comments about Penny Wong's partner's pregnancy.

Two consecutive landslides in opposite directions have left the Legislative Council deadlocked, and so for the next four years, Fred Nile is our parliamentarians' cross to bear. I hope Labor and the Coalition can compromise to exclude him from decisions like these, as currently seems to be the case on ethics. His views are a long way from the majority of NSW voters – even his fellow Christians, in many cases –  and that’s where his policies should stay. And whether or not kids continue to study the parting of the Red Sea in public schools, I for one will be glad to witness the parting of this Nile.

Hard questions for those who ask hard questions

Julia Gillard’s claim that News Limited has "hard questions" to answer because of the phone-hacking scandal is disingenuous. Rather, it has a very simple question to answer: have its journalists hacked any phones or paid off any police in Australia? Like whether her colleagues are happy with her performance as Prime Minister, it's a straightforward question whose answer is almost certainly no.

Given the prominence of this story, the lack of Australian allegations suggests that News Limited's journos are blameless. Surely if its local hacks had become hackers, they would have taken a wander through the juicy message banks of tabloid mainstays like Shane Warne, Wayne Carey and Lara Bingle, who would now be realising how certain embarrassing stories had made their way into the Murdoch press and kicking up a stink. And even if there were allegations, News' local journalists are as entitled to the presumption of innocence as anybody else, even if they don't always extend it to others.

That said, I'm unable to muster the high dudgeon with which certain News journos have reacted to the suggestion that it be investigated. It certainly isn't a "smear", as Tony Abbott has suggested. Given the extensive circulation of News personnel its News outlets in the UK, US and Australia, it's perfectly reasonable to ask whether a technique that was used against 4000 public figures in Britain made it to the Antipodes. If it wasn't, News' CEO John Hartigan wouldn't have felt the need to open an internal inquiry.

But the Prime Minister has sought to go well beyond this factual question. In concert with her new BFFs the Greens, she has been making ominous sounds about a media inquiry looking at ownership and concentration, while Christine Milne has explicitly called for licensing. The latter idea is not only unjustified, but dangerous.

Licensing would actively prevent accountability by encouraging proprietors not to antagonise the politicians who controlled the licenses. It's no more appropriate to regulate who can operate a newspaper in a democratic society than it is to license who can run for Parliament. Although Milne's comments have made me wonder about licensing for Greens Senate candidates.

Her view also draws precisely the wrong conclusion from what has occurred in Britain. The News of the World scandal was broken by the Guardian, showing the benefit not of regulation, but of a robust, open print media – the very thing that would be restricted by a licensing regime. Furthermore, it's hard to imagine how a licensing process or a fit-and-proper-person test could place more onerous sanctions on the News of the World than closing the whole thing down and sacking everyone who worked for it.

Labor and the Greens' enthusiasm about bloodying the nose of News Limited seems self-serving in the current political climate. The Australian has explicitly declared war on the Greens, and News columnists' antagonism towards the Gillard carbon tax has been pronounced and prolonged. But when those in power dislike what what a news outlet writes, that is all the more reason why its editorial voice must not be interfered with. Yes, even when it's Andrew Bolt's.

Despite the dubious motivations of politicians who'd like to make News genuinely Limited, some of the concerns they've been raising are valid nevertheless. Even Tony Abbott agrees that current privacy laws should be broadened. This is not a new insight – the Australian Law Reform Commission recommended that a few years back, and the Government had already intended to implement 90% of its findings.

But Julia Gillard and the Greens are also correct to ask questions about the concentration of media ownership – a problem in Britain, but more so here where Murdoch owns 70% of the newspapers. Furthermore, we have no newspapers that are set up on a public-interest, non-profit basis like the Guardian, which is owned by a trust. Although to be fair to Fairfax, its newspapers have often operated on a non-profit basis in recent years.

Here's the thing, though: nothing's stopping anybody from setting up another newspaper in Australia besides the near-certainty that they'd lose money. (A licensing scheme, ironically, would provide another barrier.) It's hard to imagine what a parliamentary inquiry into newspaper ownership would conclude other than that it would be lovely if there were more of them, but won't be.

The most important questions raised by the News International scandal for Australia, though, are not ones that our politicians are likely to want to delve into, because they concern political leaders who become too close to the media that ought to be holding them accountable. The appointment of former NOTW editor Andy Coulson as David Cameron's communications chief is extraordinary when the Guardian warned his aides that there were some rather pungent skeletons in the Coulson closet.

