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If you start paying football-style salaries, then it isn鈥檛 long, I suppose, before you get football-style behaviour. If you start hyping cricket tournaments with the hoopla of a Las Vegas world heavyweight title match, then soon you get the same pre-bout posturing and verbal pyrotechnics. Perhaps the lesson of the past week or so is that vulgar cricketing auctions quickly get followed by vulgar cricketing actions.

In the latest instalment of 鈥楥lash of the Cricketing Titans,鈥� the Australian opener Matthew Hayden has called Harbajhan Singh ".

The Indian spinner has responded in kind, saying that Hayden is an unpopular figure in a world game which Australia no longer dominates with anywhere near its old menace or authority. "Maybe they realise that they no longer are the undisputed champions of the world,鈥� says Harbhajan, slipping into boxing parlance. "Maybe, they feel the crown is slipping," he added, continuing in his pugilistic vein.

All that鈥檚 missing from cricket these days is a weigh-in and pre-fight photo-call, where a barrel-chested Hayden would go nose-to nose with India鈥檚 famed Turbanator. Back during my time in India, someone once told me that cricket became so popular because it was the perfect sport for a caste-based, Brahmanical society, since no player ever had to touch another. Now it is close to becoming a full-on, contact sport - a "sledgefest", if not quite yet a slugfest.

Just listen to the Indian captain Mehandra Dhoni, who this week revealed to reporters his philosophy on what were once genteelly called the "niceties" of the game. "Cricket can never be friendly," he said. Only last weekend, the Indian one-day captain was reprimanded for wearing wicket-keeping gloves with too much webbing, which breached the rules of the game. Curiously, they also featured a militaristic camouflage design, which at least seems more in keeping with its current spirit.

In escalating what is drearily called an ongoing "war of words", Dhoni was merely echoing Andrew Symonds, who said much the same thing when he appeared in a federal courthouse in Adelaide to press the case that Harbhajan had called him a monkey. A "Test match is no place to be friendly with an opposition player", said Symonds, with bristling belligerence.

These, remember, are powerful and opinion-forming voices in the fast-changing game. At auction last week, both Dhoni and Symondsfor the upcoming Indian Premier League Twenty20 tournament. Is not their thinking on the behavioral requirements of the modern game so very bankrupt that it can be measured only in pennies?

The velocity at which cricket has changed over the southern summer is perhaps best illustrated by the short career trajectory of the 19 year old Indian bowler, Ishant Sharma. Few had heard of the gangly rookie outside of the subcontinent until this past test series in Australia, during which he delivered the fastest ball ever recorded by an Indian bowler.

Partly on the strength of that, at the IPL auction he was snapped up for $950,000 by the Kolkata franchise owned by the Bollywood mega-star, Shahrukh Khan.

Then, just a few days later, at the one-day international in Sydney, he was fined 15% of his match 鈥� peanuts, in the new scheme of things 鈥� for goading Andrew Symonds (who else?) with a most ungentlemanly gesture.

Since gliding onto the international scene, Sharma has exhibited talent, wealth and boorishness. He is clearly destined for a great future in a greatly changed game.

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"The Lucky Country" was the title of a book published in 1964 by the journalist Donald Horne, and one of the most misapplied phrases in the journalistic vernacular.

Far from being a celebration of a blessed land 鈥� and far from proffering a term of endearment - the book offered a searing critique of Australia鈥檚 post-war mediocrity.

Its good fortune stemmed from its abundance of minerals and natural resources, which compensated for the mediocrity of its hapless politicians. "Australia is a lucky country," wrote Horne, "run by second-rate people who share its luck".

What would Horne make of modern-day Sydney, a city rich in natural resources 鈥� with arguably, the world鈥檚 most spectacular harbour and its finest urban beaches 鈥� but badly let down by its political leaders in the New South Wales government?

Might he scornfully label it "the Lucky City"?

Take its rundown public services. The hospitals are in a perpetual state of crisis 鈥� the New South Wales health minister, Reba Meagher, has been dubbed "the grim Reba".

Transport is a muddle - high charges mean that vital toll roads are underused, choking routes elsewhere and more than 2000 Sydney bus drivers have required retraining over the past five years because of their lack of road skills.

Just as embarrassingly, after ten years of trying, and $A95m ($88m; 拢45m) of investment, the New South Wales government has failed still to develop an integrated ticketing system for its ferry, bus and train services.

Sleaze allegations

Certainly, there is the whiff of decay. Alarmed by the level of complacency, the Sydney Morning Herald noted recently: "No law says Sydney must be Australia's premier city. It will only retain its pre-eminent position if it is well planned, well managed and regularly upgraded. That is not happening now."

