What went wrong with WotWentWrong.com

When the definitive history of bad ideas is written, right alongside the guy who gave up a 10% share in Apple, the company that paid Shane Warne to give up smoking for a year and Ben Elton Live From Planet Earth, there will be a special chapter onWotWentWrong.com.

I discovered the existence of this organisation on Twitter this week, and I simply couldn’t believe it. It’s a website that lets you to send a survey to somebody who dumped you, or stopped returning calls, or whatever it was, so you can find out why.

When faced with the sting of rejection, the greatest temptation, and worst thing you can do, is to get back in touch to ask for explanation. But just because you can now outsource that sobbing 3am voicemail to a convenient cloud-based system doesn’t make it any less dumb an idea. And I think the assumptions they have made in setting up this system for electronically picking over the entrails of one’s shattered dreams reflect the errors many of us make after a breakup.

The sample template they provide in the “How It Works” section of their website suggests sending an email to your ex that goes like this:

I had a dream that we went out.

With the first four words, Martin Luther King has been evoked. Surely a bad start for any communique with a less lofty aim than achieving racial equality.

But surely that couldn’t have happened, because you stopped calling!

This is meant to sound amusing and light-hearted, I’m guessing, but actually sounds as though the sender has entirely let slip their grasp on reality.

What went wrong??

Is it just me, or does that second question mark imply utter desperation?

Help me out and let me know. I won’t hold it against you ;)

There may never have been a more terrifying wink emoticon.

Seriously, who among us, on receiving such an email, would not make a mental note to tell all of our friends that we dodged a bullet because our ex turned out to be a psycho with a perplexing fondness for feedback?

The most common assumption we make after a dumping is that we made a mistake, and that if we hadn’t made it, everything would be fine. We want a do-over, much as, if you’ll allow me to recall arguably my most successful effort with a woman, I once saved Princess Peach in Super Mario Bros by figuring out how to sneak past various pipes containing fire-breathing Venus Fly Traps. Sure, I died hundreds of times along the way, but I triumphed in the end.

And then Peach had the nerve to go and get kidnapped again in the next Mario title. I’m beginning to think she genuinely prefers Bowser’s company.

The “mistake” analysis is often assisted by the language that dumpers tend to use in a misguided attempt to soften the blow. They’ll justify the breakup by saying that they’re really busy at work, or aren’t ready to commit yet, or it’s the wrong time, or they want to go travelling – citing some reason that’s external to the relationship.

This is almost always rubbish. Breakups occur because the other person either doesn’t love you any more, or never really did. They’re either interested in somebody else, or want to have the space in their life for the possibility. And it’s what nobody ever says, because we tend to avoid, y’know, stabbing one another through the heart.

In this situation there is only one piece of advice with any value: Find somebody who feels more for you. Of course, this sucks, but it’s the truth, at least. And grasping that nettle is less painful in the long term, and far more educational than getting some stupid page of ticked boxes.

Besides, wouldn’t you feel worse receiving impersonal, heartless multiple choice answers about why the person you wanted chose to stomp on your dreams? How, in any way, would this help? Wouldn’t it snap the few remaining threads of self-esteem you have left? Wouldn’t it give stark certainty to all the nagging self-doubts you tried to quell during the relationship?

The other problem with WotWentWrong issue is the impossibility of change. Sure, you can change your behaviour, but not your personality. If you need a lot of time with your partner, or conversely large amounts of space, then why would that change, and why should it? I’m not saying you don’t need to communicate and put effort into making a relationship work, but square pegs don’t go into round holes, if you’ll forgive a metaphor that’s slightly obscene in this context. Better to find a square hole, and again, let’s assume we’re just talking about woodwork.

But there is a reason to be genuinely optimistic, and it’s because the entire premise of WotWentWrong is flawed. A relationship is the sum total of two people’s strengths and vulnerabilities. Unless you’re one of these unfortunates who’s serially attracted to partners who are bad for them, there is absolutely no reason to assume that your next relationship will be anything like your last one. Call this the 500 Days Of Summer theorem: some relationships just don’t work, and some just do. (And that’s not a spoiler, because they begin the film by saying it doesn’t work out for Zooey Deschanel and Joseph Gordon-Levitt, so there.) Why? Just because. There is no deeper explanation.

All of this is bad enough, but WotWentWrong has one last dastardly trick up its sleeve: an option that lets the dumper send unsolicited feedback.

To clarify, it lets you send a feedback form to someone you’ve rejected who hasn’t asked for it. Yes. That.

At first, this made me think that WotWentWrong should be banned under the international conventions against cruel and unusual punishment, but then I realised its usefulness. What better way to get over somebody than receiving a hideous, prefabricated template detailing their moral justification for breaking your heart?

And surely that’s the best thing you can hope to get for from any breakup. Not an explanation, not handy tips that’ll make you less of a candidate for Dumpsville the next time around, but coming to share your ex’s belief that it wouldn’t have worked, and that you’re better off without them.

And you don’t need WotWentWrong for that. You wouldn’t even need a site with a properly spelt name for that. So I’m sorry, WotWentWrong - it’s not me, it’s you. Consider this article unsolicited feedback.

This piece originally appeared on Daily Life. 

Full equality is still a lingerie way away

It’s to the credit of the women’s movement that very few men now dare question the need for International Women’s Day. So instead of some of my more douchebaggy brothers try to run that tiresome argument that there should be an International Men’s Day as well. “If you want equality,” they bray, “shouldn’t we be treated exactly the same?”

Arguing that men are subject to “reverse sexism” and “political correctness gone mad” is one of the few complaints about feminism that men are still socially comfortable with making,  and while of course it’s no less misconceived than any of the others, it does deserve some credit for at least conceding the ideal of equality. This silly line of argument should be confined to the realm of talkback radio, where there are practically no female announcers*, neatly illustrating why we in no way need an International Men’s Day.

(And yes, I’m aware that I’m yet another male radio announcer, and have therefore probably undermined my entire argument. Ahem.)

(Oh, and by the way, it turns out that there is an International Men’s Day. Honestly, I give up.)

For every area in which women have made impressive strides forward, there is some new devilish concoction devised by the patriarchy to try and reverse it. Sure, we may be unspeakably evil, but you have to admire our ingenuity. Which is why, women of Australia, we give you the Lingerie Football League.

An email announcing the LFL’s impending arrival on our shores popped into my inbox yesterday, on International Women’s Eve. It was sent by a woman working in one of the most female-dominated of professions, public relations. So I can only conclude that the spirit of Vichy France is alive and well at Ferris Davies PRM.

“US' LINGERIE FOOTBALL LEAGUE SET TO LACE 'EM UP IN AUSTRALIA”, shouted the headline. Let’s just stop there for a moment to admire the ingenuity of the pun. Just in case you missed it, footballers lace up their boots – but lace is also whatlingerie is made of! Hang onto your codpieces, boys, the fun’s just starting!

“Can females play serious contact sport?” it asks. “You bet!” And it was at this point that my irony detector overloaded.

The marketing pitch for the LFL is a curious one. While it offers all the scantily-clad sophistication of mud-wrestling, it simultaneously claims to be a serious sport. “Don’t make the same mistake others have made elsewhere,” the press release urged. “Don’t let the uniforms, or lack thereof, deceive you!” What a coincidence! That’s exactly what it did for me.

“These women know how to play ball,” it continues. Ball, get it – oh, god, let’s just move on. “And they do just that with all the passion, skill and athleticism of their male counterparts but with an added touch of glamour and finesse and a whole lot of attitude!” Not enough attitude to tell the male owner of the LFL, Mitch Mortaza, exactly where to shove his padded brassieres, evidently, but enough to want to win.

I can believe that, most sincerely. Focusing on the contest and ignoring your outfit is probably the only way to get through such a demeaning experience. And given the lack of exposure given to women’s sport in general, and particularly football, who can blame the players for taking one of the few television paychecks on offer in any women’s sport?

I mean, it’s called the Lingerie Football League. Why is that not the end of any discussion about its athletic credibility?

And yet, it seems desperate to reassure its viewers that it's a proper sport, as this highlightclip illustrates. Practically every soundbite is of a (male, naturally) commentator insisting that yes, it is a real football contest. Perhaps that suspension of disbelief is also required by certain male viewers, who can’t quite bring themselves to watch several hours of women cavorting in their underwear without telling themselves that their primary interest is a sporting one. Claiming you watch the LFL for the contest is surely the boofhead equivalent of claiming to read Playboy for the articles.

Lingerie football is notionally raunchy and yet thoroughly unsexy, a characteristically American blend which probably reflects the psychological baggage of their Puritan past. It reminds me of those Hooters restaurants which, despite all the winking focus on the waitress’ cleavage, offer a strangely anodyne experience, so much so that it’s not entirely incongruous for the chain to offer a children's menu. The evolution of high-school cheerleading is a similarly curious attempt to de-eroticise and legitimise male ogling by pretending it’s a serious athletic activity.

American football is a tedious, technical sport no matter what clothes the players wear, and if you recall just how much protective gear is worn in any gridiron game, you can probably begin to understand why the LFL offers a viewing experience that’s roughly as voyeuristic as, say, regrouting your bathroom tiles. While the skimpy panties and frequent bending over will certainly delight buttock fetishists, the LFL players also wear helmets and shoulderpads, making for a peculiar form of eye candy; half-feminine and half-butch.

Although the press release boasts of the fanbase that LFL enjoys in Australia on Fuel TV, I fully expect the sport to fail in Australia. For one thing, we don’t much enjoy gridiron, let alone understand it. And Hooters has struggled to establish itself in Australia, even failing at its first attempt in the late 1990s, even though tasty ribs are far more popular here than tasty touchdowns. This, I suspect, is because Aussies find that kind of overt boobage either unremarkable or embarrassing.

Besides, the gap in the Australian market for bizarre, exploitative male fantasy hybrids has already been taken by Bacon Busters, that curious magazine that combines hotte babez with pig shooting.

International Women’s Day is a time to remember how much feminism has achieved, and with a female Prime Minister and Governor-General, hearty pats on the back are no doubt in order today among the sisterhood. But the fact a Lingerie Football League is a serious commercial proposition in 2012 instead of being laughed right off the drawing board shows how much is still to be done for the status of women.

