KEY POINTS:
Curmudgeon of the Year for the second year running, proving yet again that the female of the species is deadlier than the male, is 64-year-old feminist turned contrarian Germaine Greer.
In 2006 she blitzed the crowded field with a venomous obituary of Steve "Crocodile Hunter" Irwin which concluded:
"The animal world has finally taken its revenge on Irwin but probably not before a whole generation of kids in shorts seven sizes too small has learned to shout in the ears of animals with hearing 10 times more acute than theirs."
Spoken like a true curmudgeon and, I think you'll agree, a lot to live up to. But Greer managed: in an essay marking the 10th anniversary of Diana's death, she labelled the People's Princess thick, neurotic, and manipulative.
Declaration of interest: I must confess to a sneaking admiration for Ms Greer since the days when she wrote a gardening column for the English satirical magazine Private Eye under the nom de plume Rose Blight.
The Sorry Seems to be the Hardest Word Award goes to the former Minister of Jockstrap Sniffing Trevor Mallard, who just pipped All Black coach Graham Lazarus Henry. Perhaps it's time Mallard got on the front foot, as the PR weasels say: on New Year's Eve he could issue a pre-emptive apology to everyone who works in the Beehive. Next year he could do the South Island.
The Sinister Development of the Year Award is shared by Vladimir Putin's Russia, seemingly hell-bent on restoring authoritarianism and restarting the Cold War, and the scare campaign directed at middle-aged wine drinkers.
The Don't Say You Weren't Warned Award is shared by Simone, former wife of cricketing legend Shane, and the 41,000 New Zealanders who decamped to Australia this year.
On January 13, I warned Simone that she shouldn't even think about getting back together with her incorrigible ex. She ignored my advice and within weeks the women's magazines had pictures of the reunited couple canoodling at a Fijian resort. It ended all too predictably with Simone receiving a self-incriminating text from the father of her children, which was meant for another woman and sent while he was talking to said children on another line. Repeat after me: leopards don't change their spots.
The great exodus to Australia gathered pace despite a study predicting that in 25 years global warming will have transformed the lucky country into an inhospitable moonscape akin to the post-nuclear wasteland portrayed in the Mad Max movies. As I pointed out on February 3, this raises the prospect of a reversal of the migration pattern with dire implications for our national identity, but typically no one in authority took a blind bit of notice.
The Let Them Eat Cake Award goes to acting NZRFU chairman Mike Eagle who declared, after the no-expense-spared World Cup campaign tanked ignominiously, that actually we don't particularly care about the World Cup; what really matters is winning all those games against France C and South Africa B and Canada in between World Cups. In due course, Mr Eagle, the people you're supposed to represent will decide what New Zealand rugby's priorities are.
The Gladstone Gander Award for Uncanny Luck goes to Australian rugby boss John O'Neill who, having trumpeted his desire to secure Robbie Deans, duly had him handed over gift-wrapped by the NZRFU.
When the late Australian tycoon Kerry Packer bought back the Nine television network from Alan Bond for A$250 million having sold it to him for A$1.05 billion three years earlier he said, You only get one Alan Bond in your lifetime and I've had mine. O'Neill has now had two windfalls courtesy of the NZRFU, the other being sole hosting rights of the 2003 World Cup. And if the Eden Park upgrade fiasco meanders on for much longer, he might even get a third.
The Sporting Achievement Award goes to Wellington College 1st XI batsman Michael Pollard for his innings of 169 not out off 67 balls against Karori Seconds. As an exhibition of sustained ball striking and purity of execution it warrants comparison with Nathan Astle's electrifying double century against England in 2002.
The Living Well is the Best Revenge Award goes to Palmerston North. Traduced by John Cleese, a comedian in a former life, the city was looking a picture when I visited last weekend. And if there's a better cafe breakfast to be had than at the Elm Cafe, I'd like to know about it.
The Tolerance Award goes, as always, to you, the reader. I wish you a happy Christmas and a safe and rewarding New Year.
