1. Elisabeth Wynhausen deserves an award.

Before Elisabeth, who I hope will read this, gets too excited, I'll point out that the award she's most likely to pick up is the Captain Fucking Obvious Award for Brutal Stupidity in Journalism. There's no trophy, or prizemoney - just a healthy slap to the back of the head. Administered, hopefully, by herself. Daily. At 11am. And 1pm. Also 2pm and 3pm.

Her award winning entry to the CFO-BSJ award appeared this week in the Australian, when she dared don a burka to ‘gain some perspective' on what it might be like to be a Muslim woman.

What followed was one of the most openly ridiculous, poorly thought-out and woefully sensationalist pieces of drivel ever committed to paper in this country. Let's pick the eyes out of this little gem and see what we have.

First of all, whichever genius sub-editor worked their magic on this piece should be fired. Right now. "Elisabeth Wynhausen road tests the burka" is the headline. The first sentence in should probably have rung an alarm bell for the sub... "The word burka doesn't ring a bell". The salesgirl doesn't know what a burka is. Ergo, I think it's probably safe to assume at this point that the term ‘burka' is probably incorrect for the garment Elisabeth will be donning for this experiment.

But let's not simply pick this article to bits over questionable semantics... no, that wouldn't be fair. Instead, I'll point out that dear Elisabeth has embarked on this particular journey of discovery not out of any particular desire to learn more about the lives of others. Nor is it that rare spark of originality that journos sometimes display. No - she's pinched the idea from another journalist overseas, thus continuing the long and glorious practice of lifting stories from other countries. At least she had the guts to let us know that she nicked the idea, even going so far as to name her inspiration at the beginning of paragraph seven.

From there, however, it's all downhill. Elisabeth lets us know that being draped in several layers of clothing with nothing showing but your eyes is not comfortable. I'm truly glad she shared that with us - I would never have guessed that gadding about town dressed like a poorly-tailored ninja wasn't going to be fun.

Elisabeth goes on to bemoan the fact that she can no longer sip her latte because of her new religious garb. Could this be the end of our heroine? Denied her life-sustaining shot of caffeine, she's appears to go a little stir-crazy. Paranoia sets in...

"I stifled the impulse to tear off the uncomfortable, intensely constricting garments, which were so physically constraining that they gave me the sense of confining my spirit," Elisabeth writes. Sadly for us, the garment didn't constrain her love of the dramatic overstatement. Indeed, the restrictive garb appears to have inflamed it, if anything.

"With my head swaddled in cloth and my face covered, I felt I could scarcely breathe. The sense that I had become an alien being was more oppressive still," Elisabeth continues.

Confusingly, I'm still trying to ascertain exactly how wearing a tablecloth over your head can cause the sensation that you're about to burst spectacularly out through the ribcage of a hapless space explorer.

However - we will persevere. Surely there must be something of merit in here somewhere...

Ahhh. Here we go. "The attire forced me into an entirely unnatural self-conscious relationship with the rest of the world." I'd say that probably has something to do with the fact that you haven't been wearing one your whole life. I remember the first time I ever wore ski-pants at the snow. I felt, and was gleefully informed by my friends that I also looked, like a twerp.

"Making my way from the newspaper offices past Central railway station, I was plagued by the thought that the outfit was provocative enough to spur some madman to drive straight at me." Really? She really thought that someone was going to run her over, just because she was dressed as a muslim? Wow... way to let your own prejudices cloud the story, Elisabeth. Seriously - that's unforgivable.

"A woman with her face covered will always arouse a range of emotions in the West, from suspicion to outright disdain. For many Muslim women, though, covering their faces is considered a religious obligation. Whether the chasm will ever be bridged remains open to question." There's no question - as long as we have moronic journalists who attempt to explain away hundreds of years of religious and cultural expression by imitating it for a day and then hamfistedly trying to ‘explode the myth', we're all fucked.

2. TV, you horrible fuck.

I was going to call this section "Aussie TV has incurable cancer". But I changed it. Because it would have sounded like I was having a swipe at Belinda Emmet, and not even I am enough of a shit to do that. So, instead, I will blame TV for being TV.