And if we must suffer the LFL, let’s at least even the score by creating a Gentlemen’s Netball League, where barechested players who look exactly like Ryan Gosling have to stop and say something sensitive and affirming every time they get the ball. Hey girl, happy International Women’s Day.

This post first appeared on Daily Life.

Wax like an Egyptian

If nothing else, my body serves as an admirable definition of irony. I’m blessed with hair in abundance everywhere except atop my head. Despite the current hipsterish fashion for beards, I’m unable to grow a convincing one because large patches of my facial hair are now white, making my luxuriant beard appear piebald. I also have a fairly solid upper body, which makes me look reasonably strong until it’s actually time to lift anything. If nothing else, my body has proven an excellent basis for a career in comedy.

Objectively this is silly, of course – there’s nothing much wrong with my body. But of course, these things are in the mind. And reading Lina Ricciardelli’s recent article about body image and boys, I realised that in fact, I’ve always suffered from a reasonably poor body image. Which probably wasn’t helped by my friend Charles once casting me as the “ugliest man alive” in my vulnerable teenage years for a sketch that we performed in front of most of our school.

Ricciardelli’s analysis of the body image pressures on men enabled me to feel one of my favourite things – victimhood. “Just like the female body, the male body has been depicted, evaluated and scrutinised as an aesthetic product since ancient times”, she writes. And yet “male beauty and body image receive far less attention in the media and academia than the female body”. Us poor men, how we suffer, and in silence too!

Okay, so a large part of the need for extensive study on the portrayal of female body is the fault of men, what with that whole ‘patriarchal objectification’ thing we've been doing for millennia. Fair cop, guv. Ricciardelli is in no way suggesting that the distribution of emphasis to date is in any way unfair, and I’m not going to pretend for a moment that I understand what it’s like growing up bearing the Sisyphean weight of our culture’s neurotic obsession with women’s bodies.

But what I can say is that her observations about the pressures that apply to men certainly ring true to me. She identifies muscularity, leanness and youthfulness as the contemporary male ideals. And indeed there are no hairy, bald, pot-bellied Calvin Klein models. Nor will you find them in Playgirl, one source that Ricciardelli refers to. (I assume the researchers noticed while reading it for the articles.) Finally, if anyone still doubts that some men are buffeted by body image pressures, simply watch an Advanced Hair ad.

What surprised me about Ricciardelli’s argument, though, is that she doesn’t really refer to what I would have thought was the most important factor affecting body image – looks. Female facial ‘perfection’ is undoubtedly emphasised in our culture, and largely explains Keira Knightley’s acting career. I would have thought that the popularity of gentlemen like Ryan Gosling and Jon Hamm demonstrates that it’s an important factor for women too, since they’re both perceived to be such hotties that women are able to overlook their ridiculous surnames.

But looks aside, there is hope for men struggling with their body image. Two of the factors Ricciardelli emphasises, muscularity and leanness, are largely controllable. Even youthfulness can be attained to some degree through cosmetics, which have increasingly been marketed to men in recent years. She also cites “metrosexuality” – a term that makes me cringe, so I will substitute “well-groomed” – but which is also merely a matter of effort.

Of course, some men’s genes make it harder for them to lose weight or gain muscle mass, but the reality is that the majority of us who feel puny and overweight have it in our power to do something about it, even though surprisingly few of us do so. Sadly, my own research in this area has conclusively proven that neither whinging nor self-deprecating humour will burn calories or tone your abs. But diet and exercise will, if we can be bothered.

Even hairiness is entirely controllable, and Ricciardelli notes that the ancient Egyptians obsessively removed their body hair, which they associated with impurity. It’s something of a taboo in our society as well - I’m sure those iconic Old Spice ads wouldn’t have proven so popular if Isiah Mustafa was hairy. You could flick through the pages of Cleo and Cosmo and not spy a hairy chest anywhere. In fact, the bias against hair is so great that a female friend of mine once told me that she couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t just get full-body electrolysis. Ouch.

And yet, self-image is ultimately determined by the mind, not the body. The ultimate answer, I think, is to take the genetic cards you’ve been dealt and try to be happy. Sure, put effort into the things you can control, like leanness, muscularity and grooming. But obsessing about things like looks and baldness is only going to make you miserable. Sure, this is sometimes easier said than done. But the alternatives are too hideous to contemplate – in particular the world of hair replacement “therapy”, which as I understand involves gluing imported Eastern European hair follicles onto your own scalp. Better to be comfortable in your own skin, I think. Even if, like mine, it’s hairy.

This article originally appeared at Daily Life.

Evenings on ABC Local Radio NSW/ACT

From 16 January, I'll be hosting Evenings on ABC Local Radio in NSW and the ACT. But don't worry, in the admittedly highly unlikely event you were in fact worrying, the blog will be updated at least once a week as well. Yes, that's right, I said weekly. More soon.

The Hamster Wheel

I'm not updating the site at the moment because I'm working on The Hamster Wheel, a show about the media that we're doing on ABC-TV. Expect more updates from December!

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.

Twelve tips for those home alone

So, you’re living alone, like more Australians than ever before. Perhaps you’ve had a breakup, or moved to a new town? Perhaps, like Richard Roxburgh’s character in Rake, you’ve systematically alienated everyone who ever cared about you and have ended up alone in a dingy bedsit? Or perhaps you’re just weird.

I’ve been living by myself for 18 months, because when you’re in your mid-30s, life without flatmates is easier and simpler for everything except playing SingStar. But it can be tough adjusting to a solo existence, which is why I’ve prepared this invaluable guide.

Do whatever you want, when you want. The greatest thing about living alone is that it excuses you from the conventional rules of human interaction. Finally, you can do the things you used to avoid so the people you lived with wouldn’t doubt your mental stability, like recreating the Battle of Osgiliath from The Lord of the Rings using hand-painted orcs. Or you might spend an entire weekend watching The Wire with only brief meal and bathroom breaks, like I did. Living alone means that nobody cares what you do day to day. Those who find this prospect depressing rather than liberating shouldn’t try it.

Be vigilant about not seeming weird. The caveat to your new-found domestic freedom is being careful not to reveal the bizarre things you do with all your free time. This is especially challenging because when you live alone, you inevitably start to forget social norms. Be prepared to lie about spending an entire weekend reorganising your CD library or your colleagues may begin to suspect you’re some kind of freaky serial killer. Of course, if you are a freaky serial killer, it’s all the more important to lie about your weekend.

Live in the inner city. I know some people live by themselves in the suburbs or even in the country, but, frankly, the prospect of that level of isolation scares me. In the city, there’s an abundance of pleasant solo activities such as shopping, browsing in galleries and watching movies. And there are people everywhere, which is reassuring. Some say the city can be unfriendly, but sometimes even yelling at the junkie who has passed out on your doorstep is welcome human contact.

Budget carefully. Living costs are always going to be higher when you can’t split bills. Electricity, gas and water cost me about $1200 a year. Then again, no one will notice if you do eccentric things to save money, like drinking hot water instead of tea.

Get cable. And a lot of books. And a PlayStation. And the internet. And anything else that kills time. When you start living alone, you’ll be amazed by how many hours there are in the day. Sometimes I forget to schedule any social activities for a weekend day – a trap for young players – and end up having to fill 16 straight leisure hours with random mucking around. It’s harder than it sounds. Note, though, that it simply isn’t worth trying to explain this difficulty to friends with newborn babies. They’ll still hate you for your apparently idyllic life of liberty.

Live near good, cheap takeaway food outlets. Some people who live by themselves manage to cook every meal, but I can’t be bothered when the end point is setting a table only to sit at it by myself. Plus, it’s very hard to cook dinner for one for less than the 10 bucks you’ll pay at your local food court or Asian takeaway. Besides, getting takeaway or eating out encourages you not only tp leave the house, but talk to somebody, albeit briefly.

Use Twitter. You know how it’s nice to watch interesting TV shows, sporting events or breaking news with other people? Well, now you can’t. But Twitter allows loners to come together to hurl 140-character abuse at Q&A participants, biased footy referees and Ben Elton. Sometimes it feels almost like watching with genuine friends.

Have people over. Entertaining is all the more lovely when you have your own place. Not only will all the credit for the meal be yours, but it creates a reason to tidy up your hovel so your visitors don’t think you’re “not coping”. Sure, you’ll have a few pangs when they leave, but at least you will have proved you can still function socially.

Walk around naked. You’ve never felt so free! Because who cares, right? Pro tip: consider whether, given the layout of your house, the answer to this question might be “the neighbours”, “random passers-by” or “the police across the street”.

Avoid being morbid. Questions such as “If I slip in the shower and crack open my skull, who will call an ambulance?” or “If I die in my sleep, how many days before the neighbours notice the smell?” are not your friends.

Don’t talk to yourself. Because talking to yourself is bad; it makes you seem crazy. Only that’s not really a problem when there’s no one else to hear you, is it, Dom? Oh, good point, Dom!

Stay positive. I hope I haven’t given you the wrong impression about living alone – honestly, it can be wonderful. In fact, it’s so great that if I succeed with my constant pleas for somebody, anybody, to move in, I’ll probably miss it occasionally.

This article was published in Sunday Life on 10 July 2011.

In defence of books, and bookshops

With parents who are voracious readers and a grandmother who taught kindergarten teachers, and loved to use her eldest grandchild as a guinea-pig for roadtesting children's books, reading has always been a big part of my life. So the suggestion by Nick Sherry that bookshops would disappear within five years came as something of a shock, especially since he's the Small Business Minister. Way to make businesses smaller, Senator.

There are two separate transitions occurring in publishing, both thanks to the internet. The physical book is being replaced, or perhaps supplemented, by the eBook, and physical books (pBooks?) are increasingly being purchased from cut-price online stores like Amazon and the Book Depository instead of through high-street retailers.

Several large chains have gone broke lately, and while this is sad, nearly all of the customers of Borders and Angus & Robertson won't lose the ability to enjoy the books they've purchased from those stores. But what of the people who bought Borders' proprietary eBook reader, the Kobo? Well, apparently their purchases are okay for now – it was a separate company. Let's hope it doesn't go broke too, now that its retail partner has gone.