Now, the beleaguered Labor-controlled New South Wales government is wallowing in sleaze allegations, and stands accused of mendacity as well as mediocrity.

Much of the muck has been excavated from a made-for-the-tabloids sex scandal involving a town planner in Wollongong, a city to the south of Sydney which up until now has been better known for its seaside steelworks rather than its bedroom fireworks.

Were it not such a mouthful, it would be tempting to call it "Wollongongate". And yes, you did read that right: sex and town planning did just feature in the same sentence.

The scandal centres on a blonde, 30-something town planner called Beth Morgan, who allegedly had sex with a number of local property developers while she was processing their controversial planning applications.

Given that some of the proposed developments involved breaking local height restrictions for new buildings, there have been lots of gags about the Wollongong "mile high-rise club".

The problem for the New South Wales government is that five ministers have links with key figures in this imbroglio, either directly or indirectly. Because some of them have Italian-sounding names, they have been dubbed "the Mezzo Sopranos".

The scandal has also shone a spotlight on the massive political donations from property developers to the two major parties.

According to the Sydney Morning Herald, developers gave $A13,180,793 ($12m; 拢6m) to the New South Wales Labor party between 1998 and 2007, and $A8.2m ($7.6m; 拢3.8m) to the Liberal party over the same period.

Sydney has been disfigured over the past 20 years or so by some determinedly cheap and nasty developments. Many are naturally asking: is this the reason why?

Most livable city?

Last year, in the state elections, the NSW Labor party won its fourth straight victory, which may have amplified the sense of arrogance and complacency.

During that period of ascendancy, it has been blessed with weak political opponents.

Peter Debnam, who led the last Liberal party campaign, became an object of comedy and derision because he insisted on starting his day with an ocean swim in his Speedos 鈥� or budgie-smugglers, are they are known here.

This past weekend saw the city at its very best. On Sydney鈥檚 "Super Sunday", the harbour provided the most beauteous of backdrops for the "royal rendezous" between the QE2, on its farewell world voyage, and the Queen Victoria, on its maiden visit.

On the same day, the Sydney Cricket Ground hosted a one-day international between Australia and India, while the Sydney Football Stadium next door staged the final of soccer鈥檚 up-and-coming A-league.

But it was preceded by gloomy talk of gridlock on the roads and public transport meltdowns 鈥� which is exactly what happened last year when two Cunard Queens met in the harbour 鈥� a sign of the city鈥檚 collective lack of confidence in the basic competence of the politicians and public servants who run it.

Given its exceptional setting and stunning beauty, Sydney should be banned by now from taking part in the world鈥檚 most livable city contests because of its unfair natural advantages.

But the Economist Intelligence Unit recently placed it behind Vancouver, Vienna, Geneva and 鈥� yes, you鈥檝e guessed it 鈥� Melbourne.

I absolutely love this city, but it can be a surprisingly frustrating place in which to live. You do not have to be here long to be left with a feeling of colossal underachievement.

So is this indeed the "Lucky City"? And does it not deserve better?

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For Australia鈥檚 statistically-minded prime minister, the first major poll of the new parliamentary session made doubly happy reading. It suggested that he is the most popular Australian leader since pollsters first started asking the question. His approval rating stands at an impressive 70%, a figure of almost Bradmanesque proportions which neither Bob Hawke, who led his party to three straight election victories, nor John Howard, who triumphed in four, ever managed to reach.

Better still, the same poll indicated that his main political rival, new Liberal Party leader Brendan Nelson, has the lowest approval rating since records began - a feeble 9%.

Since becoming the Labor Party leader in December 2006, there have been 50 or so surveys of public opinion. In every single one, Rudd has been well ahead. The latest swathe of polls confirm that the dreamy political honeymoon which he enjoyed as leader of the opposition has continued now that he is leader of the government.

Right now, 鈥淜evin 24/7鈥�, as he's now been christened by the Canberra press gallery , seems to have almost perfect political pitch. From to delivering that , he appears to have acted in accordance with the public will. By offering a compensation-free sorry, the same poll suggested he had produced a popular political formula.

Rudd鈥檚 other moves and gestures seem to have gone down well as well, from his to shore up East Timor鈥檚 fledging democracy to granting his first newspaper interview to Cynthia Banham of the Sydney Morning Herald, a reporter who sustained horrible injuries in last year鈥檚 Indonesian air crash.

Brendan Nelson, meanwhile, has been distinctly off-key. Certainly, his own sorry speech hit a jarringly discordant note with indigenous Australians, and was greeted with turned backs at the big screen sites around the country. By arguing that benevolent motives lay behind many of the removals, he may have been historically accurate, but to many it seemed politically insensitive. His backroom staff should also have asked permission to give voice to the story of a Victorian Aboriginal elder. Afterwards, he had to deliver another apology to Auntie Faye Lynam, who said she was dismayed that he appropriated her words for his speech.

