The Diseased Lung in a Jar for services to the tobacco industry goes to film-maker TAIKA WAITITI for celebrating his 50th birthday in Ibiza in August with platters and bowls of cigarettes and “Taika” branded matches.
We know fan favourite Waititi’s preferred mode combines broad winks, his tongue in both
cheeks, virtual air quotes, insouciant shrugs and ceaseless deadpannery, but still. Those things kill people! Can’t wait until some ambitious local acting luvvies with Hollywood dreams call him out on it.
Cigarette daydreams: Taika Waititi was the host with the most at his 50th birthday bash. Photos / Getty Images
The Apocalypse Now Platinum Rotorblade for Services to PTSD goes to Neighbours of the Year ALI WILLIAMS and ANNA MOWBRAY, who won approval in June for their helipad in residential Westmere.
Thwap, thwap, thwap, thwap, thwap, thwap, thwap, thwap, thwap … We come to you live from the formerly peaceful water-side streets of Westmere to present the award for … What? I SAID WE COME TO YOU LIVE FROM … thwap, thwap, thwap … No good? Maybe we could do it with sign language? … thwap, thwap, thwap … Like those neighbours over there. They’re waving, but not using all their fingers …
The Gilt-Edged Certificate for, er, Certificates goes to the NCEA SYSTEM for lasting more than two decades without us ever really understanding it.
Excellence! As they almost used to say on Wayne’s World. The government’s ditching the system that replaced School Cert, Sixth Form Certificate and Bursary, ushering out an era of grades ‒ Excellence (yay!), Merit (good for you!) and Achieved (Mmm …) ‒ along with a confusing jumble of levels, credits, unit standards, achievement standards, specified criteria, endorsements and much, much more. Education Minister Erica Stanford reckons the thing has been “gamed”, with ad hoc credits dished out for empty achievements. Despite that sounding like pretty good preparation for how the real world works, a proposed new system is on its way, with new certificates (shock!), marks out of 100 and grades from A to – oof – E that will make better sense to parents, even those who got only Achieved. Let the gaming begin.
The Compulsory Counselling Certificate and Testosterone Top-Up for Aggressive Mouthiness by Stale, Pale Males is awarded to Hutt Valley yob and cabinet minister CHRIS BISHOP and fiery redhead and euphonium player DON MCGLASHAN for their row at the Aotearoa Music Awards in May.
Quiet flows the Don? Not on this night, when McGlashan and Bishop went toe-to-toe like a couple of embarrassing uncles rehearsing old grievances during a family celebration. To be fair, Stan Walker has to carry some of the blame: Toitū Te Tiriti flag wavers prominent during his big number seemed to trigger Bishop, who called the performance “performative” (say what?). That kicked off this scintillating exchange (as best as we can recreate it from what the duelling duo later told RNZ):
Bishop: “What a load of crap.”
McGlashan: “Ah, shut up you dickhead.”
B: “What did you say to me?”
M: “Shut up you dickhead.”
B: “I could say the same to you.”
M: “Well, I wasn’t talking and you were.”
Sparkling repartee? No, just confirmation that prickly old blokes never miss a chance to make it all about them.
Stan Walker’s performance at the Aotearoa Music Awards proudly displayed his Māori heritage, to Chris Bishop’s chagrin. Photos / Getty Images
The Dorian Gray Award for Best Nickname Revealed in a High Court Hearing goes to TVNZ’s THOMAS “BABY-FACED ASSASSIN” MEAD. Grizzled veterans of print journalism would struggle to recall any colleague who could go by “Baby face”. Ferret-faced, yes. Hatchet-faced? Definitely. Not to mention slack-jawed, pot-bellied, rheumy-eyed and jug-eared. But Mead, from the more appearance-conscious world of television, definitely qualifies. Even under intense cross-examination by a Talley’s Group KC during a defamation trial over his reporting, when texts using the “Baby face” soubriquet were revealed, Mead’s countenance remained that of a precocious 12-year-old. And we really didn’t want to give this award to “Polky” Polkinghorne.