And what if, as implausible as it may seem today, Amazon were to go broke? Or their main eBook competitor in the US, Barnes & Noble, which also has a large network of stores like Borders? Both use proprietary eBook formats, with copy protection. So, what guarantee is there that having bought a book from them now, it'll work in the future? How can customers know that they won't be stranded like Borders' gift card holders, with entire libraries they can no longer access?

Many of the computer file formats of yesteryear ago are useless nowadays. The WordPerfect files I created in high school can no longer be opened by Microsoft Word for Mac. I have no confidence, therefore, that the novels I've bought from Amazon will be readable in thirty years' time. And it's already quite difficult to pass an eBook on to a partner or a child to read – you would need to share your account. If I were to die, it would be hard for my heirs to access my purchased eBooks. In short, there's no guarantee that any of this fiddly technology will work for the rest of our lives, or beyond them..

Whereas books, of course, are multigenerational. I know this because many of my books come from my parents' and grandparents' shelves. Thanks to the abundance of their purchasing, I read novels like The Great Gatsby and The Catcher In The Rye several years before I had to read them for high school English and even though I was probably too young to understand them, I remember enjoying them. Without books like that simply being handed to me by encouraging relatives, this could not have happened. I wouldn't have purchased them for my eBook reader – I wouldn't have even had the money to do so.

As a result, I love old, yellowing paperbacks. When my parents said they were getting rid of hundreds of their books, I souvenired as many of them as I could viably fit in my house. As a result, whenever I move, I have to lug twenty-odd boxes of books with me. But I wouldn't get rid of them for the world. Not when they've been written in, and dog-eared, and had their spines almost broken. Not when my parents have stuck charming hand-drawn "Ex Libris" bookplates in some of them. They're my family history, and what's more, there's no way I could afford to spend the money to buy them all over again from Amazon.

I suspect that people who love books will split their reading into two categories. Titles at the more disposable end of the market will move into eBook format, which is fantastic for portability and convenience. I love being able to travel with a Kindle instead of half a dozen bulky paperbacks. But books I care about, and want to savour and have access to for the rest of my life, I wouldn't dream of buying electronically.

This is partly because the experience of reading is different when it's a physical book. With records and video, digitisation makes no real difference because the end experience – sounds coming out of your speakers, or images displayed on your screen – is essentially identical. Whether it's a digital file or disc that's responsible for the sound or vision is largely immaterial. But as good as eBook readers are, they offer a fundamentally different tactile and visual experience from reading a book. Sometimes that difference doesn't matter enormously, and it's certainly still possible to get immersed in an eBook, but I still find the heft of a good, solid trade paperback a more pleasant way to enjoy a really great novel. The pleasure of good cover and font design, and page layout, is also largely lost using an e-reader.

Similarly, visiting a good bookshop is a pleasure that can't be replicated online. The fun of flipping through new releases, or delving into a topic that particularly interests you, isn't the same when you do it on Amazon.com. The chat with a passionate bookseller who wants you to buy a book they've loved is also lost, and so are the live events that are now an important part of great bookstores like Readings and Gleebooks.

The ongoing success of these two chains, which have both opened new branches in recent years even as many have been foretelling doom and gloom, give me hope. Sure, the days of mega-bookstores like Borders may have gone forever – they relied on high-volume trade, much of which was being undercut by the likes of Kmart anyway – but well-curated smaller bookstores with dedicated staff still have legions of loyal fans. Long may this continue.

I'm not sure I'll miss Borders much anyway, to be honest. When their megastores first opened, I loved nothing more than visiting for hours on end, sitting in the café and trying before I bought. But in recent years, my experience with the chain has been more unpleasant. Since REDgroup took the chain over, they insisted that publishers stop printing recommended retail prices on the books' back covers, so they could charge more. Several of my friends paid $36.95 for my novels at Borders instead of the $32.95 RRP – which is already a fairly substantial hit. On discovering from my website that it was supposed to cost $32.95, they vowed never to darken the doors of Borders again. Seems like an excellent formula for alienating customers.

Plus, much of Borders' business was in DVDs, and they're on the way out, and won't be much missed thanks to cable (Foxtel offers so many good movies during any given month that I can't get through them as it is), timeshifting and instant-delivery online video stores like iTunes.

While eBooks will inevitably reduce sales because of convenience – and I'm happy to move some of my own purchasing to eBooks – I don't think the digital reading experience is rich enough to entirely replace physical books. Similarly, I believe the bookselling industry that is most worth preserving is in good hands, and the unhelpful prognostication of the Minister for Small Business, fortunately, can't change that. And this Christmas, I'll be giving physical books to my loved ones, not digital downloads.

We're going to need a bigger boat

A few months ago, I was invited to read a tale at Story Club, the monthly comedy storytelling night at Sydney Uni run by Project 52. As a Jaws tribute, the theme was "we're going to need a bigger boat". Which immediately got me thinking about Noah's Ark.

‘Dad, I’ve been doing some thinking, and we’re going to need a bigger boat,’ said Noah's eldest son Ham. The two of them were watching the animals boarding the ark two by two, displaying an understanding of the principles of queueing never before seen in the animal kingdom. ‘Or a second boat. Or a whole flotilla of boats. And even that probably won’t be enough.’

Noah sighed. With the whole earth about to be flooded, the last thing he needed was for his son to be a douche as well.

‘Why’s that?’ he replied, not really wanting to know the answer. Ham was a scientist, and often irritated his father by bringing up these things he’d recently invented, which he liked to call facts.

‘Do you know how many species of animal there are, dad?’ Ham asked.

‘I don’t, but I’m placing my faith in God. He’s the one who told me to build this ark.’

‘Well, the total number of species in the kingdom Animalia is 1.25 million,’ Ham replied. ‘And you want two of each. That’s more animals in one place than on New Year’s Eve.’

‘Okay, well, let me think.’ Noah stroked his beard and stared across at the ramp, where his two other sons were trying to load giraffes onto a boat. How on earth would he get several million animals in there?

‘Look, I’ve tried to be as practical as I can about this,’ Noah replied. ‘For instance, because of the obvious OH&S issues, I’ve refused to take any dragons on board. And I've put the termites on notice - one nibble of our deck, and they can consider themselves extinct.’

‘Okay, but I still don’t see how every animal fits on the ark.’

‘Some of them are just going to have to re-evolve. Like the zebras, for instance. We don't really need horses with stripes, do we?’

‘Well, I’m glad you’re starting to think scientifically about this. So here’s my next question – what about food?’

‘I was thinking pot-plants on the deck,’ Noah said. ‘Watered by the rain.’

‘The soil would wash out of the pots in a day or two. And an adult elephant eats around 200 kilos of plants a day. How on earth do we supply that?’

‘I’ll have to get back to you,’ he replied. ‘But I’m sure God’s thought it over.’

‘Well, I hope he has, because I’m not seeing a whole lot of intelligent design here, frankly. Here’s another food question. If there are only two of each animal, we’ll need every pair to breed successfully. But a lot of our animals are carnivores. What are they going to eat if they can't eat the other breeding pairs?’

‘Look, you have to trust God to provide for us.’

‘But how? Everyone else will be dead! We can’t exactly dial for pizzas! Come to think of it, what are we going to eat?’

‘I was thinking fish.’

Ham laughed.

‘Fair enough. But let’s talk about them too. All the saltwater amphibians are about to have an absolute ball, that’s fine. But the thousands of animals that live in freshwater rivers and so on are about to have their habitat entirely flooded by salt. How’s God intending for us to save them – fish tanks? And what about the plants? They’ll all have drowned after 40 days under salt water. The only plants that’ll survive the flood are seaweed, and I don’t much like Japanese food.’

‘These are all good points, son.’ Noah would just have to talk to God again. He wasn’t looking forward to the conversation.

‘It’s not as though there aren’t going to be benefits, though, the patriarch continued. ‘Our family is the only one that will survive! I’ll be king of the world! And literally, not like in Titanic.’

‘Well, that’s another problem,’ Ham said. ‘My kids will have no option but to marry their cousins. The whole of human civilization’s about to become massively inbred. Again, just like with Adam.’

‘True, but again – every cloud has a silver lining. After this flood, everyone left alive will be Jewish. Middle Eastern politics will be so much less complicated.’

‘Sure, they’ll all be Jewish – and have two heads.’

Just then, Noah’s second son Shem joined them. He was the union rep for the family’s shipbuilding business.

‘I suppose you’ve got objections, like your brother,’ Noah said.

‘I’m wondering how we stop the animals from killing each other for forty days and forty nights,’ he said. ‘I’ve already had to explain to the pythons that they can’t carry the budgies aboard the ark in their stomachs.’

‘I explained the whole thing to them,’ Noah said angrily.

‘Has it occurred to you that we wouldn’t have to even have this flood if the union took action?’

‘The union?’

‘Yeah. See, God’s the boss, we all acknowledge that. We’re just workers, right? And we think he’s all powerful. But if all of us told him no – we’re not building an ark, no way, then he couldn’t flood the planet, because the whole of life would be eradicated. One out, all out, see?’

‘But someone else would just build it,’ Noah said. ‘It’s a pretty compelling offer – build an ark or die.’

‘Nah, the bosses always want to make it seem like you don’t have a choice. But you do,’ Shem said. ‘If the jobs go elsewhere, that’s when we picket, and don’t allow any scab labour onto their ark, see? It’s called solidarity. And then we put through a change to the award, right? I’d have to get together with the other shipwright’s union reps, but I’m sure we can all agree that no global inundation should be added to our minimum working conditions.’

Noah’s third son walked over to the three men. His name was Japheth, which he hated, because whenever he introduced himself to someone, it sounded like he had a speech impediment. Japheth had an MBA, and tended not to help with the shipbuilding and animal-loading aspects of Noah’s business, preferring to focus on what he called ‘the big picture stuff’.

‘Are you cats telling dad the implementation issues we've identified with the flood strategy?’ Japheth asked. ‘It’s such a bummer, seriously.’

‘I don’t see that we have an alternative here. God’s going to flood the entire planet, and he’s given us the chance to survive.’

‘This was the only solution set the big guy explored? Has he looked into maybe a scolding, or a light spanking? Maybe ground us all for a few days?’

‘He definitely said a flooding.’

‘Look, I just think you and the G-man need to whiteboard this, dream up together a few different alternatives, maybe convene a few focus groups, y’know? I just don’t think the market’s going to buy the 'being drowned' option.’