Arguably, the first eight paragraphs of his sorry speech were more poetic and polished than Rudd鈥檚 It was the latter sections, defending aspects of the Stolen Generations policy, speaking up for the Northern Territory intervention and trying to strike a balance between white pride and white guilt, which were so poorly received.

Just as the opposition leader was forced to overturn the Liberal Party鈥檚 longstanding opposition to an apology, he has also jettisoned its longstanding hostility towards Kyoto. This week, it has even ditched Workchoices, the unpopular labour reforms, which by angering the famed 鈥淗oward battlers鈥� contributed so much to the Liberal defeat. It is just the kind of 鈥渕e-tooism鈥�, of course, for which they criticised Rudd during the election campaign.

This week more detail has also emerged about the old Cabinet鈥檚 attempts to ditch John Howard during last September鈥檚 APEC summit. When senior Cabinet figures met secretly in a Sydney hotel on the fringes of the summit, they came to the view that the prime minister should go. But Howard said he would do so only if he was blasted out, because he did not want history to label him a coward. Nobody was willing to detonate his leadership.

In Mr Howard鈥檚 absence, the Liberal Party seems bereft of ideas, ideologically adrift and lacking even the most basic of political strategies. It has replaced a strong leader, vehement in his opinions and beliefs, with one who does not seem to know precisely what he thinks.

Pick your headline. 鈥淗alf Nelson鈥�, which seems a little generous given his approval rating. Or 鈥淣elson all at sea鈥�.

Was he the right choice as Liberal leader? Can he make a political comeback? And if so, how?

With apologies for breaking my 鈥渘o novelty animal story鈥� doctrine, right now he truly does look like a rabbit caught in the headlights. And a particularly fretful one at that.

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It was a day of symbolic gestures, both small and large. Outside Parliament House, it started to unfold with the unfurling of a flag 鈥� armfuls of them in fact. The scarlet, black and gold of the Aboriginal flag, and the green, blue and white of its Torres Strait Islander equivalent. Drawn from nature, the colours speak of the ancient occupancy of this land.

On the flag poles in the forecourt, they were hoisted alongside the national colours, themselves a compilation of symbols - with its Union Flag, the Southern Cross, the southern hemisphere鈥檚 most brilliant constellation and Commonwealth Star, which represents the federation of colonies. In the forging of an identity - and in the search for recognition - emblems clearly carry weight.

Then, in the pale early morning light, members of Stolen Generations started to converge on parliament, drawn to Canberra by the promise of a simple word 鈥� a word that no Australian prime minister has ever publicly uttered in respect of their past injustices.

Inside the chamber of the House of Representatives, its public galleries packed, the business at hand started with the cold grammar of parliamentary protocol. 鈥楳otion offering an apology to Australia鈥檚 indigenous peoples,鈥� announced the clerk.

Soon it was replaced with heartfelt words of recognition, respect and reconciliation. In delivering his apology, PM Kevin Rudd was typically precise, measured and deliberate. He is not a great public speaker. He truly is a politician for whom governing is prose rather than poetry. But this was not about towering oratory, nor flights of rhetorical fancy. Of the 361-word apology, only one really mattered: Sorry. And to the delight and rapture of members of Stolen Generations looking down from galleries, he repeated it thrice.

Clearly this was a long-awaited moment of enormous cathartic power. As he said those momentous words, I was stood on the lawns outside, just up the hill from a huge gathering of people who were watching the speech on giant screens. With each sorry came a loud and happy cheer.

As for the scenes in parliament, where鈥檚 the Prime Minister鈥檚 speech was met with the most joyous of standing ovations, I cannot wait to see how Hansard records that moment.

I would love to hear what you think. But let me tell you first about the reaction from Sally Pierce, a member of the Stolen Generations who had travelled up from Tasmania. For years she has worn a black t-shirt emblazoned with the word "Sorry". After Kevin Rudd had finished speaking, she replaced it with a t-shirt emblazoned with the word "Thanks".

I hope you got a chance to read of , I hope, too, that dear old Frank Byrne feels a little differently about the apology. He was separated from his mother at age of five, then learnt that she had been committed to a mental asylum in Perth having suffered a breakdown after he was taken away. As yet, I have been unable to reach him. But last week Frank told me that the apology would mean nothing, because it would never bring back his mum, and because a five-letter word would never heal the pain of 65 years of separation.

I鈥檒l long remember Frank鈥檚 story, along with the comments of Pat Turner, the former head of the former head of the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Commission.

People in this country know more about the plight of the third world than people in their own country, she told me.

