Survival of the Fittest

September at last. There's something on the breeze, something pervading the atmosphere and infiltrating the air we breathe. Something is looming up on the horizon, something we can't help but be aware of, teacher and student alike . . .
No, it's not spring, although that's certainly here. I'm referring to the Athletics Carnival.
Yes, time, once again, for that joyous day. The day on which we turn up at the sports stadium, sporting house colours, some of us wearing the appropriate track pants and jumpers, more of us shivering in the so-called spring weather wishing we were wearing track pants and jumpers. The house captains are invariably dressed up for this year's theme, a different one for each house, wondering why nobody else bothered to make an effort (some people have forgotten. Most people just don't care). Then come the events themselves. This part of the year is always intriguing. I've devoted some thought to it, and I think it can mostly be summed up with a basic maths equation. The number of events you actually do is, almost always, less than the number you signed up for, but more than the number you want to do. There are a couple of exceptions to this rule, of course. There are, surprisingly, the people who really care about the Carnival. You're going to have to take my word for this, because I haven't met one yet, but circumstantial evidence has convinced me that their existence is a definite possibility. The far larger category is of people who are so phenomenally, amazingly weak-willed they can be persuaded by a relatively determined house captain to go into events they haven't a clue about, and have no wish to do. I belong unashamedly to this category. I think the problem is that I'm very suggestible. With most things, I can evaluate what I know about the person to figure out if they're telling the truth or not. For example, part of the way through the day Shoelace attempted to convince me that David Tennant was, and is, a hugely successful porn star. Thanks to what I know about Shoelace, I could then be fairly certain this wasn't true. With people I don't know as well, however, I go all to bits. It was even worse on the day when I was actually signing up for events (a good week before). Marie-Clare and Gwen are both in my house, Acacia of the yellow shirt, but Marie-Clare is the only one in my age-group (well, obviously there are other Acacians in my age group. Marie-Clare is the only one to have received a nickname). Anyway, unfortunately for me, 25 is also in Acacia. In fact, that's the way she discovered him. During the cross country, she nudged me and pointed out a boy, playing soccer with his friends, his back to us, and the number '25' on the back of his shirt. Since then she's been smitten. Marie-Clare was convinced that the better we did for our house, the more impressed 25 would be with her. So she signed up for discus, triple jump, and high jump. I went up to the sign-up board convinced that all I wanted to do was 200m. What came afterwards is rather a blur. All you need to know is that by the end of it I'd been signed up for 100m, 200m, triple jump, high jump, and was the reserve for 400m.
So, obviously, I wasn't looking forward to the day itself. I made it to the stadium with an unusually low number of false starts - my father has a thing about sun-protection, and drove us back home when he realised we didn't have hats - and chatted amiably to Vyvan. We discussed the people who hadn't bothered to turn up - GIUSEPPE, LALA, ARIANE, NESS, and AVIATOR, you know who you are - and the newfound relationship between Ames and Lox. They've had an on/off friendship for a good number of years, and they finally got it together this weekend. I sincerely doubt either of them read this, but just in case, congratulations, people. In a short space of time, during which I accidentally married Shoelace, adopted Vyvyan's younger brother, and re-named him Carey (for a short space of time, it was unusually full), the day had begun. Oh, joy of joys. I skipped the 100m and sat on the (fake) grass with Shoelace, Gwen, Midge, Vyvyan, Marie-Clare, and Ames. I read a draft of Shoelace's history essay. She'd misspelt Hitler's name. That's all you need to know. I did actually compliment her on a description she'd written of one of Germany's art galleries. She replied with 'Oh, that bit? Yeah, I copied it off a website.' Enough said.
I was somehow persuaded into running the 400m, which took a bit out of me. I came in at an honourable eighth position. Of the eight people running the race. To replenish my strength I read part of Stephen Fry's autobiography. Yes, it sounds sad, but I wasn't being half as antisocial as Peanut was. She spent the whole day reading a book, no races, no track events. She was actually sitting in a whole row of people reading. She was at one end and a teacher, Mr W, was at the other. Whenever I went to talk to Peanut he shouted down the row 'No socialising down there! This is the reading row. For antisocial behaviour only'. Eventually Peanut and I went up to the canteen so she could buy some M&Ms. We then spent an instructive ten minutes figuring out whether or not we could taste the difference between the blue ones and the normal ones, after Ames had explained that she liked all colours but blue. I could. Peanut couldn't. You see, this is the kind of thing we'd be far better off learning in schools. Although it wouldn't really help with the national obesity crisis.