‘Look, I can talk to him, but he’s God. There’s not all that much room to negotiate.’

‘I don’t know about that,’ Japheth said. ‘We’re in a situation where the major threat to our company – God – is also a business partner with us on this ark project. That’s an ideal scenario for negotiation in my book. Instead of designing such a complicated solution, why can’t he simply remove the threat? I can put together a few PowerPoint slides, sketch out a presentation you could give him if you think it’d help. I think it’d be compelling.’

‘I’m happy to organize a rally too,’ Shem said. ‘Bit of marching, a few chants. I’m thinking "the workers, united, will never be flooded in a planetwide deluge". Once the proletariat demands a complete moratorium on flooding, God will be powerless to refuse us – or at least as powerless as an omnipotent being can be.’

‘I’ll talk to him,’ Noah said. ‘But despite what his PR reps say, he doesn’t always answer prayers.’

‘I’ve had an idea,’ Ham said. ‘I’m not entirely sure God would go for it, but it’s worth a try. What if the whole flood thing was a parable?’

‘A parable?’ asked Noah.

‘Yeah – see, that’s when you tell people a story to make them realize something. It’s, like, a teaching method.’

‘Can you give me an example?’ Noah asked.

‘Well, imagine there’s this good Samaritan… actually wait, hold that thought for a couple of thousand years. How about this... imagine if instead of actually flooding the world, we just tell people that God did, and that makes them re-think their own wickedness? The net rate of wickedness would go down and he wouldn't need to, y’know, kill everything.’

‘I like it,’ Shem said. ‘It’s like creating false consciousness – the bourgeoisie do that all the time to keep us workers oppressed.’

‘Cool,’ Japheth said. ‘I can only see one problem. What if someday in the future, people read this story, and think that it actually happened? That God did literally flood the earth?’

‘Nobody would be that stupid, surely?’ Ham said. ‘I mean, we all know that story of how God created the world in six days, yeah? I mean, none of you actually think it was six regular days, do you? Not given evolution and everything we know about science.’

‘Comprende,’ Shem said. ‘Opiate of the masses, and all that.’

‘I don’t believe in anything,’ Japheth shrugged. ‘Except my bonus.’

‘What’s with all this doubt?’ asked Noah. ‘Why couldn’t he create the earth in six days? He’s God!’

‘Look dad – you and God need to have a talk. Because, here’s the thing – sometimes people tell other people elaborate stories to get them to believe something. Just tell the Almighty that the flood should be one of those stories,’ Ham said. ‘Trust me, God will know exactly what you mean.’

Bob Ellis in the line of fire

Yesterday I appeared on a panel at Sydney Uni with The Drum’s editor Jonathan Green to discuss free speech, along with Steve Cannane and Jack Marx. (And yes, it was noted that we are all white, middle-class men, a group whose access to free speech is generally pretty darn unrestricted.)

I said a lot of faintly pompous things about the value of freedom of speech, so would be remiss of me not to go into bat for that same principle 24 hours later with respect to Bob Ellis' controversial article on The Drum this morning.

"With respect to" might be the wrong term – I mean "in reference to", as I've little respect for the article. But quite a few people today have been suggesting that it should not be published in the first place. And there, my friends, I take up my cudgel of self-righteousness to defend freedom of expression.

But first, the article, whose contribution to the debate over the role of women in the defence forces and the incident at ADFA provides the last thing either situation needed – a steaming heap of freshly-laid sexism.

Ellis' central argument is that it's somehow hypocritical for women to wish to fight on the front lines and yet not be filmed having sex. But actually, there's no inconsistency at all. The underlying principle is that women should get to decide what to do with their bodies, whether experiencing enemy fire, having sex or indeed choosing to perform for an audience of one's fellow cadets on Skype, in the rather unlikely event that this in fact occurred.

The article goes on to suggest it is perfectly reasonable for any sexual encounter to be observed by others without consent, which I suspect Ellis thinks is a wonderfully libertine position, but ultimately just seems creepy. I suppose, though, that this article will stand up as permission in court if anyone cares to hide a webcam in the Ellis bedroom.

Perhaps the most problematic element of the article is Ellis' attack on the victim’s character. He suggests a “hypothesis” that the woman agreed to be filmed, and then changed her mind. The value of this is dubious – raising that question in this fashion, he casts doubt on the question of consent, which is the key to the whole issue. Not only is this cavalier, but it misses the point. If the woman had agreed to what happened, then there'd been no scandal.

By way of analogy, let me ask this – suppose Bob Ellis had written a completely different article. What then? What then? Well, then the large number of people who attacked Ellis' article today wouldn't have done so. But then, we'd be inhabiting a different universe.

Furthermore, the question of what the woman agreed to in that room is a factual one for the police and ADFA inquiries, not for uninformed speculation. Nevertheless, Ellis is happy to reach his own conclusion, which is that the woman should have no future in the military:

Is the young woman, moreover, to be named, and acclaimed, and promoted, and hereafter entrusted with frontline command on some field of battle? Who would trust her in any high army position? Who would be sure she was truthful? Or sound of judgment? Or loyal? Or reliable under fire?

A more appropriate rhetorical question, though, is this: who would be so insensitive as to conclude that this woman was not fit for frontline command because of what was done to her against her will? Ellis displays the same Neanderthal attitude that’s displayed in honour killings, when rape victims are killed by their relatives for staining the family’s reputation.

By contrast, he argues the man responsible should get off scot-free because the public outcry is nothing more than a prudish overreaction to an “undergraduate prank”, which, Ellis claims, might drive him to suicide. Yes, correct – suicide is a terrible problem, Bob. But I think you'll find it's usually the victims of these situations who attempt to kill themselves, not the perpetrators.

Except that for Ellis, the victim in this scenario is someone else. Hint: he has a penis. Further hint: six of his mates have seen it on Skype.

I could write a great deal more about the problems I have with this article.  But a more interesting question than whether Ellis is wrong is whether his article should have been published.

My answer to this is a simple one – of course, because this position should be engaged with. Is anyone naïve enough to imagine that these views are not shared by many within the defence forces and the broader community? As Jonathan Green pointed out on Twitter when initially posting the article, Ellis' view of the ADFA affair is similar to that held by Andrew Bolt, whose opinions are so apparently popular that they warrant him getting his own TV show.

Many commenters today have suggested the ABC should not have published the article. Some who replied to me earlier today claimed that the article was not well written, or the argumentation was poor. Obviously I think his logic is flawed, since I disagree with it – but one thing that can never be said of Ellis, in my opinion, is that he writes badly. The distaste is in the argument itself, not its expression.

I'm troubled by the occasional tendency of those on the left to try to rule certain opinions out of bounds. I remember David Oldfield coming to speak at Sydney University while I was a student. Far-left activists tried to stop him from speaking at all, and shouted constantly during his speech. The behaviour made them seem as small-minded as the person they were attacking. Who wants to live in a society where nobody is allowed to dissent from the majority opinion?

Rather sitting around agreeing with one another, those of us with strong beliefs should seek out dissenting opinions, both so our own views are pressure-tested, and so we can understand what we’re up against. It’s a vaccination principle, with counterarguments as antibodies – reading an article like Ellis’ should encourage dissenters to engage with his internal logic and work out why it’s wrong, and how to disprove his arguments. The alternative, which is to not engage with the argument and simply to turn up one’s nose, will not enable us to change anyone's mind in the long term.

Furthermore, agreement is dreadfully boring – Q&A is always at its dullest when everyone on the panel is saying the same thing. Conversations with people who share my views are lovely and affirming, of course, but they don’t get my brain working the way a good argument does.

Which brings me back to yesterday's panel at Sydney Uni. With a few exceptions concerning court reporting, the four of us were in furious agreement on the value of free speech. It would have been far more interesting for the audience if somebody, anybody, had taken us on.

I'm glad The Drum, which let's not forget has a taxpayer-funded obligation to present a diversity of views, published Ellis' article. It's an interesting change-up to see him appalling the left and pitching his tent alongside Bolt. And as a long-term fan of Ellis' writing, I'm interested to see that his capacity for error is not limited to his election predictions.

Ultimately, the article presented arguments I hadn't thought of and clarified what I think about the issues. And that's what I look for when I visit an opinion website.

Or perhaps you disagree?

No smoke without ire

I hate smoking with a fury that few people who aren't self-righteous, hypochondriac asthmatics like me could muster. Whenever it's banned from another category of public place, or an additional tax is imposed, or cigarette companies are required to include even more disturbing health messages on their packs, you will find no cheerleader more willing to perform a high-kick in support than me. And when we factor in just how inflexible my limbs are, that's a pretty deep commitment.

Smoking is not just a disgusting habit, but a selfish one, because it asserts that a smoker's own miserable addiction is more important than the comfort and health of those around them. When people smoke in public, it's the respiratory equivalent of playing the bagpipe solo from 'You're The Voice' in a crowded place, except that Scottish folk instruments never gave innocent bystanders cancer.

Now, I recognise that in a free society, people have the right to make their own decisions, even though if cigarettes were introduced onto the market today there is surely no way they'd be allowed to be sold. They're a regrettable anachronism that is yet to fade from civilised society, like Bill Heffernan.

Still, if you're foolish enough to be cavalier about the risk of lung cancer, heart disease, or smelling like a hobo lightly marinated in bin juice, then be my guest. Actually don't be my guest, because I'll have to fumigate my apartment when you leave – but I acknowledge that you're within your rights.

And yes, that goes even if you're one of my hypocritical left-wing friends who'd rather asphyxiate a seal than support a dastardly multinational like Nike and Nestlé, but has no objection to giving thousands of dollars a year to British American Tobacco in return for the privilege of being slowly killed by their products. Go ahead, I say. Knock yourselves out, literally.

But the problem is that against your right to smoke has to be balanced my right not to breathe in a substance that causes cancer, makes me cough and splutter, forces me to dry-clean my clothes and generally messes with my joie de vivre. In my view, non-smokers should never have to inhale smoke in a public place, much as we have the right not to be stabbed, shot, electrocuted, exposed to radiation, attacked by masked ninjas, trampled by mutant lizards or forced to watch The Circle.

