Australia's Next Top Westie Scrag Series Seven - THE FINALE

What? You’re still here? It’s over, you weirdos. Demelza won. Go home.

Oh, for the love of camel nipples, ALRIGHT. FINE. Have your frikkin’ recap, then. Sorry it’s late – I had to wash the champagne out of my frock and the taste of victory out of my mouth. Also, if any of you can tell me whose house this is that I woke up in, that would be AMAZING. But I think I maimed their dog.

Rather than painstakingly going through the finale episode with a fine-toothed comb like yoo-shoo-wall, I sat in my seat at the Opera House scribbling in my notebook, which seemed like a good idea at the time. That time before I opened my notebook this morning and found the phrase ‘IT’S THE GODDAMN OPERA HOUSE, BITCHES!!’ scrawled in capital letters across the top of one page with five pages of complete bollocks after it.

So basically, you’re getting bullet-points. Aaaand I’m making most of them up. Aaaand they’re not even bullets, they’re little dots. Seriously, ‘bullet’ is a stupider name than ‘Bindi’. Unless you’re a cowboy, I suppose. WHAT. WHAT. I HAD A LOT TO DRINK.

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• IT’S THE GODDAMN OPERA HOUSE, BITCHES!

• Things there were lots of:

1. The word ‘journey’. It’s law that ‘journey’ has to be included in any reality television show final a minimum of six thousand times. I only counted eighty-seven. Pull your socks up, Australia’s Next Top Model.

2. The word ‘expensive’. Shiny Alex Perry is using it as punctuation now.

3. Montage packages. And also Liztage packages and Simtage packages.

4. Costume changes. I tried to write down descriptions of each frock, but they changed so quickly and often that I resigned myself to just writing ‘cloth’ in the margin. They were cloth. And there were many.

5. Short Stack songs. Sure, there was only one, but ask yourself how many is too many.

• So Neo is wearing her wig again. That seems like a good decision. I made a decision that good once, and ended up with a papercut, a bag of dead mice, and a great story about cleaning fruit stains off the ceiling.

• So Izzy has her pink hair back again. This actually is a good decision. Izzy with pink hair is like a monkey in a top hat and waistcoat – you don’t want to like it and it annoys the monkey and makes the waistcoat smell like a mixture of fleas, bananas and popcorn, but you just know it’s right.

• Seriously. Short Stack are a lot of different kinds of shit.

• Maddy wins the ‘Favourite Model’ prize! She also wins the ‘Concrete-Lacquered Hair-Helmet’ prize, but the trophy is too big to fit in the taxi afterwards. Shame.

• Shiny Alex Perry and Charlotte Dawson, one dressed as Alex Perry and the other dressed by him, which thankfully worked out, were perched up in balcony seats for most of the show like Waldorf and Statler from the Muppets except that Waldorf and Statler from the Muppets don't wear sunglasses or say ‘knickers’.

• I doubt she’d thank me for pointing it out, but Rachel still walks like a three-legged horse in cardboard shoes. Come to think of it, she probably would thank me.

• The Harpers Bazaar shoot is like chocolate-coated cheese wrapped in sugared unicorns and orgasms.

• I’m not even joking. Short Stack sucks dead hobo arse.

• Doik Simone comes third. She’s used to coming third, though, as her boobs generally enter any room about seven minutes before she does.

• NOBODY MENTION LAST YEAR’S FUCK UP. DO NOT MENTION IT. SHUT UP. DON’T EVEN.

• Montana wins. This is as surprising as opening a book of teenage poetry and finding pages full of dreary emotional wank inside. But. Y’know. Congratulations and that.

There were two after parties, and I weasled my way (see: showed my wristband) into both. Highlights for me (and I’m sure there were different highlights for other people, but who am I, Gandhi? ) were:

• My mate Shane made a bunch of Brigitte-Nielsen-heads on sticks. WITH EYEHOLES. Josh Flinn now owns one. I reckon I’m totally set for life now, because everyone loves eyeholes.

• I accidentally called Teary Tayah ‘Teary Tayah’ to her face. I dunno, she looked a bit upset about it.

• Caroline grabbed my arm and shouted across the room “MUM! MUM! This is the girl who called me an arsehole for six weeks!”. Her mum cupped her ear and shouted back “What? She designed your dress?”. I just nodded, because sure, I design dresses for arseholes now.

• In return for calling her an arsehole for six weeks, Caroline threw a drink in my face. I HAVE WAITED FOR SOMEONE TO DO THAT FOR FIVE FRIGGING YEARS. Now all I need is a free Alex Perry frock and I can finally stop blogging forever.

• Megan Gale swore.

• I met some of you. That sounds like I’m getting soppy and stuff, including that as a highlight, all nawww she loves her readers and crap, but I’m specifically referring to the bit where you told me I was funny. Hugs are nice too, but come on – I would electrocute a hug in the bath for another compliment.

So now, with the last bit of alcohol-soaked brain that I scraped out of the bottom of my handbag, here’s the LAST VERSE of my country song summarising the series episode by episode. Things don’t have to have a point to be achievements. They just have to rhyme.

I’m huuuuuung

Over as fuck, so you’re out of luck, ‘cause I can’t be bothered rhyming;

So Montana won, and I already told you I’m not rhyming, so get stuffed.

But really. As Rachel would no doubt say over and over and over and over again, thank you. No, really, thanks for reading. Ta. Sorry. Thank you.