I then ran the 200m. I may have come last. Again. But at least I maintained my dignity, unlike Peanut, who didn't move from her bench after the M&M excursion. Yes, there's nothing like throwing yourself around a circular track, wheezing pathetically and attempting to keep up with the other, infinitely fitter people powering along in front of you, then passing the finish line to collapse, curled in a foetal position, on the (fake) grass, to really give you a sense of dignity. Lucky, lucky Peanut.

I missed the high jump due the fact that the 200m was on at the same time. Tragic. No, really. Marie-Clare skipped the high jump too. She decided to regale her exhausted senses with a trip to the coffee van that was parked conveniently next to the canteen of the stadium we were at. This was one of the harder points of the day. Marie-Clare, while one of my greatest friends, and possessed of innumerable good qualities, has one major fault. She is incapable of making even the smallest decision. Actually, that's not true. She's great at coming to decisions. So good she can make up to ten or twenty of them before reaching a definite conclusion. In this case, Vyvyan and I followed her to the coffee van, which was, as it happens, quite fortuitous, as otherwise I suspect she would have been there for a good fifteen to twenty years.

MARIE-CLARE (MC): What do I want from here?

VYVYAN (V): It's a coffee van. How about coffee?

MC: No, I don't like coffee.

LESLIE (L): Why don't you buy a biscuit?

V: You should buy a hot chocolate, then.

MC: The iced chocolates look nice as well.

V: But it's freezing! You can't buy iced chocolate!

L: I think you should buy a biscuit. Look, that one's got chocolate on it

MC: I still think I want to buy an iced chocolate.

V: All right. You do what you want.

MC: Oh . . . but they're quite expensive, aren't they?

V: Quite expensive, yes.

L: The biscuits aren't too expensive.

MC: I think I'll have a hot chocolate instead.

(We line up to buy a hot chocolate. Marie-Clare peers over the shoulder of the person in front of her)

MC: What's he buying?

V: I think that's an iced chocolate.

MC: Look, the iced chocolates have cream on top. Why don't I buy one of them?

L: You know what goes well with iced chocolate? Biscuits.

MC: I suppose I could just buy a medium one. Hang on - they look tiny! I'll have to buy a large one.

V: So buy a large one.

MC: But they're so expensive. Maybe a medium.

V: We're nearly at the front of the queue. You'll have to make up your mind.

MC: Oh, I'll have to buy a hot chocolate. Yes, a hot chocolate. It's cheaper, and the weather's right for it.

V: If you're sure.

L: Biscuits go incredibly well with hot chocolate as well. You should try it.

V: I don't care about biscuits.

L: What kind of an attitude is that? I just think she should buy a biscuit.

V: I don't think - hey, that biscuit has sprinkles on it! It's like a giant chocolate freckle!

MC: You're not helping. So I want a hot - no, an iced - no, definitely a hot chocolate that's medium - or can I afford large?

SERVER (S): So, what did you want?

MC: Um . . . nothing. I'm going to the canteen instead.

(She heads out of the line for the coffee van and lines up for the canteen. Vyvyan and I trail along behind her)

MC: What do I want from here? Do you think they sell drinks here?

V: No. Just buy some chips. Or Skittles.

L: Hey, look what they're selling here! Biscuits!

MC: But everything is so expensive!

V: It's up to you.

L: Listen! This is my favourite song! They're playing my favourite song on the radio!

(I listen for a bit)

L: No, this isn't my favourite song.

MC: I don't even really want anything from here anyway.

V: What do you want?

MC: I want an iced chocolate.

(She leaves the canteen line and re-enters the line for the coffee van. As always, Vyvyan and I follow her)

MC: So I'm going to get a hot chocolate.