The Ray Winstone Fake Knuckle Dusters for Pretending To Be Well-Hard Pommy Geezers go to the mob of AUCKLAND FC ultras who surrounded a Wellington Phoenix team bus, delaying its arrival ahead of a February derby at Mt Smart.
Okay, it hasn’t always been easy being a soccer – sorry, football – fan in New Zealand. All those hours alone in their bedrooms engaging in long-distance bantz about English teams (“No, you’re a plastic!”) clearly took a toll. But with two Kiwi teams in the A-League, here they come, streaming into the daylight, cosplaying their long-incubated fever dreams of pwopa, leery, knuckle-dragging fanaticism. One of them even had a blue flare. Bless.
Auckland FC fans were perhaps a touch too spirited when it came to the opposing team. Photo / Getty Images
The Back to the Future Award for Unashamed Regression goes to FONTERRA for its brave new focus on the commodity business.
It seems like only yesterday that all the business johnnies were banging on about the primacy of brands and the wonderful world of gate-to-plate. So pardon our confusion over Fonterra’s decision, confirmed in October, to sell off its global consumer businesses – including brands such as Anchor, Mainland and Kāpiti – to French giant Lactalis. No surprise that Fonterra’s perspective (that switching focus will bring in more moolah) has been expertly and copiously presented across all platforms. Who needs brands when you’ve got commodities and the very best comms all that milk powder can buy?
The Ian Foster-New Zealand Rugby Deadly Nightshade Bouquet for Industrial Relations goes to NETBALL NEW ZEALAND and DAME NOELINE TAURUA in recognition of their 51-day stand-off.
Hard to blame this one on the stale males! Even though one or two men were drawn into the row that led to national coach Taurua being stood down and later reinstated, the key figures were surely the coach herself, her players and Netball NZ chief executive Jennie Wyllie. Between them, their guarded utterances contributed to swirling speculation and scatter-shot scapegoating on the socials, not to mention an atmosphere that seemed to range from Kafkaesque to Orwellian and back again. But never mind, they’re all going to play happy families next year – promise.
The Waxed Paper Bag for Services to Nausea is awarded to the INTER-ISLAND FERRY ARATERE at the end of a chequered career.
Even as she was recently farewelled, destined to be broken up for scrap in India, mention of the Aratere’s name made us feel a bit queasy. Not really her fault, but many an Aratere pie was consumed in sheltered waters only to reappear in Cook Strait proper. She also had her share of engine failures and other incidents over the years (being dubbed “El Lemon” early on in reference to her Spanish construction). She once dropped a propeller mid-strait and last year suffered the indignity of running aground shortly after leaving Picton. Now, after much political argy-bargy, she and her stablemates are to be replaced by a pair of new vessels built in a Chinese military shipyard. What could possibly go wrong?
Nothing but problems: The Inter-Islander ferry Aratere returned to port in Aotea Quay, 2014, after undergoing multi-million dollar repairs for a lost propeller. Photo / Getty Images
The Plain Old Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor Disappearing Medal for a Foolish Foray into TV goes to the NEW ZEALAND POLICE for giving documentary crews behind-the-scenes access to the hunt for Tom Phillips and his children.
Much worse was to come regarding the rot at police headquarters, of course, but this one also went down like an Aratere pie. The police, remember, failed to find Phillips and his children for nearly four years, leaving the latter in the care of a man their minister later described as “a monster”. And they’re engaged in vanity projects? The police apparently retained final approval over what would be screened, which only adds to the impression of a hierarchy obsessed with the “optics” ahead of your actual policing. When an inquiry was announced looking at whether all practical steps were taken to protect the children, an acting deputy commissioner was moved to declare, “We recognise the significant public interest in this matter …” No shit, Sherlock.
The Strictly Ballroom Mirror Ball for Services to Heritage Dance Moves goes to Crusaders’ coach ROB PENNEY for cutting a rug in the dressing room after his side’s Super Rugby Pacific triumph in June.
