The secret diary of... Christmas

Paul Henry, Sir Peter Jackson and Iain Rennie.

PAUL HENRY
I woke up feeling very charitable this morning, New Zealand's answer to Bob Geldof and Band Aid and all that kind of thing, so I decided I'd go into the offices of RadioLive and let them know it's Christmas.

But the first person I saw was Marcus Lush and his face told me straightaway that he wasn't feeling it.

I said to him, "Why so glum, chum? Why the long face?"

He muttered something under his breath.

Well, I let him have it. I said to him, "Little man, if there's one thing I can't abide, it's a mumbler. And you, a broadcaster! You should be ashamed of yourself. If I were you, I'd think about looking for another job."

He muttered something to the effect that he was doing exactly that, and he seemed to hold me responsible.

I've never really been able to follow his logic. I don't understand where he's coming from. With me, what you see is what you get. And the great thing is that New Zealand is going to get a lot of me next year when I begin my new morning show simulcast on RadioLive and TV3.

I'm a very giving person and it's my gift to the nation. But I have even more to give. I could see myself doing another show. Later on in the day.

Say around 7pm.

SIR PETER JACKSON
Christmas is a time of joy. But it's also a time of sadness. My final Hobbit film The Battle of the Five Armies arrives in cinemas this week - 15 years after I first began filming the works of Tolkien.

Hard to believe it's all over. No more Frodo. No more Bilbo. No more plotto, like the one Fran and Philippa and myself wrote for the latest film, in which the hobbits are forced to engage in a war against an array of combatants and keep the terrifying Smaug from acquiring a kingdom of treasure and obliterating all of Middle-earth and that.

But the time has come to move on. I'm on the lookout for new ideas.

The Prime Minister phoned up. "What next," he asked, "from that ever inventive mind of yours?"

"Well," I said, "I'm seeing a cart rattling along a leafy lane, driven by a stooped figure in grey. Then suddenly a handsome young hobbit appears, with dark curly hair and deep blue eyes ... "

IAIN RENNIE
I was waiting for the toast to pop up this morning but after a while I thought to myself that I'd waited long enough. It was about 1pm.

I analysed the situation from every angle. I studied it very closely. The thing to do was not to act rashly.

The last time I'd done that was when I appeared alongside Roger Sutton at his press conference to announce his resignation. It gave the impression I was there to support him, in spite of his serious misconduct.

By 2pm I concluded that the slice of bread was stuck in the toaster.

I phoned my wife, and said, "Dear, would you buy me a new toaster for Christmas? The old one simply won't function. Fortunately, as State Services Commissioner, I had a pay increase this year of $50,000, bringing my salary to $620,000, so I think we can cover the cost."

She asked what the problem was. I said the toast had got stuck. She advised I get it out.

But how? Once again, I gave the matter careful thought. I needed something that would prise the slice out of the toaster. Something thin.

At about 4pm, I opened the cutlery drawer, and took out a fork.

At about 8pm I woke up in hospital. A nurse said, "You're lucky to be alive."

Roger Sutton appeared. "There, there," he said, and held the nurse.