The onus should be on smokers to ensure that, like listening to Neil Diamond, their shameful hobby should be indulged away from people who don't also enjoy it. At present, smoking is legal in outdoor areas of pubs and cafés. This still isn't going far enough. Not only should non-smokers be able to enjoy sitting outdoors without breathing smoke, but the ban on smoking indoors means that sitting al fresco all but guarantees a lungful of smoke as your amuse-bouche. Smokers should be obliged to remove themselves from polite society whenever they want to light up, like lepers in the olden days, if lepers had freely purchased their condition at a mini-mart.

Given this stance, you might imagine that I approved when I read that an apartment building in Ashfield has banned smoking not only on the balconies but in the units. But even I, who would happily make packets of cigarettes cost $50 and smokers sign a little piece of paper at the cash register acknowledging that they a) will probably contract cancer and b) are fools, think this is going too far. Because if we are to ban smoking in practically all public places, as we should, there has to be some location where the foolhardy can indulge.

What's more, when I entertain, I ruthlessly force my smoker guests to light up on the balcony, but I think that making them go downstairs and down the street would be too much to ask. Especially since, if I'm honest, my parties probably aren't sufficiently awesome to entice them back.

So while I applaud the sentiment of my anti-ciggie comrades in Ashfield, I fear they've gone a little too far. Because smokers who can't light up at home – even if such a limitation could practically be enforced – will inevitably do so in the street, where they and I have to inhale it. The aim of anti-smoking activists should therefore be to restrict it to the private sphere, placing it on the same footing as masturbation, except that smoking does actually make you go blind.

Night of the Lib knives - NSW election liveblog

It's decision time. Well actually, decision time came several years ago. It's hard to pinpoint exactly which shameful ministerial scandal or indefensible bungle marked the point at which NSW voters decided that there was absolutely no way they were giving Labor another shot – after all, there have been so many.

But now the votes are in, and we are only waiting for the results to become clear. Presumably in record time. As the count goes on, I'll be dancing on Labor's grave here. Because it'll be fun. For me, at least.

Note – it's in reverse chronological order, so start on P2 and work your way back...

10:11pm: That's it, then. If anything, the result was even more emphatic for the Coalition than anticipated. Labor are left licking their wounds without even much in the way of a tongue to do it with. Goodnight!

10:08: O'Farrell's words are strong and quite inspiring, but his manner is so avuncular that it doesn't quite ring true. You just want him to buy you a beer and tell you a few yarns about his life.

10:07: "We will deliver", promises Barry. Honestly, we'd settle for a slight improvement in services and only three or four personal scandals among your ministers.

10:05: He will govern for "all people". Every election victor promises that in their speech, before relentlessly shafting those not in their voter base.

10:03: For many people, this will be the first time they've ever heard Barry O'Farrell. Or even seen him on TV. Lucky he's reasonably competent – if ever there was a drovers' dog election, it was this one. Even a Drover's Debnam might have had a chance.

10:01: O'Farrell is extremely moderate, by all appearances. Even his speech is extremely laid back. I really can't imagine he'll slash and burn terribly much. Plus he resembles a koala, which will no doubt help him deliver his promise to double tourism.

9:59pm: I gather he's going to make NSW number 1 again. When were we number 1, other than at Federation?

9:57pm: I'd like to think I was first to congratulate Barry at 6. Inappropriately.

9:56pm: Waiting for Barry. So I can, like, EAT.

9:43pm: The bad news is Pauline Hanson has 12,000 votes. The good news is that "Blank" has 30,000. Actually, though, 12,00 votes is 0.4 of a quota in her own right – so her chances of getting up are still disturbingly good.

9:25pm: If the NSW Coalition is any guide, we're about to hear very little from NSW Labor for about three years.

9:21pm: A lot of sense being made by Luke Foley on the ABC panel. The way they conducted themselves was indeed repulsive to traditional ALP supporters, and they need to change dramatically. What are the odds, though, seriously?

9:12pm: No-one can say that Kristina Keneally didn't give her all. Or that it wasn't anywhere near enough. Hard to imagine the last 15 months will be the last time she'll hold a senior role in politics though. Surely a move to Canberra? She's owed.

9:09pm: Keneally takes responsibility and won't contest leadership. But "I will never walk away from the Labor Party". Well, at least that's one.

9:07pm: This is a good speech – she's a fine communicator, as always. But then again, she's had plenty of time to write it.

9:02pm: Kristina Keneally looks quite disappointed. What, did she not see this coming? "The voters did not leave us, we left them"– good insight.

9:00pm: Until today, living in the seat of Sydney, I had a female Governor-General, Governor, Prime Minister, Premier, Deputy Premier, State MP and Federal MP. Pretty amazing thing. Oh, and a female Queen atop it all, of course.

8:56pm: Goodness, Carmel Tebbutt's supporters are far too enthusiastic given what's happened tonight. In other news, Jamie Falk IS LEADING THE PRIMARY VOTE IN BALMAIN. Man, the Inner West is a strange place this election. It'll be a while until we know about Balmain, and I'd be surprised if there wasn't a recount, the way things are going. Judging by that cross, Falk seems a pretty impressive candidate, incidentally.

8:54pm: I'm only going to keep this blog going until we hear the speeches, incidentally. Kristina Keneally is moments away, I'm told.

8:51pm: Funny tweet from @_leo_s:

Not many people will notice earth hour in NSW, they'll just assume its another power outage as a final up yours from NSW Labor.

8:49pm: Good point – Morris Iemma should be leading Labor to this election, but for the electricity privatisation madness. Would he have done worse than the very personable Keneally, though?

8:46pm: Nathan Rees says Toongabbie too close to call. I call the boneheading going on behind him absolutely outstanding. ABC computer says Libs are ahead. What an extraordinary election where Toongabbie is a marginal seat!

8:40pm: Ah, Earth Hour – such a wonderful opportunity for making an ostentatious environmental statement, but never more so than when it falls on Election Night. By the way, if you want to read a thorough dissection of Earth Hour, check out Grogs Gamut's blog.

8:23pm: Balmain remains fascinating – the ABC website just updated to "GRN ahead". It'll probably vary booth by booth. Also, who knew that 30% of Balmain residents voted Liberal?

8:21pm: Seems Carmel Tebbutt will hold on in Marrickville. The Greens' Fiona Byrne says it's hard to knock off a Deputy Premier. But honestly – the Deputy Premier of this government?!

8:17pm: I've just realised that Barry O'Farrell is the Shadow Minister for Western Sydney, despite being from the Upper North Shore. Now they'll have some MPs who actually come from Western Sydney...

8:12pm: It's actually the Liberals' fault that this result is such a landslide, in a way, because of their awful performance in 2007. Had they chosen Barry O'Farrell instead of Peter Debnam, they might well have defeated Morris Iemma. 16 years is too long for any Government, really.

8:10pm: @JulieBishop's looking at the bigger picture:

3 years ago wall to wall Labor federal state territory. WA took first brick out of wall, then Victoria, NSW removes another. Keep it going.

But really, this is not a national trend, this is a government that redefines the term "past its use-by date".

8:05pm: I'm starting to get bored. Must... keep... watching... but... NSW politicians... are so boring.........

8:00pm: The ABC website points out that the Libs are claiming this is an endorsement, not just a protest vote. I find that a little hard to swallow, given how low-profile they've been. What this is is a massive protest vote.

7:56pm: A sound, if pedantic point from the redoubtable @nh0jj0hn -

@domknight Kerry just called the election a "decimation" of Labour. That is only 1 in 10 destroyed ... this is much worse than that.

Closer to 1 in 10 surviving, in fact.

7:52pm: Dempster asks the Minister for Roads David Borger if he thinks having that position is a positive. He says he's not sure if it's a positive or a negative. An excellent point! He argues that the scandals have taken a huge toll – hard to disagree. But surely the parlous state of practically every service and the multiple instances of wasted funds (CBD Metro!) are the most convincing explanations.

7:48pm: In honour of Earth Hour, I am running both my laptop and the iPhone that's connecting it to the internet off their batteries. It's the least I can do for Mother Nature.

7:45pm: There aren't many interestingly close contests tonight, but Keira is one – that's the seat that was held by poor old David Campbell, of the gay spa incident. Green says ALP likely to retain for the new candidate Ryan Park.

7:36pm: My colleague Chas Liccardello tweets "Forget going without power for an hour - NSW Labor's opting for an 'Earth Decade'"

7:32pm: Now, I know Comrades is a wonderful book, but I feel like some people might be taking the sweep time question a little too seriously. I'm looking at you, @nh0jj0hn.

7:31pm: By the way, I'm actually at the ABC, so unable to showcase the hi-jinkson Seven and Sky. Great atmosphere down here – I'm not sure they've ever made so much use of the Ultimo foyer.

7:26pm: ABC total is 56-8 now. Nathan Rees looking like he's ahead in Toongabbie, says Gladys Berejiklian. That's nice – as inept a leader as he was, they did him over pretty badly.

7:22pm: Cross to Jamie Parker in Marrickville. He's not claiming victory yet. Looks like a pretty dull function, to be honest. I presume they'll be breaking out the Horny Goat Weed once he gets over the line, though.

7:19pm: Antony Green has a new computer system, folks, and he's having a few problems with it. Maybe Labor's won after all?

7:17pm: 16.5% swing is a postwar record anywhere in Oz, apparently. Oh well, at least NSW Labor accomplished something in 16 years.

7:14pm: The interesting – well, relatively interesting – questions that remain are as follows. 1) Can Labor get its seat count into the teens? 2) Will the Greens win their first Lower House seat? 3) What about the Upper House? 4) Who are the Coalition MPs other than Barry O'Farrell, anyway? 5) If Pauline Hanson wins, who will join me in moving to peaceful, tolerant Queensland?

7:10pm: ABC computer now says 50-8. Since 47 was the magic number, that means game over. Will have to figure out exactly what that means for the sweep...

7:07pm: Barry O'Farrell has been great on Twitter all campaign, whereas @KKeneally hasn't tweeted in two weeks. He just wrote "Finally found Eric - he's on 9 Network's election coverage!" We can conclude that if he's got time to flip channels looking for Roozendaal, he's feeling pretty confident at this point. So he should - ABC currently calling it 3-48.

7:05pm: @NSWLabor only bothered to tweet three times today. Speaks volumes, or rather, doesn't speak volumes. They said "Only Labor will protect jobs and support families. O'Farrell will axe jobs and the services families rely on." There are certainly a lot of jobs being axed as we speak.

