After we had announced the end of the Roger Award, CAFCA founder Bill Rosenberg suggested that we offer the actual trophy (a uniquely hideous beast) to Te Papa. We thought that was an excellent idea and proceeded to do so. The person we dealt with was suitably enthusiastic (our initial contact was when she rang me and asked: “Is that Roger?”) and said that her team were also keen.

Things progressed apace, to the extent that she asked me to weigh and measure the trophy. Doing that singlehanded was definitely one of my standout memories of 2018 – you try grappling with an objet d’art that features, among other things, barbed wire, a hypodermic syringe and a spent bullet cartridge. It defines the word “awkward”.

But, in November 2018, she conveyed the sad news that Te Papa (which she described as “a complex institution”) had decided that “it is not considered a collecting priority at present”. She had been overruled by those higher up the food chain. Sad, but it was definitely worth a try. So, for the indefinite future, the trophy sits in its purpose-built travel crate in our garage (where it has spent many years inbetween its star appearances).

It has not suffered the ultimate indignity of joining various other historic props in our semi-derelict, wide open and utterly non-weatherproof back shed (which, nevertheless, survived 18,000 earthquakes in considerably better shape than many much grander Christchurch buildings). That holds the likes of a giant wearable John Key head, which Anti-Bases Campaign commissioned for a Waihopai spy base protest. When I transferred it from the garage to the shed, to free up space and because Key was now yesterday’s man, Becky protested that it would be exposed to "the cats' weewee". Personally, I can't think of anyone or anything more appropriate to be so exposed. But that's another story.