But even if there were no phone-hacking scandal, the British PM's eagerness to hire an ex-News editor raises questions. Was the appointment an attempt to secure positive coverage by having Coulson lobby his former colleagues? Was any deal cut, and why Murdoch was invited to tea after Cameron's victory? The whole Coulson situation is as problematic as a job with Elle Macpherson.

Until the phone-hacking story made it politically untenable, the UK Culture Secretary, Jeremy Hunt, was poised to rubber-stamp News' purchase of BSkyB. How could such a decision be made independently and in the public interest by a government which – like Labour's before it – felt that its survival depended on the support of Murdoch's newspapers? In the US, Fox News is often described as the propaganda wing of the Republican Party, and employs many high-profile GOP figures as commentators. How can such politicians ever feasibly regulate media ownership? There is not enough distance between the fourth estate and those it's supposed to report on.

Closer to home, Julia Gillard might like to answer "hard questions" about her own meetings with Rupert Murdoch. Kevin Rudd courted Rupert Murdoch before he was elected in 2007 – what was on the agenda when they met in New York? Did they discuss the Australia Network, or cross-media ownership laws, or Foxtel's recently-denied buyout of Austar, and were any undertakings made? And while Tony Abbott has spoken impressively about the need for newspapers to keep politicians honest, is he willing to assist this by detailing the substance of his own conversations with media proprietors?

We should already be worried about the relationship between our politicians and media owners in light of the progressive dilution of cross-media ownership laws by governments on both sides. It would probably be better if media regulation was handled by an independent body whose members haven't so much to gain from positive coverage. Whereas introducing a licensing system, of course, would only give our political leaders more chips to bargain with.

So by all means let's have this media inquiry. It's sensible to try to learn from the mistakes of others, and our system should be as clean as we can make it. In the famous words of Justice Brandeis, sunlight is the best disinfectant. But the inquiry's terms of reference should reflect the fact that the scandal in the UK raises questions not only for media proprietors, but for politicians.

Dominic Knight was one of the founders of Australia’s least profitable newspaper, The Chaser. He was a columnist for an obscure News Limited organ called The Glebe, but was sacked shortly before the whole thing closed down. He has voicemail, but no-one ever leaves him messages.

This piece was originally published at The Drum.

I believe you Juliar

The claim that Julia Gillard is a liar is now as widespread across Australia as rabbits and Andre Rieu, and almost as devastating, at least to her approval ratings. Tony Abbott has been gleefully claiming that her pants are on fire for months now, and Alan Jones, that bastion of civility, called the Prime Minister "Juliar" to her face, his Wildean wordplay reminding me of those halcyon days when primary school wags named me "Domadick".

Gillard already had an integrity problem after the dumping of Kevin Rudd, and her decision to renege on her promise not to introduce a carbon tax has exacerbated it dramatically. The "liar" rallying cry has been picked up across talkback radio, news website comment pages and various other cesspits of ugly vitriol and untreated personality disorders. As a result, the Prime Minister's reputation for trustworthiness now lies somewhere in between Pakistan's Inter-Services Intelligence agency and Lord Voldemort.

I can understand why the ranting of people like 2GB's Chris Smith has gotten so many people worked up. Gillard's about-face seemed blatant and shocking, albeit not compared to Smith at aChristmas party. If a politician can expressly promise not to do something, win an election and then a few months later, go ahead and do that exact thing anyway, you have to wonder why we bother having election promises at all.

You can imagine the fury from the union movement if Tony Abbott, having repeatedly vowed not to do so, had blithely reintroduced WorkChoices within a year of assuming office. And Labor had essentially promised that the carbon tax, to adopt Abbott's peculiar mixed metaphor, was also "dead, buried, cremated".

But the current Eyjafjallajokull-level fury does seem something of an overreaction when anyone with even a passing familiarity with Australian politicians knows that their election promises are as flexible as News International's code of conduct. Gillard is not some Ricky Gervais figure who invented the idea of lying in a mediocre movie. John Howard developed the risible concept of the non-core promise after his first election victory, and Tony Abbott tried to argue on the 7.30 Report last year that only his written commitments should be treated as binding - a standard which, as it happens, would excuse Gillard entirely. When ignoring election promises has been a proud bipartisan tradition, neither side of politics has any right to feign umbrage.