Yes, the Crusaders won again after a rare dud year in 2024, but for the non-Cantabs unenthusiastic about that storyline, residual interest centred on whether Penney would attempt a celebratory breakdance in the style of his predecessor, Razor Robertson. As raucous revelry erupted and a soundtrack was provided by the beating of wheelie bins, the spotlight eventually fell on the coach. Would he spin on his head? Do the splits? At least try a kangaroo hop like Australian Olympian Raygun? Nope, nope and nope. Caressing the trophy with convincing ardour, he proceeded to foxtrot it around the room like some 1930s gigolo, before throwing in a dip with strong tango vibes. This wasn’t what anyone was expecting. Much like that time he called Baby face Mead a c—.
Head Coach Rob Penny and players celebrate the win over the Chief’s in the dressing room. Photo / Getty Images
The Run It Straight Commemorative Brainscan for Gratuitous Violence goes to the short-fused TAKAHĒ and bad-tempered TUATARA who went at it on Tiritiri Matangi sanctuary.
Can’t we all just get along? Conservationists might be big fans of Kumbaya and hugging it out but it seems some of the fauna they love so much can be right nasty bastards. In a stoush captured on a Department of Conservation ranger’s phone, a takahē attacked a tuatara’s tail, setting off a scrap in which the reptile “got a couple of bites in” before the bird retreated. Ominously, the ranger reckoned it “shows what’s possible in the future if we … bring more of our native wildlife back”. Oh, great, nature red in tooth and claw surging out of the bush for bloody exchanges on every street corner. And you thought the Queen St homeless were putting a dampener on tourism?
The World’s Smallest Gong for Non-Joined-up Thinking By a Bureaucracy goes to the bellends at the MINISTRY FOR CULTURE AND HERITAGE, which oversaw $10 million in repairs to the national war memorial bell tower in Wellington but plans to lay off the only person who plays the bells.
Ask not for whom the bell tolls but for who the hell decided that the carillonist (it’s a thing), Timothy Hurd – 40-year veteran player of the tower’s 74 bells – should be lined up for the heave-ho the same week they are due back in service next year. Will Anzac Day have to be marked by the sound of heads being knocked together?
The George Harrison All Things Must Pass Philosophy Prize goes to THE MAN who swallowed a $33,000 pendant in central Auckland’s Partridge Jewellers in late November.
“Merry Christmas, Darling! I got you this Fabergé James Bond Octopussy Egg locket. Smells like Dettol? We might need to discuss the provenance …”
The Special Edition Octopussy Vaginal Egg for Random Cultural Cherry-picking goes to Hollywood actress and Goop magnate GWYNETH PALTROW.
Paltrow claimed in a recent podcast that she and Chris Martin (singer, not cricketer, apparently) had a “Māori divorce ceremony thing” to formalise their separation after 11 years of marriage. “It was weird,” she added, with not quite the degree of solemn respect we might have expected in the circumstances. She would know “weird”, of course, having sold a few vaginal eggs in her time, but isn’t it just a bit strange the “Māori divorce” didn’t get a mention when the pair announced their famous “conscious uncoupling” back in 2014? Must have been keeping it classy.
Gwyneth Paltrow, left, and Chris Martin pictured in 2014 prior to their ‘conscious uncoupling’. Photo / Getty Images
The Dish Best Served Cold Silver Platter goes to beacon of economic positivity CHRISTCHURCH, for allegedly outshining sad old Auckland.
Talk about a tale of two cities. Christchurch is booming, its population swelling with hordes of refugees from up north, while flash-Harry Auckland has this year languished in the economic doldrums. Has anyone warned the southerners about developing dangerously high levels of smugness in the bloodstream?
The Rocket Lab Prize for Dangerous Levels of Ingenuity in the Bloodstream goes to the YOUNGSTERS IN AUCKLAND’S AVONDALE seen transporting a couch on two Lime scooters.
Affordable, low-carbon emissions, entertaining for onlookers – this ticks so many boxes. We can’t believe one of the Auckland business incubators hasn’t recruited this pair already. Your move, Christchurch.
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