WHAT a fun year gone by. And what utter incomprehensible madness we’ve had to endure, beginning in January when someone posted a pic of an egg (an ordinary chicken egg, not a fried egg with Jesus’ face on it, or a dinosaur egg) and it went viral, achieving 54m likes.

But there was nothing mad about the hiring of Fiona Bruce to front Question Time. The patriarchy, just like the crumbling bone surrounding Andy’s old hip, had to go. And thank God our greatest ever tennis ambassador will continue to grace the world and national stage. Where would we be without the omnipresent Judy?

As we edged towards summer, wasn’t it amazing to see Kylie make the Legend spot at Glastonbury? She may never have written a classic record, and her singing is replicant of a leaking garden hose, but would Paul McCartney or Barry Gibb look as good in hot pants?

The television moment of the year however was not Bodyguard, in spite of Renfrewshire-born Richard Madden defying acting convention in picking up the National Television Award for Best Drama Performance. It was the car crash that was Prince Andrew’s interview with Emily Maitlis. Yes, the Newsnight presenter had us screaming at the screen such as; “Nail him on this pizza restaurant story, Em; he still had time to feed the wean and her pals and make it to Tramp in time to work up a good sweat!”

And as sympathy-coveting Harvey Weinstein appeared in public using a zimmer frame last week, expect Air Miles Andy to appear in a motability scooter anytime soon. Electric of course, so’s not to impact upon the clouds of toxicity that surround him.

Meanwhile we’ve had to contend with the end of Game of Thrones, a tale of royal power and greed, of envy and rampant jealousies played out in castles by those with fabulous frocks.

But thank god for the real-life sequel, The Burning House of Windsor, in which two beautiful princesses conspire to crush each other, turning their husbands into broken brothers, the eternal quest being the next Vanity Fair cover.

We’ve also loved the tale of the pale, shy, awkward but single-focused little girl who came out from the cold to become a powerhouse of political ideology and commitment. No, not you Nicola, Greta (arguably, the most important female on the planet, despite Jennifer Aniston achieving one million Instagram followers in just over five hours.)

And the end of the year revealed several highlights. The Turner Prize sharing signalled the end to all competition, which suggests Celtic and Rangers will take turns at the league trophy this year. And didn’t we love seeing a flurry of snowflakes abound in early December?

There have been other great moments; Fleabag creator Phoebe Waller-Bridge managed to create an “iconoclastic” (The Times) image in one awards show pic; party frock, gin in one hand and cigarette in another, wearing a hugely pleased smile.

What a role model she’s become, having cast off the crushing weight of a hyphen surname and a landed gentry background. Let’s hope the cancer charities don’t give her too hard a time.

But the best performance of the year goes to the man who offered the very essence of a depressed, delusional creature disconnected from the real world, struggling to find an identity. Jeremy Corbyn’s virtuoso performance blew Joaquin Phoenix’s Joker – and the Labour Party – apart.

There has been more to celebrate, such as The Saudi Government’s decision to execute the Kashoggi murderers, even if this is rather like your granny taking a chain saw to the stove just because the Sunday roast has turned out wrong. There’s Robbie Williams’ new Christmas single, which reminds of the wonderful Andy Williams.

And there’s a delight in the confirmation Cats, the movie, has been shown to be a dog’s breakfast, given the theatre show should have been tied up in a sack and drowned at birth.

There have also been sad deaths; Kenny Lynch, David Bellamy, and Only An Excuse? Yes, it died a comedy death around five years ago. But isn’t it wonderful how BBC Scotland keep it propped up, like Anthony Perkins’ ma in Psycho?

However, let’s remember someone who really did entertain, the cleverest of writers who was Clive James; “If you don’t know the exact moment when the lights will go out, you might as well read until they do,” he said, summing up a life philosophy.

Have a happy New Year. And keep reading.