But upon what evidence do I mount my argument? That's easy - Ladies and Gentlemen, I bring you the teetering pile of shit that is The Big Night In with John Foreman.

If you ever wondered whether or not comedy can survive in a vacuum, the answer is a resounding no. And this show proves it. It's like someone at Channel Ten has raided the bins behind Rove's studio and stolen all of the jokes, set construction and guest lists that even Rove Live wouldn't touch. And then handed them all to John Foreman (the least funny man in television). And then put it to air.

It's so bad, it can best be described as being part of a tense race to the bottom with The Wedge - although The Wedge will probably narrowly pip it at the post, thanks in no small part to its impossibly bad scripting, mistimed comedic performances and utter lack of charisma.

Channel Ten must be kicking itself in the arse over the Tench debacle, too... it's a shame, really - it had the potential to be so much more than it is. But there is at least one saving grace for the as-yet-unnamed person behind the character - by maintaining his ‘secret identity', he's likely to be the only person on the cast or crew that Channel Ten will hire again in a hurry. Smart move, whoevere-you-are.

I'm securing the hatches at the moment as we approach Christmas. It's supposed to be nice and family oriented. But Aussies do their best family stuff in front of the telly. And TV, round Christmas time, turns on us. It becomes a snarling beast of banality, a never-ending parade of stultifying boredom, as repeats of repeats lumber from the glowing cathode ray tube and into our living rooms, like a crazed minotaur of monotony whose sole purpose in life is to drive us insane with tedium, smell a bit wrong and look like a bad special effect.

We turn in desperation to channels we would ordinarily never watch. Interminable documentaries on what Christmas is like in places like Afghanistan, now that the locals are being force-fed Christianity through a tube. (I'll save you the bother - they decorate trees and take pot shots at Santa's sleigh with AK-47s. But even watching that gets boring after a few minutes).

The ABC's not much better. Long-winded period dramas abound, where the action gets no hotter than watching old people chatting aimlessly about who killed the neighbours and then gently shifting their weight in overstuffed armchairs, trying not to spill their tea. Riveting Stuff.

It seems that, once again, Christmas time will be utterly bereft of entertainment, and we shall be forced to make our own.

I think I might head to Afghanistan. Shooting at Santa is suddenly looking like a lot of fun.

3. Politicians are awesome.

No, really. I love them - if only for the fact that every now and then, one will stand up and prove that several fundamental laws of physics are completely bogus. I speak, of course, of Big Kim Beazley, who this week showed us precisely how transparent an incompetent fat fuck can be.

The issue this time around is former SAS Major Peter Tinley (about whom I will be unfailingly nice, because they're all hard bastards in the SAS and the last thing I need is to have several burly blokes come hurtling down the chimney to kill me) who appeared on Lateline early in the week to decry the Australian involvement in Iraq.

Honest truth: I was really impressed. He would've had a bitch of a time summoning up the pluck to go against the people he's been working with in the armed forces, and risking becoming a pariah amongst his own people. But, god bless ‘im, he got out there and told us that the thought the war in Iraq is "morally bankrupt", etc etc.

Hooray, says I, as I watched him do his thing with Tony Jones. This was a massive milestone in the argument against Australia's involvement. Serisously - when even the guys with guns are telling the government that the war's a bad idea, then surely they'll have to listen.

And then along comes the great galumphing idiot, Beazley, smugly announcing that Tinley will be standing for the ALP at the next election. The day after he's made this incredible statement to the media.

Two problems with this. First of all, when Bomber Beazley was unloading on the government in parliament on November 27, he had already spoken to Tinley about becoming a Labor candidate. Which leads to the second, and worst, problem with the scenario...

Tinley's comments were explosive - and they deserve to be heard and then shouted from the mountain tops by everyone who can muster the strength to do so. But the impact has been severely lessened by Tinley's announcement that he's going to be a Labor candidate. While it may be a real coup for the ALP, the timing of Tinley's appearances in the media and his candidacy have robbed the statement of any and all forms of impartiality they might have had.