7:03pm: My favorite tweet so far comes from @jason_a_w via @benpobjie - "If only NSW Labor had heeded my suggestion and used "Look - a Unicorn!" as their slogan..."

7:02: ABC News is currently updating us on Libya. A relatively peaceful conflict compared to what we've been watching.

7:00pm: Murrumbidgee's gone National, folks. I wouldn't even bother covering any National-held seat tonight, honestly.

6:57pm: "The computer is primed to make predictions," says Kerry. I'd say Blind Freddie's primed to make predictions about this poll. Pru Goward will be holding onto Goulburn, naturally. I assume Kerry only mentioned the seat to point out that once in a blue moon, former ABC journos do actually run for the Coalition.

6:55pm: The ABC website reports there are no TV monitors at KK's election headquarters. I assume they have been avoiding all forms of media for months now – perhaps that's why she's been so absurdly optimistic?

6:54pm: The ABC tallyboard has this at 31-3. It's more like a NSW State of Origin match than an election.

6:53pm: The Oz's Samantha Maiden reports that "Eric Roozendal just declared Greens candidate in Marickville "quite mad" and Labor Party "eating itself" for last few years". No better evidence of that than him topping the Upper House ticket, I'd argue.

6:50pm: Verity Firth is being cheerful and upbeat on her ABC cross despite rumoured impending doom. Frowns on the people behind her in the "Keep Verity" shirts though. Not much ecstacy in evidence tonight, then.

6:48pm: Whoa, this is big! Paul Howes is predicting Verity may come 3rd in Balmain.. Which, given he's a huge supporter of hers, could imply she'll come 8th.

6:45pm: Disastrously, Kerry has announced that since they called it at the start, they won't be doing an official call. Which will take away the highlight of any election broadcast. Are they crazy? But let's run the sweep from whenever the ABC computer gives it to the Coalition.

6:43pm: Current total on ABC computer 16-3. Um, to the Coalition, that is.

6:23pm: Someone on Twitter says "At 6:15 pm I'm calling the NSW election as Labour minority govt with Greens and some flaky religious mob, and maybe someone else." But since his handle is @FuckingMorgan, I fear his analysis may not be entirely reliable.

6:16pm: A few people (including Andrew below) are suggesting John 'Robbo' Robertson might take over the ALP. That's just what Labor needs to woo back voters - a former union headkicker.

6:11pm: It probably wasn't the best use of their money, but Sky News have commissioned an exit poll that shows a 21% swing against Labor - 64/26 on a two-party preferred basis. Joe Tripodi says "there's still hope". Yes, since he's retiring.

6:02pm: @PhilWillis asks who the new Opposition Leader will be – he's predicting Verity Firth. She's a strong performer, but she'll have to get elected first. And her colleagues will have to be convinced to pick someone from the Left. Then again, given the job the Right's done lately, it's arguable.

6:00pm: Polls have closed, so I'm calling this for the Coalition. I'm pleased to say that I did so seconds before fellow loud-mouth, Joe Hildebrand. Eat my dust, Hildebrand.

My name is Dominic, and I'm an Appleholic

This morning, it happened again. As I walked out from the Apple Store – which I'd only visited to replace a faulty iPhone, honestly – I caught a glimpse of the iPad 2. And I knew with absolute certainty that I would have to have one.

Yes, even though it's only ten months since I bought my iPad 1. Yes, even though the iPad 2 is only a little faster, thinner and lighter than its predecessor, with practically no additional functionality. Yes, even though I've no need for the built-in camera since my iPhone 4 has a much better one. And yes, even though I don't use my current iPad all that much.

When the craving comes, I know that resistance is useless. I will simply have to give into it, and give into it soon. Then I'll be sated for a year, until Apple releases another model. But as of 5pm tomorrow, the mere availability of a better iPad than mine will become an affront to me. Whenever I am waiting for a webpage to load, it'll occur to me that I would have saved precious fractions of a second if I had only upgraded. And that will bother me.

Is this what it's like for serial killers?

But, but - they now come with Smart Covers! Which attach with magnets! And if you lift them up, the iPad will switch itself on automatically. Automatically! I definitely need that. Previously, I had to press the "on" button!

As you may have gathered, the concept of "need" isn't really one I'm able to apply to these situations. I'm reasonably good at resisting luxury and fashion, but not technology. My general rule is that if I can think of a concrete reason why something will make my life better, and can kind of afford it, then I'll get it. The justification can be a pretty sketchy one, like when I upgraded a MacBook just to get more disk space for my music collection. But with the iPad 2, I simply can't think of a reason why I should upgrade other than because I can. And to be frank, that scares me a little.

There are worse things to be addicted to than Apple, mind you. You can't resell cigarettes or alcohol a year down the track and get back most of what you paid for them. I figure the difference between the new and old iPad will be around $300, and in the scheme of things, that's not that much to pay for something that will give me a year of genuine, if embarrassing, enjoyment. At least until it's upgraded and I immediately shun it.

Oh, come on – you could easily spend $300 on a big night out. Well, a big night out with Charlie Sheen, maybe.

Do you pity me? Sometimes I pity myself, to be honest. Except that pretty soon, I'll have an iPad 2, and you probably won't, and that will make me a fundamentally better person than you.

I was relieved to discover, however, that this illness affects some people even more dramatically than me. As I left the store, there was already a queue of four people, 30 hours before sales were due to start at 5pm tomorrow. Most absurdly of all, the guy at the head of the five people waiting already had one.

It was white and he had it on his lap, just so we all knew it was a new one. I later discovered that he was only doing it to beat his own record of 32 hours, and will chalk up a total of 50 hours in the queue.

Which made me feel delightfully sane, because I wouldn't queue more than three or four hours. Five tops.

Now, I know that as I swipe my credit card in their fancy little machine, I'll think about all the better things I could be doing with the money. I'll think about all the unfortunate people in the world who can't even afford an old-model iPod touch. I'll feel like a sucker, a shallow consumerist, and a geek. But I'll still go through with it.

Many wise people have pointed out that it would be sensible to wait until iPad 3. But here's the thing – I will be. From the moment I get my hands on my iPad 2.

The real lesson from Japan? Julia Gillard is awesome

I found Simon Banks' Drum article about political leadership in the aftermath of Japan so thoroughly inappropriate that I couldn't resist bashing out a quick response. His thesis is that recent crises should make us grateful for the outstanding response of Australian leaders.

Before I get into the substance of the article, it's worth pointing out the crucial piece of information contained in the byline – Banks is the director of Hawker Britton. Those sane people without much interest in Australian elections may not realise that this is a firm with extremely close links to the ALP, and therefore Banks has a professional interest in portraying Julia Gillard and Anna Bligh as strong leaders. This is surely the kind of information that should be disclosed before one begins reading an article, not afterwards.

Firstly, he claims that "in the aftermath of the Queensland floods, Premier Anna Bligh exemplified how it should be done." I'm not going to argue with this. Although I missed much of the coverage because I was overseas, Bligh's performance was widely praised and her improvement in the polls in Queensland demonstrates how appreciative Queensland voters have been. It's a perfectly reasonable point.

But his argument becomes problematic when he begins contrasting the Japanese Government unfavourably with Bligh, and Julia Gillard:

In recent days, Prime Minister Julia Gillard has also provided clear and concise information to Australians about what is happening in Japan, based on the best available information and expert opinion. But events in Japan also show just how badly things can go wrong.

He says that the courage shown by the Fukushima workers " has not been matched by clear and concise information about what is really taking place". Really? Do you have any clear and concise information of your own that proves such a damning assessment, Mr Banks? No – you merely have a conclusion:

The consequence is that both in Japan and around the world people are losing confidence in the capacity of the Japanese authorities to act.

Or so he says – again, no examples of this alleged lack of faith has been provided.

The Japanese Government is certainly not above criticism, but there is no doubt that they have made an enormous effort to provide regular updates on the situation. Prime Minister Naoko Kan has appeared on television with great regularity. An English-language Twitter feed from his office was even set up so, and simply scrolling through it illustrates just how often he has been updating the world on the crisis.

Of course, Kan had more important priorities than spending the entire day on television, like visiting the affected areas and finding a solution to an extremely complicated crisis. The order to pump seawater into the reactor, for instance, was his. Which is why many of the updates were provided by Yukio Edano, the chief Cabinet secretary, who has been such a frequent presence on the world's television screens that he now appears to have reached exhaustion.

There have certainly been lapses in Japan's response to the emergency, and some have criticised Kan's leadership. In particular the delay in overriding TEPCO's management of the Fukushima plants, which was initially driven by a desire to preserve its assets, was tardy.

But Banks isn't interested in exploring this kind of detail, or offering even these extremely brief explanations of where the Japanese Government might have fallen short. Nor is he interested in engaging with the enormous complexity of trying to solve three simultaneous disasters – the strongest earthquake ever recorded in Japan, the biggest tsunami in living memory and the worst nuclear disaster after Chernobyl.

In fact, Banks' interest here isn't in Japan at all, despite the lip service he pays to the extent of the disaster. His task, as usual, is to lionise the ALP. But honestly – of course Julia Gillard could provide "clear and concise information to Australians" – she wasn't on the ground, trying to actually solve the crisis. Relaying information as it came to hand was literally the least she could do.

Furthermore, the person in the government who was actually doing most of the updating was Kevin Rudd. But since the ALP has rejected him, praising his leadership abilities no longer fits within Banks' narrative, although he does graciously take a moment to defend him from Andrew Bolt's charge of showboating.

What Banks is doing is itself showboating. The very idea of contrasting Julia Gillard's response to an overseas crisis to that of a government almost overwhelmed by an unprecedented catastrophe situation is absurd and insensitive. Sure, thousands may have lost their lives, with thousands more missing – but gosh, what a fantastic showcase for Julia Gillard's leadership! Every cloud, huh?

Banks then has the gall to criticise the Australian Greens for making assertions about the safety of nuclear power, when his entire thesis has been based on no observations whatsoever about how Japan responded to the crisis – nor how Julia Gillard did, for that matter.

But do not presume that Banks does not believe in providing facts to the public merely because he has declined to do so in this article. As he concludes, he says:

In the [nuclear] debate that will inevitably follow, Australians need more facts, not less.