Furthermore, the claim that Gillard lied to win the election is wrong for two reasons. First, she did not lie, and second, she did not win the election.

On the first point, the relevant question is whether her original promise was a genuine statement of intent, or whether she, in effect, had her fingers crossed. The Prime Minister reiterated in her National Press Club speech last week that it was a sincere commitment, and the truth of this statement should be as abundantly clear as Steve Fielding's diary.

Why? Because the entire reason Labor dumped Kevin Rudd was so that she could distance herself from his more unpopular policies. After two years of commissioning a litany of reports, Kevin Rudd had finally started to implement some of their recommendations, and he had frightened the horses - both voters and, fatally, his colleagues. On replacing him, Gillard immediately watered down the mining tax, tried to divert the boat people to East Timor and abandoned the Big Australia plan that had made suburban bigots worry about miscellaneous scary ethnics moving in next door. Gillard's brief was to provide - ironically for this government - some political insulation ahead of the election.

But her biggest watering-down of Rudd's original agenda, the icing on her cop-out cake of cowardice, if you will, was her climate change policy. The entire point of her woeful Citizens' Assembly was to protect her from having to take action, while still making her seem to care about the issue slightly more than the Coalition. Gillard was so reluctant to expose herself on the issue that she wanted to set up a whole separate representative body - a second Parliament, or perhaps a national focus group - so that it could recommend an ETS without obliging her to implement it.

And if this doesn't convince you of her heartfelt desire to punt the whole carbon issue into the stands like that apocryphal full-forward for the Western Bulldogs, at least until the term after this one, then I'd remind you of the commonly-accepted report that she convinced Rudd to drop his own ETS.

With a rather amusing lack of self-awareness, Gillard told the National Press Club that "in the moment I truly believed I was going to be Prime Minister I told myself, 'Don't ever put a hard call off, because it will only get harder every day.''' And yet on arriving in office, her strategy was precisely to put off the hard calls, to defuse all of the bombs that Rudd had set and Abbott was so effectively lobbing at Labor.

She failed, of course. And as soon as it became clear that the Parliament was hung, all bets were off. Both leaders were forced to make new commitments to win cross-bench support. Had Tony Abbott succeeded, he would have had to break campaign promises too - and we know he offered Andrew Wilkie a billion-dollar hospital. Sure, that's nowhere near as major a change as a carbon tax, but does anyone honestly think that Abbott wouldn't have offered equally dramatic policy backflips in return for becoming PM? If Rob Oakeshott and Tony Windsor could have been swayed by tough IR reforms, Abbott would surely have been delighted to exhume WorkChoices.

As Gillard has admitted and they have boasted, it was the Greens who forced her to take on the risk of the carbon tax if she wanted to form government - and her fear that it would prove politically problematic has certainly been vindicated over the past few months. In short, she changed her policy in response to a major change in circumstance. And that doesn't make her a liar, it makes her a better negotiator than Abbott. Ultimately we are having a carbon tax not because Gillard broke her promise, but because the Greens found themselves in a position to achieve theirs.

If we learn anything from the carbon stoush, it should be that our hopes of political promise-keeping are as doomed to failure as an American teenager's abstinence pledge. If the supposed idealist Barack Obama can go from being one of Guantanamo's harshest critics to merrily keeping the place open, then surely no contemporary politician can be trusted to adhere to their pre-poll commitments. We should vote on the basis of their values and priorities, which are less likely to change in response to circumstances. The flood levy was entirely unforeseeable, for example, but the fact that it was means-tested under a Labor government was no surprise.

There are many things one could fairly call Julia Gillard. Some - well, perhaps just Albo, at this point - might call her a skilful legislative tactician who has guided a raft of contentious policies through an extremely difficult Parliament. Others, responding to her view on gay marriage, might call her... words that the ABC's editorial policies prevents me from uttering.

But despite the hilarious punnery that the name 'Julia' makes possible, despite her surname also being one letter away from containing 'liar', and despite the fact that even her electorate of Lalor sounds very much like that same word, her promise not to introduce a carbon tax was sincere. Personally, I'm delighted she was forced to change her mind.

This article originally appeared at The Drum on 18 July 2011.