So this is Christmas, and what have you done? Curled up in the foetal position beneath your duvet in an existential fug listening to the end-times headlines raining down? Fair enough.

There is, at least, the fleeting salve of yuletide commerce, the pleasure of giving and receiving. Top of everyone's mind, needless to say, is the wish to pop something under the trees of New Zealand's public figures. But what?

For John Key, who resigned the other day in a laudable attempt to spice up a political year in New Zealand that had hitherto bucked international trends by being broadly as dull as Havelock ditchwater, a VHS copy of Making Great and a remote control helicopter.

For the new Prime Minister, Bill English, a comedy-horror in the form of a VHS copy of the 1987 episode of Close Up, which centres on Wellington-based currency trader John Key.


It's the one in which the reporter explains how 25-year-old Key "relishes making decisions almost faster than the speed of conscious thought". And the trading room manager Chris Wright says: "He seems to have a sixth sense with respect to where the market is about to move to ... He just seems to know, a little bit quicker than most people, what's going to happen next ... He's exceptional. He is one of the best that I've seen ... John has an uncanny ability to know when to hold positions, when to cut positions."

For John Key, an honorary mayoralty of Townsville, a Lockwood flag tattoo, a week's training in post-parliamentary social media with the United Nations special rapporteur for Snapchat Helen Clark, a sport column in the New Zealand Herald, a platoon of drama School students to take on the role of hardworking ordinary Kiwis who approach John in the Koru Lounge and discuss the issues of the day so he's not left standing in the middle of the room looking lost, and regular prank calls from breakfast radio hosts impersonating the Queen or Richie McCaw or Chinese panda salespeople.

For Bill English, another comedy-horror in the form of a VHS copy of his predecessor's favourite film, Johnny English.

Murray McCully gets the same as last year, peace in the Middle East. Nick Smith gets a bedsit in the Kermadecs.

Given that the new Prime Minister has announced he won't be taking up residence in Thorndon's opulent Premier House, we'll let those cows that got stuck on an island of turf following the Kaikoura earthquake move in.

For the new finance minister, Steven Joyce, an XL sombrero, to protect his delicate pate from the ravages of the New Zealand sun and miscellaneous erotic missiles.

For Labour leader Andrew Little, Rug Doctor carpet shampoo for his pornographic rug.

For Bill English, a miraculous string of ministers and MPs deciding completely of their own volition that they won't stand again for Parliament thereby serving him up the easiest cabinet reshuffle ever.


For Colin Craig and Jordon Williams (redacted).

For Phil Goff, a ringtone featuring Len Brown singing Pokarekare Ana.

For Michael Cheika, a teeny, tiny car and a rubber chicken.

For the new boss and poetry lover English Lit Bill, a copy of the new verse from his former leader, Key Learnings, including the breakthrough hit The Hollow Men, with its signature line "This is the way the day ends / Not with a bang but an unexpected and dignified resignation."

For the Hikurangi Subduction Zone, a restraining order, and the blood of 10 oxen.

For New Zealand on Air, a submission for funding for an election-year topical comedy, Little-English, with the stock characters of Little Britain refashioned in a local setting, for example the Prime Minister reconciling himself to the only gay marriage in the village of Dipton.

The newly appointed deputy prime minister Paula Bennett gets a bumper collection of breakfast radio's most hilarious gags and a fleet of Wicked Campers, repainted with the slogan, "three bed home all mod cons".

For Winston Peters, a brass miner's lamp and a position in Donald Trump's cabinet as chief topical fortune teller.

For New Zealand's best MP, Marama Fox, a talk show and a recording contract.

For Donald Trump, some tiny merino mittens and a round of golf in the Hikurangi Subduction Zone.

For newly elected Mt Roskill MP Michael Wood and his fellow parliamentarians Michael Woodhouse and Megan Woods, an executive branch.

For Brian Tamaki, a cellphone ringtone featuring Maurice Williamson's proclamation of "the big gay rainbow over the Pakuranga Highway". For Maurice Williamson, who is California bound, a ticket to the filming of Ellen.

For Gerry Brownlee, some decent scientists who can predict earthquakes and a memorial door at Christchurch Airport.

For Aaron Smith a memorial cubicle at Christchurch Airport.

For 2016, a cocked snook and a black rose.

For 2017 a foot massage, a peace lily and a nice cup of tea.