We voted at around midday at the local movie theatre. Rotto is filled with vacationers from all over Perth, so you can vote in any electorate in the state, resulting in plenty of people clustered around the tables for coastal seats like Stirling or Fremantle – and a bored, lonely woman at the table for the distant electorate of Kalgoorlie. The whole day I’d been becoming vaguely worried about Labor’s chances, with the stacks of West Australians at the general store proclaiming “PM FIRMS AS POLL GOES TO THE WIRE” (what does that mean?) and almost every single voter we saw turning their noses up at the ALP campaigners and instead accepting flyers from the Liberal wieners, whom I noted with irritation had even indoctrinated their seven-year old children into wearing hats and pennants with the coalition logo on it.

So at about eight o’clock, as the sun was slipping below the Dome cafe and I was wondering how things were unfolding on television screens across the nation (we were on a boat, without one), I texted my friend Jake to ask how shit was shaping up. He called back and replied, “Labor obliterated them.” I will forever remember those words.

And what an obliteration! Howard lost his own seat (thank you, Washminster system), which means he’s not even a minister anymore, just a sad and washed-up loser. Labor is now in power at every state and federal level, resulting in the highest ranking Liberal member being the mayor of Brisbane or some shit. The only downside is that my own vote made absolutely no difference, since Stirling was retained by smug white-collar beauracrat Michael Keenan. But all in all, it was a marvellous day for Australia.

Goodbye Howard! You were an arrogant, monarchist, racist, xenophobic, socially regressive asshole with the personality of a damp colonoscopy bag, dwelling among the clouds in your ivory tower on the high-income shores of Sydney Harbour and flogging your determined agenda to drag our society back to the standards of 1955’s White Australia Menzies hellscape. Don’t let the door knock your trembling 68-year old arse flat to the ground on the way out.