L: I thought you wanted an iced chocolate?

MC: No, they're too expensive. Unless - could I get a medium one?

V: MAKE A DECISION! PLEASE!

MC: What do you think I should get? I don't know!

L: You should buy a biscuit.

V: Get a hot chocolate. It's better weather for it.

L: Or, as I was about to say, a hot chocolate. Buy a large hot chocolate and have done with it. Unless you feel the need to buy a biscuit as well. In which case, I'm not going to hold you back.

MC: A hot chocolate, then? You think so?

V: Yes. Buy it now.

MC: I will.

(The line moves forward until Marie-Clare is in front of the server)

MC: I want a hot - or should I get an iced chocolate?

L & V: NO!

MC: A large iced chocolate, please.

(She watches them make it, anxiously)

MC: Or maybe I should get -

L: It's too late, Marie-Clare! Stay with your iced chocolate!

V: Are we done?

(Marie-Clare is given her iced chocolate. We walk along as she drinks it)

V: How is it?

MC: It's excellent. I knew this was the one to buy.

(Vyvan and I share a deep and meaningful look)

The day was finished off quite nicely with a round of triple jump for Marie-Clare and myself (that is to say, there were others involved. Marie-Clare and I were the only ones from the proud house of Acacia). The only other nicknamer [person with a blog nickname. I've gotten sick of having to type 'person with a blog nickname' every time] there was Shoelace, who was competing for her house, Karri of the navy-blue. It was raining slightly at this point so we were forced to huddle in a public toilet until our turn came. Dignity. Always dignity. We went alphabetically - that is to say, alphabetically by house, and then by last name. Acacia is the first house, and Marie-Clare's surname is before mine, so she was first, I second. She went quite well, qualifying with her first jump. I believe she came fifth or sixth overall. My jump was less spectacular. Well, I didn't know you were supposed to jump before the line. I thought you could jump on it. I was automatically disqualified. What a day! Last in two events, disqualified in a third. I wasn't feeling overly dignified by this point. Still, Shoelace disqualified too - by about a metre over the line - so I had company.

The day closed about fifteen minutes earlier than schooldays do normally, which was nice. Unfortunately, we still had to hand around to clean up. Part of this involved removing all scraps of rubbish from the benches we were sitting on. I had regained morale after my disastrous day competition-wise, and decided, instead of picking them up and putting them in the bin, to crush two M&Ms with the sole of my shoe. Gwen watched me sceptically. I was astounded to notice that the sweets failed to break, even after a good ten or twelve goes. Yaz had also been watching me critically. 'No, you've got to get them with the heel of your shoe. Like this.' He stepped on them confidently, then examined the still-whole M&Ms carefully. Milly, his twin sister, stepped in. 'Perhaps you're not doing it hard enough.' No - even that failed to do it. I swear I stayed there for a good five minutes, and the things refused to give in. Forget the Athletics Carnival. This was serious. Eventually I collapsed on a bench, defeated by cheap confectionary.

Yaz came up once more and devoted a closer look to the M&Ms. One was orange and one yellow. 'Um - Leslie?'

'Yes?'

'Those aren't M&Ms.'

'What?'

'They're Skittles. They're virtually indestructible.'

Well. I, for one, intend to write an extremely stern letter to the relevant authorities as to the necessity of being able to tell M&Ms and Skittles apart. Either that, or insist we have Skittle-breaking competitions in the next Athletics Carnival.

I considered this on the walk home. This had clearly not been a good day. What could I do, in order to maintain my dignity for the next year?

I paused this thought briefly when I saw someone in a passing car who looked exactly like Chas Licciardello. After Gwen had assured me that it couldn't be him, and had gone back to muttering deprecatingly about my state of mind, I resumed my train of thought.

I needed to get fit. Not to lose weight - I, for one, can easily be mistaken for an anorexic hat rack. I make up for it by being the slowest thing on two legs since the penguin was invented. I tend to base my running style on that of this superb animal as well. Well, that would have to change. As of the next day, I would become good at exercise, and sports, and all those other appalling physical things that no sane person cares about.

