The dream is over. For two and a half years I was in with a shot, but not anymore. Granted, my chances of being knighted were so slim that if standing side on you’d be lucky to see them at all, but a chance is still a chance no matter how remote it may be. That news the imperial honours system has been junked should break just weeks before a new Star Wars film is released – presumably robbing imperial Storm Troopers of any hope that their work trying to fend off a Jedi-led insurgency might finally be recognised in a meaningful way – is almost too tragic for words.
The dream is over. For two and a half years I was in with a shot, but not anymore. Granted, my chances of being knighted were so slim that if standing side on you’d be lucky to see them at all, but a chance is still a chance no matter how remote it may be. That news the imperial honours system has been junked should break just weeks before a new Star Wars film is released – presumably robbing imperial Storm Troopers of any hope that their work trying to fend off a Jedi-led insurgency might finally be recognised in a meaningful way – is almost too tragic for words.
The abolition of knights and dames creates a giant vacuum. By which, of course, I mean that it sucks enormously. Sure, we still have various honours we can bestow on our best and brightest but, for mine, titles like ‘Order of Australia’ have always sounded like something that comes with chips and salad. It seems terribly administrative. If we can no longer climb aboard the Dame Train or aspire to becoming Knight Rider, then we need something equally as dazzling. Something with some spark. Some pizzazz, if you will.
So if ‘knights and dames’ are out, is there any chance of introducing ‘guys and dolls’ instead? Damon Runyon might well turn in his grave at the thought, but the idea that recipients might deliver their speeches before high-stepping down the steps whilst performing ‘Luck Be A Lady’ is thrilling beyond compare. Or if that’s too old-fashioned, perhaps something a little more contemporary like the ‘Captains and Tennilles’? Or, for those who feel uncomfortable with any honours system that imposes a gender divide, maybe an awards system involving ‘Burt and Ernies’ or ‘Laverne and Shirleys’ would do the trick.
Although I very much like the idea of being honoured by my country, I’ve no idea what it is I’ve done that might cause such a gift to be bestowed on me. Not that I suffer from any shortage of talent. More that these various abilities are not the kind of things the ‘mainstream’ would generally deem worthy of recognition. For example, I have an eerie ability to find my wife’s house keys. I don’t know exactly how; whether it’s luck or divine intervention, but wherever those suckers are hiding, I’ll be all over them like a rash on a baby’s backside within moments. All I need to do is close my eyes and – kapow! – I know where to look. Chances are it’s because I have the kind of memory that would make the Elephant Man weep with envy. My wife, however, strongly suspects that I hide her keys for the sole purpose of being able to heroically recover them at some later point. She may well be right.
Luckily, stealing and then recovering someone else’s house keys is far from my only talent. I am also a hell of a reverse parker. Granted, I only started reverse parking after many years of avoiding it altogether, preferring instead to circle block after block in an never-ending pilgrimage to find a space large enough to go ‘front end first’. Had my driving instructor known about these activities, he would surely have retrospectively disqualified me. However, after a time, I both grew in confidence and obtained a smaller vehicle and tried my luck backing in like a regular person.
At first the results were varied. But soon, after much persistence, I was able to park my car perfectly with as few as seven attempts. I distinctly recall one particular occasion on which I succeeded in squeezing my Daihatsu Charade in between a Range Rover and a brown Camira outside Los Chicos in Balaclava in a single go, much to amazement of those waiting for the number 67 tram. If that doesn’t warrant being made a knight of the realm, I don’t know what does.
But it’s not all key-discovering and reverse parking. Not at all. I am also extremely good at returning videos on time. Sure, it’s a skill that’s now about as useful as blacksmithing or being a candlestick maker, but at the time it seemed quite freakish. Even when indulging in five weeklies for ten dollars, my ability to get them back before incurring a fine can only be described as prodigious. Sadly, video stores all shut up and went out of business before my achievements could properly be celebrated.
Who knows why I feel strongly? Paperwork may have something to do it. Who when filling in some manky piece of paperwork and upon being pushed to select from ‘Mr’, ‘Mrs’ or ‘Ms’ hasn’t longed for something more exciting. For as long as I can remember, I have ached to tick the ‘Other’ box. Beside the box would be a blank space or series of dots, inviting you to provide more information. I would, of course, be glad to oblige. Beside it, I would write in very plain, clear letters, ‘Sir’. It would impress the heck out of the cabin crew as I handed up my customs declaration, to say nothing of when I completed the application to join the local Video Ezy. These ambitions, however, will now go unrealised.
Sadly it is not to be. I am destined to remain un-knighted for my services to reverse parking, and unrecognised for my achievements in locating errant house-keys. And as for a lifetime of accomplishment in the field of timely video return, it will go unremarked upon. So for all those who have let themselves laugh aloud at the news that imperial honours are, once again, to be relegated to the scrapheap, think about the real victims of this decision. Or, better yet, watch me complete this reverse park and, once complete, come over and shake my hand. After all, I deserve something.