Cracker by Damian Christie

Yes Prime Minister

Russell’s right about the awards you know.

There’s nothing worse than an ungracious winner, or at least ungracious people who voted for the winner. The election campaign might get heated, with personal attacks left, right and centre-right but after that I thought we’re supposed to move on. Sure, most of the people at the NZ Music Awards probably voted Labour, but unless it’s the Dean Martin Celebrity Roast, it’s just not manners to invite someone to a party and then slag them off in front of everyone.

I’d never heard of Outrageous Fortune actor Anthony Starr before, but his award presentation was a pretty convincing argument for the theory that actors are a bunch of wankers. I’m not sure if he was drunk, pretending to act coked-up or had just seen too many Christian Slater movies, but his ill-conceived rant about Don Brash coming second fell flatter than the Christchurch CBD. Someone in the audience heckled “you were a cock back at school too”, and I can only assume they were right.

Unlike Russell, I didn’t meet Ahmed Zaoui, but the Member for Auckland Central was kind enough to introduce me to her boss, which was nice. I’d just been talking to my mate’s girlfriend, who is over from England for a couple of weeks, about how easy it is to talk to the Prime Minister in this country. Five minutes later we both had. I wonder how that plays back home? “Oh yeah, went to the Music Awards, had a few drinks, talked to the PM, you know, the usual...”

It’s not something I imagine you could say of too many other countries in the world, and I think we’re probably a better place for it. I never understood that guy who holed himself up in the Tauranga hotel, threatening to blow the place up unless he spoke with the Prime Minister. Just call her, bro.

Now if he was holed up in a hotel room demanding they stop delivering the Central Leader, that I could understand.

And so could many of you, as it turns out. The unprecedented flurry of responses proved junk mail is now up there with death and taxes as something that really pisses you off. Suggestions were many and varied – most of the sensible ones involved me putting more specific signage on my letterbox, but just as many people wrote to tell me that doesn’t work either. Oliver’s suggestion was far more direct…

“Just write ‘Central Leader – FUCK OFF’ on your letterbox. Happy to help.”

…while the lovely Sara J was more concerned at the revelation that I put the unread paper in the (shock horror) wheelie bin. Well, what else am I going to use to wrap up the dolphin leftovers?

To his credit, a nice chap from Suburban Newspapers emailed and put me in touch with his circulation manager Phil, who has again taken my name and put it on a list somewhere. I’ll let you know if it works, and in the meantime if anyone wants to do the same, email .

Yes, I know posting email addresses tends to attract spambots, but a few hundred offers of penile enhancements sounds like poetic justice in this instance.

Looking for new and varied ways to waste time, can anyone recommend any podcasts worth listening to? There's a lot of rubbish out there, so if anyone's stumbled on to something decent, please flick me a line.

And finally, as it’s a Friday, may I suggest taking up a new hobby this weekend?