This resolution lasted me right up until second period of the proceeding day.

PE is never good for me. PE when we're outside is worse. PE when we go outside the school boundaries is exceedingly awful. And PE in which we get bicycles and ride to neighbouring suburbs is, as I like to put it, Completely, Ridiculously, Amazingly Pointless.

I hadn't ridden a bicycle in some months. This was made astoundingly clear to one and all as soon as I got on my bike, rode a few metres, and was unsurprised to find myself wobbling all over the road. This is quite similar to my driving technique. At a shout from my PE teacher, I turned around. She was running up behind me. 'Leslie!'

'What?'

'You've got the handlebars the wrong way round!'

And I hadn't even got out of the school yet.

Vyvyan, Ames, and Midge are all in my PE class. Unfortunately Ames and Midge are Slightly Less Able Class Kompanions (sorry for that K), and are Extremely, Reluctantly Slow. They decided not to turn up with their PE gear. I'd forgotten to bring my PE shirt, but borrowed a spare one from Giuseppe. The ride was painful. I'm not used to riding with multiple gears. At one point we went off-road for a bit, and I was confronted with a large, muddy puddle covering the whole trail we were supposed to be following. The sensible thing to do at this point would have been to (a) put the brakes on and (b) move carefully through the puddle. What I did was (a) mistake the handbrake for the gear changer and (b) speed up, careening madly through the puddle and spraying myself and those around me with a liberal coating of mud. At one point I nearly fell off going up a slight hill. Luckily I didn't, as I might have been killed. Imagine what they would have to have put on my grave: 'HERE LIES LESLIE M. HARPER. TAKEN FROM US IN THE 2010TH YEAR OF OUR LORD BY A DECEIVINGLY GENTLE SLOPE. WE HOPE SHE IS IN A BETTER PLACE, PREFERABLY ONE WITH NO BICYCLES'. I remember, at one point, my teacher thought it would be a good idea to go and ride around in an abandoned carpark. While I swerved randomly, gritting my teeth, I heard the student in front of me laughing with carefree abandon. 'This is fun!' she yelled. 'Just like riding a car!'

'No, it's not,' I called back firmly. 'I haven't driven into anything yet. Although goodness knows how I've been so lucky.'

I was incredibly relieved to make it back to our school bike sheds without any other major incident occurring and crippling me. I got changed, wiped most of the dirt off my countenance, and presented Giuseppe with her shirt back in the hope that she wouldn't notice the mud-stains (although now I've published that on the internet, I doubt she can help but notice. Sorry, Giuseppe. I'll wash it for you if you want). Never again, I swear. From now on, I'll stick to netball.

Netball is a sport I've been playing since year 7. At the moment, Marie-Clare is on my team. Our training begins at five in the afternoon, one day a week. As school ends at 3:30, this gives us an hour and a half free, normally spent in the library. There are any number of interesting things to do there, contrary to what you might think. 

For example, they've taken down the picture of Hugh Laurie. Travesty, I know. I've been thinking of getting a petition up to bring it back. I probably won't, although anyone else is welcome to. They've replaced it with one of Stephen Hawking. When Marie-Clare discovered this, she folded up into a gentle heap beneath the new poster and moaned for a good couple of minutes. She then stood up, brushed herself off, said 'I'm actually a big fan of Stephen Hawking' and left. If only we could all get over loss that quickly. The Twilight poster is still there, although there is now a Batman one near it. Peanut was thrilled.

Another thing we did before netball this week was to re-enact John Lennon's death scene in the 800-900 row of the nonfiction section. I was Mark Chapman. Marie-Clare was the Beatle himself. Lala was Yoko Ono. Apple provided a surprisingly convincing Sean Lennon. So far as I know, it's the only death scene ever in which the victim turned to the potential murderer after a single shot and yelled 'It's five shots! John Lennon was shot five times! You have to shoot me again!'

Netball training itself paled in comparison. The keeping-fit plan is not going to be a successful one, I fear. Take right now. I could be out exercising. Instead I'm sitting at home, listening to my blue iPod and typing this. Still, who needs it? Physical Education is, I'm sure, occasionally useful, but I wouldn't like to live there.