Yes, they do. And so do his readers, who need some facts in support of Banks' claim that "a minor incident at Fukushima has turned into a manageable problem and now into a potential crisis". He might care to explain exactly how a massive tsunami constituted a "minor incident", and the subsequent radiation leakage from multiple reactors which stumped experts for days and has still not been adequately repaired was a "manageable problem" would be an excellent start. Perhaps Banks might deign to go over there and drain the radioactive cooling ponds himself, if it's all so terribly "manageable"?

Perhaps the conclusion Banks would like us to draw from all this is that the Japanese Government should immediately retain the advice of the expert spin-doctors from Hawker Britton. Clearly, what Prime Minister Kan needs is not a way to stop reactors overheating, but a pompous Australian to lecture him about the value of communication.

My conclusion, by contrast, would be that Banks has proven himself poorly qualified to offer advice on striking an appropriate tone in the aftermath of disasters.

And while we're speaking about disasters, surely the director of a company that helped to mastermind Labor's 2010 election campaign should hesitate to offer advice to any political leader.

Pauline Hanson is trying to steal a NSW job

When I heard Pauline Hanson was running in the NSW election, I found myself getting angry. Who does she think she is, I wondered, coming into our state and trying to take the jobs of our NSW MLCs? And I can guarantee she won't make the slightest effort to assimilate to our NSW values. Oh no, she'll just bring her own anti-Muslim beliefs in and try to impose them on the rest of us.

The rules for migrating here are too flexible, I reckon. You shouldn't just be able to rock up, and jump the queue ahead of other New South Welsh people who've built up their political careers the hard way. I don't like it. No, not one little bit.

In all seriousness, though – isn't it time there was a residency requirement? Two years of being registered to vote here would be a great start. You shouldn't be able to run for the State election in Queensland, and then duck south of the border in the hope that our state contains enough bigots to get you over the line, because your own abolished its Upper House.

In order to be able to represent the people of NSW, you should surely start by being one of them for a bit. NSW's constitution can be changed by an Act of Parliament, so let's hope Premier O'Farrell sorts this out.

I suppose Hanson deserves credit for at least reminding people there's an election on. If you want to know just how profoundly boring the NSW contest is, you need only observe that her announcement has created the most interesting moment of Campaign 2011 so far. Since it's either Pauline, Barry O'Farrell talking about motorways, or Kristina Keneally talking about anything, it's not surprising that her announcement has mildly piqued the interest of those few of us who are paying attention.

So she's all over the media again today. Even though she always does this. Even though she won't win. Even though she's only ever won once before, when the ballot paper said "Liberal" next to her name in Oxley, despite her being dis-endorsed before polling day.

Pauline's return means that yet again, we've returned to the familiar argument about whether she's racist or not. No less an authority on the subject of irrational hatred than David Oldfield has sprung to her defence on 2UE, pointing out that just because she indisputably hates Muslims, that doesn't make her a racist, because technically it's a religion, not a race.

Yes, yes; well done. I can't point to anything detailed and specifically racist that Hanson's said on the public record. She's never written her own version of Mein Kampf. In fact, she doesn't really offer complex arguments about anything – her pitch is a general, non-specific unease about people who are different from her. Like her voters, she'd never say anything overtly racist in public – of course not, because of the dreaded oppression that is "political correctness". One Nation voters keep their views on race closeted away, and it's to the credit of the rest of us that they do.

But to argue that someone who repeated only today that she is against multiculturalism is not demonstrably racist is a technicality. Just as when I say that David Oldfield is a hideous boil on the arse of Australian politics whose opinion should not be sought at a dinner party, let alone on commercial radio, I'm incorrect because technically, boils contain pus instead of bile.

Hanson is a diluted version of a tea partier, offering a similarly simplistic us-vs-them analysis bolstered by an instinctive mistrust of anyone who knows what they're talking about, or the definition of "xenophobic". Hers is a world where good old fashioned common sense trumps everything else, if by "common sense" you mean "the instant reaction of a person who hasn't really thought or read much about it." It's a world where, as she once argued, a flat tax just makes sense, in the same way that similar people once thought a flat earth did. And it's a world where you don't get to move countries for a better life, unless you're her, and it's to England.

But honestly, I've had enough of this tawdry sideshow every single election. Pauline's addiction to the limelight is almost as unhealthy as Charlie Sheen's. It's surely only a matter of time until she unveils a "Running" tattoo on her wrist. She has become a perpetual candidate, and unlike the UK's Official Monster Raving Loony Party, it's not entertaining.

It's time to wean her of this addiction, and remove this perpetual irritant from our lives. Fortunately, there's an easier solution than getting her locked up, like Tony Abbott did. (To read about the Australians for Honest Politics trust, try and decipher this awesomely illegible SMH page). Her house was going for $2.15 million recently, because of her plan to relocate to England, but it didn't ultimately sell.

So, all we need is for 215,000 people to pledge ten bucks to buy the thing, and perhaps turn it into a Museum of Tolerance – or, if our primary aim is to annoy her, a mosque. GetUp could raise that in a few days, I reckon. I'm happy to pledge a couple of hundred bucks myself, just to avoid having to read about her ever again. Heck, I'll even kick in for her plane ticket. As long as it's one way.

Time we dismissed Kentucky Fried Cricket

If you have been watching the Ashes this summer, you must be either suffering from chronic depression, or English and smug. But the misery being meted out by England's batsman is nothing compared to the anguish I feel when there's an ad break and I see one of those dreadful ads featuring the Colonel. Because once again, KFC is sponsoring the cricket.

Now, I understand that even someone with the misfortune to resemble Colonel Harland Sanders deserves to make some kind of living. And if KFC want to base their marketing around a guy whose most useful contribution to human civilisation was a warning not to wear an all-white suit and cravat combo, that's their choice. But one of the world's unhealthiest fast food chains as a major sponsor not only of the leading sport of the Australian summer, but especially of Twenty20, the form of the game that most appeals to kids? Are Cricket Australia out of their minds?

Well yes, given that Ricky Ponting's still captaining their side. But honestly, how much more irresponsible can you get in the middle of a youth obesity crisis than taking payola from a company whose products come slathered in enough oil to re-choke the Gulf of Mexico?

Now, I like KFC. In fact, I love KFC. It's delicious. I'd eat it at least once a week if I wasn't a little on the portly side and reasonably interested in avoiding heart attacks. But every time I bite into one of their Original Recipe drumsticks, I taste not only that delightful explosion of chicken fat, but the acrid flavour of guilt. Because, like getting your eyelid piercing or watching Gossip Girl, KFC is just so obviously bad for you.

In some ways you have to hand it to them for sheer shamelessness. Their major response to the obesity epidemic was to take the "Fried" out of the name of their company, but not their product. That way we won't have to see a word that reminds us that the fat we're consuming is proceeding directly to our arteries for a sit-in.

I've always especially marvelled at their chicken meal deals, which come with chips and a potato and gravy and a bread roll, coupling their usual fat overload with enough carbs to inflate a sumo wrestler. Even their one concession to salad, coleslaw, comes dripping with mayo.

Just how bad is KFC for you? Well, I took a quick look at their nutritional information – from which they've mysteriously "forgotten" to include the RDI (recommended daily intake) percentages. So I looked it up – albeit on Wikipedia – and discovered that the recommended fat intake is 60g per day. Two pieces of Original Recipe chicken clock in at 30g. In terms of saturated fat – in other words, the stuff you really have to watch – it's 12g of the 20g allowance. That, of course is without chips – a regular serve adds another 12g (6 saturated). So just 2 pieces and a small chips puts you close to the daily limit.

For children, of course, the RDI is lower – substantially lower, depending on their age. So it's not unreasonable to suggest that a mere two pieces with chips could provide more than an entire day's worth of fat. And that's if you don't eat the potato and gravy – although, to be fair, who would?

Now, I know KFC sells chicken burgers as well. They're not quite as bad, but a Zinger has 18g of fat, 7 of which is saturated. Add bacon and cheese and it's 23g and 10g. And while I couldn't see the figures, I think we can assume the Nachos burger they've been plugging on high rotation is even worse for you. Even their new low-fat skinless product is 7g per piece.

In other words, then, nearly all of KFC's menu items are extremely difficult to eat without coming close to, or exceeding, your entire day's consumption of fat. It may not be quite as bad as cigarettes, but given the rate of obesity and heart disease in Australia, you'd have to ask whether they should be allowed to advertise to anyone, let alone to children.

And this is based only on two pieces of KFC, and many would eat more in a sitting. Let's not forget that they sell it in a bucket – which can also prove handy if you eat too much.

The truly outrageous thing, though, is that at the same time as Cricket Australia is getting sponsored by KFC, they applied for, and were given, $750,000 for a programme to combat childhood obesity. This shocked me, and not just because when it was announced during the First Test, I had to see Mark Arbib's face. At the same time as the taxpayer is giving them money to fight obesity, Cricket Australia's also making a buck out of one of the companies that's doing the most to add rolls of fat to our schoolkids' waists. The hypocrisy is staggering, like a child who regularly eats KFC.

Of course, Nine are complicit too, although indifference to the suffering of ordinary Australians is only to be expected from the network that resurrected Hey Hey It's Saturday. KFC sponsors not only just about every ad break, but the classic catches competition, for which the prize is a year's supply of KFC. From memory, the fine print says that they calculate this at a weekly $27 voucher. Well, all I'd say to the winners is – enjoy it while it lasts, because eating that much of the Colonel's finest, you probably won't survive to the end of that year.

We should be doing more to protect our fat kids – and bugger it, we should be doing more to protect fat adults too, given the obesity epidemic. So, just as with Benson & Hedges, I'd like to see KFC banned from sponsoring cricket on health grounds – and ultimately, banned from advertising everywhere. Better still, I'd like to see everyone who orders KFC given a little personalised contract that they have to sign before they receive their "meal". It should reads something like this:

I understand that the "F" in "KFC" stands for Fried.

I understand that my two-piece feed with chips contains 42g of my daily fat intake of 70g.

I understand that nobody actually eats the potato and gravy, and that it's just the Colonel's little joke. But I understand that if I do, that will be another 13g of fat.

I understand that the dinner roll I've inexplicably also been given is another 4g, and that the coleslaw contains 3g – or a whopping 14g for a large, even though it's a salad.

