We're a cruel bunch, we are, standing around a television laughing at Nicole Cornes as she stumbles through what will undoubtedly be her last interview as a political candidate. She may have lost Boothby, but she hasn't lost anyone's respect. Luckily for her, she never had anyone's respect to lose...

Things are less hectic now. The crowd is still cheering occasionally, but this because the ABC's camera is placating their rabid desire to be shown on television, not because of any new developments in the game. The game is over. The game has been won.

Nick and I have been jumping up onto our seats, trying to get seen on Channel 7. Our mothers keep calling us to tell us when Mel and Kochie are being framed in wide shot. Nick's mum sees us; mine, typically, does not.

Either way, we look like idiots and prove to the journalists around us that, yes, we are not one of them, we are a little different. We are young and – objectivity be damned (it's overrated anyway) – we are excited.

My bad steak sandwich does not taste bad. It is stale, but tastes of fresh ideas.

The VB, however, still tastes like urine.