Sime says

You want a platform? You and I deserve the dais. Never in the field of human endurance have we been more worthy of some recognition for surviving the last 12 months. In between the tsunamis, earthquakes, hurricanes and floods in 2011, we’ve teed off with Tiger Woods, swooned at Warnie’s romance with Liz Hurley and followed Thorpey back into the pool. We’ve waved goodbye to Darren Lockyer again and again and again, sent Dezzy Hasler to the dogs, riden for Cadel and cheered as Sam Stosur sleighed Serena at the US Open...  and that was all in the first half. From the sport’s field we jumped into the political swill and were treated to a belly full of carbon tax, mining tax, asylum seekers, pokies and live cattle at home with Julia. And if that wasn't difficult enough for Tim or the nation to swallow, we’ve stopped and welcomed the boats, paid for politicians’ prostitutes and ‘cheered’ for the gunja boy in Bali. From Brisbane to Canberra to Melbourne to Perth, Queen Lizzy r...

And that’s exactly what they’ve done. The Golden Slipper – one of Australia’s marquee horse races – hasn't been included in the Hall of Fame. Instead, a 25-year veteran of Federal politics has been kicked from the backbench to the front of the chamber and into in the Speaker’s chair in the House of Representatives. Its a Cinderella story for Peter Slipper, the one-time Liberal National Party member, who in 2009 is rumoured to have racked up more than $640k in expenses in six months as a humble backbencher. To Labour, “slippery” Pete was a shoe-in for the job. With Julia singing “slip sliding away” every time she thought of her tenuous grip on power, her eyes must have settled on her man seated high   across the chamber from her. Dressed in a smart pinstripe with a flashy green tie, given to him by Bob Brown to mark the occasion, Pete was obviously keen to slip a little closer to the PM. You’ve got to feel for the little bearded man Harry Jenkins, the former speaker of th...

Kung Fu master David Carradine hung himself in a wardrobe. Rock legend Michael Hutchence chose asphyxiation whilst tied to a door handle and cricketing scribe Peter Roebuck jumped out a window. What is it about hotel rooms that lure persons of interest to check-in and check-out in rather mysterious circumstances? During my lengthy tenure with a five star hotel chain, thankfully I never had to deal with a corpse. The closest I came to in-room calamity involved a guest with an irresistible urge to defecate and decorate the room with excreta, and someone with a desire to disrobe and appear naked in the hallway. Such voyeuristic acts were cleaned and dressed in no time and are mere distractions when compared to an untimely and tragic death. In Roebuck’s case, his early departure from the crease has possibly revealed a troubled soul. Already there are claims of sexual misconduct levelled against the once fine batsman, writer and broadcaster. Unable to fend off the stinging attack...

Every fortnight I’m in the poo at the zoo – not out of favour with anyone, just involved in a sanitary act of kindness as I go about my duties as a volunteer keeper. There’s definitely an art to ‘spot picking’, the term used for removing fresh and not so fresh excreta from an area heavily laden with wood chips. The trick is to gently encourage the spherical little terds onto your shovel without bringing bits of bark along for the ride. And don't think once on board, the little green balls will stay put. Like Maltesers rolling down the aisle and marbles responding to a call to “scatter”, roo poo has a mind of its own. Obviously traumatized at the thought of leaving their buddies in various composted forms behind, the bits of bog race down the face of the shovel, hit the lip and become momentarily airborne before landing and scurrying off back under cover in the heavily wooded area. I’m surely serving my penance for the days when I shot kangaroos on farms during my teenage...

His life ended in a drain pipe and some would say there is no better place for an autocrat of his ilk to be flushed from this world. But as I stepped out from my shower and heard the news of Gaddafi’s demise, I couldn't help but pity the man who made wearing a safari suit, sunnies and a turban together, almost fashionable. Whilst he never made it onto the front cover of Vogue, the graphic footage of a feeble, frail and bloodied man moments before death revealed the sad state of humankind.  There is no defending Gaddafi’s arrogant grab for power, subjugation of minorities, dismantling of state institutions, involvement in the Lockerbie disaster, weapons trading, massacres and more. These were ugly blights and Libyans, at least in the short term, are better off without him. But whether the world is or will be a “better place” with his removal is yet to be revealed. One only has to look at the state of Iraq and Egypt to see that chaos reigns amidst the power vacuums. I have...