And I can say this confidently, with the knowledge that it is still a year until the next Athletics Carnival.

The Big Decisions

Everybody in Year 10 at the moment is stressed. Friday - that is to say, yesterday - was the day on which we submitted our final subject choices for senior school. People are falling into a number of different categories:

1. The Coolly Collected Over-Achievers

The people who have already decided what they want to do; have all their forms filled out; and spend their time strolling around nonchalantly, watching everyone else scurry about in a terror of indecision. Say things like 'You mean, you haven't decided yet?' and 'Yes, I'm doing six T subjects. It's the only way to go.' People who fit into this category are Giuseppe, and, to a lesser degree, Gwen.

NB: If you're not part of our ACT/NSW school system, you may not know what T or A subjects are. A T is something that contributes to your final grade - an A is one you do for fun. Everyone picks six subjects, and most people do five Ts and an A. That's what I'm doing, certainly.

2. The Quietly Uncertain

The people who come into school with their forms filled out, but who still aren't certain about a couple of the things on there. 'Well,' they think 'I want to be a doctor, so it's good I've written down three sciences - Physics, Biology, and Chemistry, but not Geology, because nobody does Geology except Marie-Clare - but what happens if I decide to do a law degree? What happens if I don't get a high enough ATAR at the end of Year 12 and have to fall back on being a computer technician? Should I have some IT subjects on there? What if . . .'

There aren't any specific examples of this person, as I'm not a mind reader and I can't tell who's thinking this. As a rule, it's anyone who isn't rushing around like the people in the third category, but aren't commenting on the behaviour of these people like the Over-Achievers™. I would have thought that this would be the largest category. I was wrong. See below.

3. The Specific Procrastinators

Generally speaking, these people don't have that much trouble filling out most of the form. Generally they're taking five Ts and one A. The T subjects are fine: as a rule, these people are fairly confident in what they want to do in university or in later life. But the moment the merest mention of an A subject comes up - it's too late. They're like enraged bears. The only thing you can do is stand your ground and hope you come away mostly unharmed at the end of the conversation (enraged grizzly bears, that should have been. They're nothing like enraged polar bears. If you're ever attacked by an enraged polar bear, you should slowly remove pieces of your clothing and drop them on the ground in front of you, in order to distract it. Surprisingly, this approach doesn't work at all with Procrastinators™).

It's surprising how even the meekest soul can be transformed with the prospect of the perfect A subject held just in front of them, much like the sword of Damocles. Except less lethal than the sword of Damocles was. The problem is - the main problem, that is, I'm not going to get involved in the 'My-parents-want-me-to-do-that-but-I-want-to-do-this' debate - that nobody knows exactly what the perfect A subject is.

Marie-Clare wanted to do Hospitality, but then decided Photography was the way to go. She wrote down Photography on the sheet, handed it in, and made her escape, literally running so she wouldn't be tempted to go back and change it to some other subject. This was the sensible approach, and the only thing you can really do once identified as a Procrastinator™. Others were less sensible. Lala spent lunchtime in a frenzy of indecision between Woodwork and Drama. I was less than helpful at this point, I think I changed my mind about what she should choose more often than she did. She confronted Ariane, Ames, Midgie, Lox, and her English teacher, who happened to be passing. The final score was Woodwork: 2, Drama: 2, Photography: 1 (Midgie is very keen that everyone should do Photography. Almost aggressively so. It's scary. She deserves another category to herself). In the words of Lox, who was currently made up with large quantities of stage make-up, in preparation for his drama performance 'Lala, you should do Drama. I say so. And you should always do what the glittery clown tells you to do.' Even now, I can't remember what she decided. A decision was reached, though, which is what's important. Ness was another one who couldn't make up her mind: she decided to do Hospitality, in the end.

The reason I haven't mentioned myself yet is because, in my opinion, I was one of the worst. Gwen received the brunt of my indecision. I couldn't decide whether to do Hospitality, Photography, or Media (I decided on Hospitality in the end - just to spoil the surprise for you).