She may have a point. Covering this story, I have been amazed at how few people knew the full extent of the Stolen Generations' story, and the thinking which lay behind the policy. True, many were removed for benevolent motives - taken, rescued even, from abusive homes. But for many more, it was a painful experience.

And I wonder how many people can quote that terrible inventory of statistics which speaks of the breach between black and white Australia.

An indigenous baby born on "Sorry Day" still has a life expectancy 17 years shorter than a white baby. The overall death for Aboriginal people is three times higher. The unemployment rate is also three times higher.

Perhaps this was a day of awakening as well as atonement. I know that I've learnt a lot more over the past few weeks, and its been a fairly jolting experience.

Nobody should ever mistake a sorry for a solution. But one thing surely everyone in Australia can agree on is the need to find ways of giving indigenous Australians a more abundant and equitable life.

Today Canberra has dawned crisp and bright. Hopefully, that's another symbol.

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There is a charming story, no doubt richly embellished with each boozy retelling, of a journey through the bush by two English cricket fans travelling between test matches.

Midway though the drive, they had the misfortune to plough headlong into a kangaroo, which lay lifeless at the side of the road.

A blazer-wearing member of the , one the men quickly decided there was mischief to be made out of this unfortunate accident. Quickly, he adorned the dead marsupial鈥檚 corpse in the egg and bacon colours of his illustrious club, dressing it in a blazer, tie and cap.

Just as they were about to capture on camera this moment for posterity - and imagining the delight their trophy-like snapshot would engender from club members back home - the corpse began to stir.

To the men鈥檚 great horror, the kangaroo got up, looked quizzically around and then bounded into the bush still wearing the tie and blazer. Supposedly tucked inside the jacket pocket was the MCC member鈥檚 passport, perhaps even his tickets for the next match.

The Brits love a good novelty Australian animal story, and never more so than when they involve kangaroos, sharks, koalas, snakes, Tasmanian devils and corpulent cane toads 鈥� or, ideally, a combination of all of the above.

Their narrative appeal lies, of course, in the buttressing effect they have on our dog-eared view of Australia, as a plucky frontier nation with a foul-mouthed - and probably foul-smelling - 鈥楥rocodile Dundee鈥� lurking behind every eucalyptus tree.

High-minded and haughty though this may well sound, I actually arrived in Australia on a 鈥榥o novelty animal story鈥� ticket, having bid my editors in London adieu with the promise of avoiding stories about corpulent cane toads, feral pigs and ravenous sharks - or, for that matter, bushfires (unless they were truly horrific) and bizarre outback crimes (ditto).

The country offered a more nourishing menu of stories and issues: multiculturalism in the aftermath of Cronulla, the ongoing reconciliation debate, the rise of the green agenda, that vexed post 9/11 question of how much liberty should be sacrificed for security .

Suffice to say, my new job resolution lasted all of 48 hours, as I soon found myself mugging up on the lethal powers not of sharks but stringrays. had just been killed by one in Queensland.

So my first major story here was to cover his funeral in Queensland, a gaudy celebration of Outback Australia, where khaki was the new black.

Lost in our coverage amidst all the pathos and tears was the complicating, and thus almost unbefitting fact, that many Australians clearly felt somewhat embarrassed that the caricature-like figure of the 鈥楥rocodile Hunter鈥� had arguably become the country鈥檚 most prominent global 鈥榖rand ambassador鈥�.

Just before Christmas, I met up with some of the other British reporters who cover this vast, fascinating and often bewildering land and reflected on this unhealthy obsession with novelty animal stories.

Inevitably enough, that very day there had been an absolute belter in Victoria: , no less, surely the ultimate conflation of madcap animal yarns.

Our aim, as with every country, is to cover Australia in all its myriad forms. I鈥檝e just spent the past week in the Northern Territory talking to members of the , of which more later.

And as regular readers of this blog will hopefully agree, we covered the recent federal election in a fair amount of detail.

So you can imagine my disappointment when I returned to Britain over Christmas and found myself being constantly reminded of a story I had filed some months back.

Did it feature Kevin Rudd, John Howard or even the Welsh-born Julia Gillard? Of course not. It involved that poor 60-year-old woman in outback Queensland who was killed by her , which apparently made her the object of his sexual desire.

It was the 鈥榤ost read鈥� story on our website for days - right up there in the Australian novelty animal story pantheon with ; and now, of course Shark Kills Swimming Kangaroo.

In conclusion, I should perhaps reveal what was arguably the 麻豆官网首页入口鈥檚 most popular online Australian story of last year, which raced to the top of the 鈥榤ost read鈥� league table last year and made an unexpected appearance only last week: the revision to the points system which made it .

As much as we love our novelty animal stories, and the corny stereotypes they so often reinforce, we seem to like Australia even more.

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