I understand that KFC should be enjoyed as part of a balanced diet, and will therefore eat nothing but celery for the next 48 hours.

I understand that consuming this product more than once a year may make me look like the Colonel, or another cravat-wearer called Matt Preston.

And finally, I understand that the most nutritious part of this meal is the refresher towelette.

If we introduce a truth-in-ordering system like this, maybe, just maybe, people will make sensible decisions about their fast food choices.

God it tastes good though. In fact, it's made my mouth water just writing this. Damn you, Colonel. And your cravat too.

A quick reminder - Australians don't like football

I didn't get much sleep, and like so many bad things from the lack of video replays to the vuvuzela, it's FIFA's fault. Last night, I stayed up until the wee hours in the hope of what always looked like an unlikely victory for our World Cup bid. As a teenager, I was at Circular Quay when Juan Antonio Samaranch pulled our name out of that hat, and I was hoping against the odds for a similar memorable, mispronounced moment.

Now, I could have copped a loss to the USA, or perhaps even Japan or Korea. All are far bigger football markets than we are. But when Qatar's name came out of the envelope, I was incensed. However, now that I've slept on it, and had the chance to really mull over whether we were the best choice to host the World Cup in 2022... I'm still incensed.

The choice of Qatar isn't farcical, but only because farces are supposed to be entertaining. Watching Sepp Blatter award 2018 to Russia and 2022 to Qatar was a bit like that moment in a crime novel when someone notices an unpleasant whiff in the air, and then opens a cupboard to discover a rotting, dismembered corpse. Everyone who follows the game knows that FIFA and corruption allegations go together like Harry Kewell and career-threatening injuries. So let's just say that in the wake of a massive corruption scandal, the decision to award both cups to oil-rich countries with dubious governments, dodgy human rights records and deeply inhospitable weather conditions was – brave.

And while I'm not saying that the members of FIFA who voted are outright crooks, as opposed to their two colleagues who were suspended while corruption allegations are investigated, FIFA isn't exactly a meritocracy. If it was, it'd be headed by someone like Franz Beckenbauer, not a guy whose previous claim to fame was running the Swiss Ice Hockey Federation.

Sepp Blatter himself has been dogged by corruption allegations for years. But that's not the worst thing about him. That same Wikipedia page tells me he "was elected president of the World Society of Friends of Suspenders, an organisation which tried to stop women replacing suspender belts with pantyhose." All in all, a classy guy.

But Australia wasn't robbed. Not at all. Because in short, we don't like football terribly much. We don't try to host the World Cups for hurling, or badminton, or croquet, or bullfighting, and we shouldn't be surprised to miss out on the premier trophy in another sport that we don't have much time for.

What I think happened was that our passion for hosting big tournaments like the Olympics got caught up in our quadrennial vague interest in the Socceroos, and we forgot ourselves. But as David Beckham says when he dons a sarong irrespective of the fact that it looks ridiculous, you have to be true to yourself. And by bidding, we weren't.

Only once before, when the US hosted it in 1994, has the FIFA World Cup been held in a country in which association football isn't the biggest sport. But I'd wager that Australia is the only country in the world, host candidate or otherwise, where "soccer" is the fourth most popular professional football code. As Late Show fans will tell you, fourth is a pretty humble position. AFL, league and union all get far bigger crowds and television audiences, and so do cricket, tennis and swimming for that matter. And while the A-League has made great strides forward, it's still early days. So when we tell FIFA about our massive passion for football, we're lying.

Of course, hosting the Cup would be a great shot in the arm for the game here. But I think we can forgive FIFA for not prioritising the popularity of football in a nation of 22 million. Maybe when our own domestic league isn't on the verge of financial collapse, we'll have a chance of convincing FIFA to trust us with its crown jewel.

Here's a clue about just how unpopular the game is here. Of the twelve grounds proposed in our bid, only half of them are rectangular. Particularly in the vastness of the MCG, viewing conditions will be far from ideal.

Then there are the problems of distance and timezone and so on. Those shouldn't be insurmountable barriers, of course, but when the rest of the world watches the Cup obsessively, and games literally stop nations, it seems reasonable that it screen live at a time when they can watch it.

And finally, there was our presentation, which surely only confirmed our perception as a nation that isn't serious about football. You'd think that after the debacle of our closing ceremony contribution at the Atlanta Games, with those infamous inflatable kangaroos on bicycles, our sports administrators would know that wacky marsupials and sporting credibility do not go well together. But no. Our video featured a cartoon kangaroo stealing the World Cup from FIFA headquarters, only for it to be retrieved by... Paul Hogan, donning his battered Crocodile Dundee hat once again.

Let's unpack that for a moment. We've fought for years against the perception that we're all just a bunch of convicts. We've fought for years to show that we belong in world football legitimately. And we've fought for years to disown Paul Hogan. (And the irony of someone who was recently prevented from leaving the country over unpaid taxes enforcing the law against World Cup thieving seems to have been lost on our bid team.) If this is how the rest of the world sees us – and worse, if this is how we ask the rest of the world to see us – then I'm amazed we got even one vote. It was cringe-inducing stuff.

And then, who wants to play nice with FIFA? Maybe they would have backed our bid if, instead of sending Paul Hogan to recover the World Cup, Julia Gillard could have pressured Sepp into swapping the Cup for the hosting rights? That's the kind of negotiation FIFA understands. And that cheeky kangaroo could have become a FIFA Vice-President, like the guy from Qatar.

The price is high. Just to host the World Cup, we had to promise not only to completely exempt FIFA from tax, but to insulate it against financial losses. And we saw in South Africa that FIFA even expects to be able to circumvent local laws. Then there are the constant dodgy deals, like the massive ticketing contract that was handed last year to a company run by Sepp's son, Philippe Blatter. Like the North Korean government and Mick Hucknall, FIFA is an institution that one simply shouldn't get into bed with.

So, it seems fitting that FIFA has endorsed Qatar. A monarchy that oppresses women, bans homosexuality, and has a population that's largely made up of"guest" construction workers who are forced to work in dreadful conditions. And the climate is so unsuitable for the game that the World Cup stadia those poor migrant workers will now have to build will be air-conditioned – the ultimate climate change fuck-you from a country whose wealth is built on fossil fuels. It's already a desert, so presumably they don't care if everywhere else becomes one, too.

The choice of Qatar – and to a lesser extent Russia which is at least vast and football-mad – only confirms perceptions of FIFA as irredeemably dodgy. The game should be controlled by the fans who pump billions into it, not pampered oligarchs in Zurich. But unfortunately football is just too addictive a drug to the rest of the world, who'll do anything in the hope of winning the carrot dangled out by Sepp and his cronies. FIFA's control is meekly endorsed, not challenged.

But if we Aussies are honest with ourselves, we can take or leave football and its World Cup. Even bidding for it belittled us, with the tacky handout of those pearl necklaces for the delegates' wives. And we certainly shouldn't do the other things it apparently takes to get it.

Let's make Kate and Wills' day truly special - by ignoring it

Mark it in your diaries, Australia – the royal wedding has been set down for April 29th. Which gives us all plenty of time to book ourselves into remote destinations without TV, internet or phone coverage. Sure, there'll still undoubtedly be some schmuck in a plane skywriting "WILLS ♥ KATE" in the pristine blue above us, but it'll be a lot better than suffering through the endless hype in the media, which is already insufferable, and will only get worse. Just make sure your royal-proof hideaway isn't Lizard Island off the Queensland coast, as there's a chance you'll end up in the very place where the happy couple are honeymooning.

Like anyone with even the smallest smidgin of self-respect, I've been a republican for years. Australia's egalitarianism is one of our finest qualities, and why anyone would oppose extending it to our constitutional arrangements entirely eludes me. Sure, there's a place for pomp and splendour and majesty, but that place is called London. And more specifically, the future museum at Buckingham Palace. We'll all be able to visit it someday, just like Versailles, and it will give us a similar sense of disgust at the archaic opulence of monarchy.

The only purpose the royal family has nowadays that wouldn't be more appropriately performed by a president is appearing on commemorative plates. And really, someone should celebrate the royal nuptials in Greek plate-smashing style, by dropping a bunker-buster bomb on the Franklin Mint warehouse.

But even if you view the royal family as anything more than an obnoxious anachronism, the wedding should be a useful reminder of a few home truths about Australia's role in the nuptials of its future king – which is to say, precisely none. That's right – our future ruler is getting married, and it clearly has nothing to do with us. These are two young English people, distant relatives of ours, getting married on the other side of the world. Sure, we might like take a moment to click 'Like' on Facebook when Prince William updates his relationship status to 'Married', but it's definitely not worth jumping on a plane.

It has so little to do with us that it'll be on in the middle of the night, a clear sign that none of us should watch it. And here's an even bigger one – Britain will get a public holiday to celebrate, and we won't, even though we both have the same royal family. And it'll even slightly undermine our own governance – Julia Gillard will probably have to go, wasting several days of valuable independent-negotiating time so she can yawn through a church service. And of course Tony Abbott will be there too, even if he's not invited.

Now – don't get me wrong – I quite like Prince William. Along with the Queen, he's the only member of the royal family who doesn't make a fool of themselves on a regular basis. (Sure, Anne's got some gravitas nowadays, but her participation in It's a Royal Knockout renders her a laughing-stock for life.) And I reckon if William had a choice, he wouldn't want all this attention.

Look at his choices. He could have married any manner of supermodel or aristocrat, but he's chosen a mate from uni who's a "commoner". He's spent his time as far away from the spotlight as you can get, working in the military – after all, photographers can't get onto a base or a navy ship. And he's currently doing a job where he can genuinely help people as a search-and-rescue pilot – far more impressive than the usual royal turn-up-and-wave-a-bit approach. Best of all, he hates the paparazzi with a burning passion – understandably, given the whole 'they killed my mother' thing.

So, since William values his privacy so much that he's announced a zero-tolerance approach to media intrusion, I'm going to do my bit by resolutely avoiding pictures of them. If none of us wanted to see their photos, the paparazzi would leave them alone, and pick on those who deserve it, like Lindsay Lohan. Let's make it happen – it can be our wedding present, and we won't even have to lift a finger. So it'll be exactly like being a member of the royal family.