As you can tell, this category is almost certainly the largest. It is not, however, the worst.

4. The Complete No-Hopers

I can't give any examples of these, as most of the people I talk about in here read the blog. Even people I don't talk about read the blog. Here's looking at you, Eggleston. Also Diego. Don't blame me for the name. Giuseppe chose it.

Anyway, luckily, I don't know anyone who's a complete no-hoper. Some people are quite no-hopery, but haven't quite reached that high level.

A Complete No-Hoper™ is someone who, despite having been given two weeks to decide subjects, still has no idea on the day, and comes to school with incomplete forms.

5. The Pushers

I've been considering it, and I think Midgie deserves her own category after all. It's for people who are so certain of what they've chosen they're trying to encourage other people into taking their subjects. It works a lot of the time, most notably on Specific Procrastinators™. No-Hopers™ seem to be relatively immune: the high panic levels seem to block encouragement.

There are my categories for you. They aren't only applicable to subject choices: they work for virtually any decision you have to make. And so, here is a scale for you. If you ever need to work out the exact indecisiveness level of yourself or others, feel free to use it.

It is currently the night of the Australian federal election. At this very moment, votes are being counted. Only too soon we will know whether we have a female, red-haired, Welsh Labour PM or a deeply Catholic, Speedo-wearing, doesn't-believe-in-climate-change-despite-insurmountable-evidence,-the-fool, Liberal. The only thing I can recommend for Tony Abbott is that his first name is Tony. On the other hand, Julia is the title of a Beatles' song. And so, name-wise, I think they're about even. Policy-wise, I'm not sure.

I am, currently unable to vote. If only the election had been deferred by a month and two years, I'd be fine. To think, I came so close! As is, my only contribution to the election has been to hang around the outside of the voting hall, giving meaningful glances to people who looked like they were intending to vote Liberal (basically anyone over the age of 50, or anyone wearing a suit. This doesn't mean they actually voted Liberal. I'd hate to place a stain like that on someone's character with no evidence. It only means I thought they might). I'd like to imagine that I made a couple of people think twice about going for Tony. In hindsight, though, that's probably quite unlikely. They may have thought I was mentally encouraging them to vote Liberal. Or possibly they just thought I had a bad squint (meaningful looks are incredibly hard to do consistently). At any rate, whether I deterred them or confused them, that was all the difference I was capable of making.

Sometime in early 2009, I and several others founded a party called the 'Fruitcake Party'. We only lasted a day, and the only reason I remember it now is because I wrote some of the information down about it at the time. I was the Head of Party. Vyvyan was Treasurer. Peanut was vice-Treasurer, deputy Head, and Chairman. I'm not totally sure as to why we needed a Chairman, as I'm fairly sure we weren't Communist, but even I can't explain the workings of my fourteen-year-old mind. Gwen was Press Secretary, as she was the only one who knew how a political party worked. Chinny was the reluctant Policy Advisor. We wanted the death penalty to be re-introduced for several specific people, and all Mexicans to be painted green before entering the country. I have no idea, not even the faintest clue, as to why we'd want this. Clearly we were very sick people. Probably still are: it's unlikely to have got any better without treatment. I put it down to schoolitis.

Anyway, this got me thinking: what would the ideal prime minister be? Here are my criteria. I'm not saying this is all we need. I'm perfectly happy with the government we have now - or, at any rate, had last week - save for a few issues. Some of them they may already have, some they may be working on, but at any rate, here it is. Just give me a second to ready myself mentally for the criticism Giuseppe and, possibly, Gwen are going to rain on me on Monday for my limited understanding of politics. Marie-Clare, and anybody else, you don't have to read this. I just need a way to vent about our political system. Writing it down and posting it on the internet seemed a better idea than going on a Charles Mansen-type killing spree, humming election jingles. Which, by the way, do not work. They just succeed in annoying potential voters.

1. Strong climate change policies

I'm not even going to emphasise the 'strong'. Just 'climate change policies' would do. If we get Mr 'Don't-worry-the-Earth-is-actually-cooling-down' Abbott I'm going to commit hari-kiri. Or move to Mexico.

2. Legalisation of gay marriage

I don't understand Gillard's reasoning on this one. She's an atheist, isn't she? What can she have against gay marriage? And yet, she doesn't support it.

If she was a deep, deep, committed Catholic, I suppose I could partly understand. Some passages in the Bible are pretty condemning of homosexuality.

Leviticus 18:22 says "Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination." It should be noted that Leviticus also tells us that hunchbacks, dwarfs, and people with poor eyesight are unholy in the eye of God. I'm not sure a book written thousands of years ago by who-knows-who is the best way to deal with this subject. How can you claim to be non-discriminatory, to not see any difference between gay and straight couples, if you're then going to give one the right to marry and go 'Too bad,' to the other?

There were a great many rhetorical questions in there. I feel they're all justified, though.

3. Helping NOT banning the boat people

I couldn't research this topic fully. Every time I try, articles pop up about the awfulness of the boat people, the way they're taking our jobs, our land, our water. Believing several pages like these, the best you'd be able to say of the boat people would would be that they'd never actually burnt down an orphanage for blind, crippled children, and that's only because there is no solid evidence. So, I'm going to have to look at it logically. I know, logic and politics don't mix well, but I intend to try nevertheless.

So. Boat people. Refugees flee to our country to find sanctuary. We lock them in prison camps and forget about them, except to occasionally drag the term up to persuade soft-minded, xenophobic members of the middle classes to vote for [insert name of political party here]. Somebody said recently that at the rate they're coming in, they'd take twenty years to fill the MCG. So why are we worried? Because political parties need a target, and starving, homeless people can't fight back.

The problem - or solution - is not up to us, at any rate. It stems from the countries they're fleeing from, and I know that's not up to us. But you're the PM! You can't pretend you have no influence.

No, I can't think of a logical solution to this 'problem'. Some of our best minds have tried and failed. Some of our worst minds have tried, and come up with election policies. But I can't even vote. I'm allowed to be idealistic, and irrational.

4. A secular system of government

Yes, I know our government isn't religious, but we could at least have a go at making policies without having to worry about offending religious groups. I mean, we all know God doesn't exist. It's only a matter of time until they find out.

5. A PM who can actually say what he/she means. Yes, they're politicians, the truth-telling instinct was drummed out of them on their first day in parliament, but it would be nice to have a prime minister who can make strong policies and stick to them. The fact is, people don't like to be scared. They're like kindergarteners - 'No, I don't like the story about climate change! Tell me something else! No, not about the horrible boat people either. Can't you tell me something happy, like how young people are fulfilling our worst expectations of them and no matter how often I want to drive my Porsche around, it won't contribute to global warming? What do you mean, it doesn't work like that? I don't like you any more.' And we have a new PM.

Unless it's Abbott, of course, in which case he will go 'Don't worry. Global warming is all made up.' He will then probably proceed to kiss the child in question, thus infecting it with Liberal germs, in his cunning plan to get at the younger generations. As opposed to just being a paedophile. I personally can't see the difference, but I'm sure there is one.

NB: I am not suggesting that kindergarteners drive Porsches, or, indeed, that we should allow them to drive Porsches. I think that would be a very bad idea indeed.

Anyway, because of this, politicians have learnt to pander to the punters' needs. If it was not for this narcissistic desire to see the world through rose-coloured half-full glasses no matter what ridiculous half-truth or 'a-bit-like-the-truth' or even 'who-are-we-kidding?-this-is-a-lie' we are forced to swallow, we could get so much more done. And so, what I'm really saying here is that we don't need to change politicians. There is certainly room for improvement, yes. But what we really need to do is to change is the mindset of the complete human race.

Let's face it. We're doomed.

α. This isn't a proper reason, so I haven't given it a proper number. My final criteria for what would make a good prime minister is this. There should be enough of information about them, and they should posses enough unique characteristics, so as to allow The Chaser to satirise them on TV with ease or even - who knows? - start the newspaper up again. The website is fine - http://www.chaser.com.au/ - but it would be nice to have some new articles.