So 2010 has slithered past, leaving a gooey trail of memories in its wake. As befits the opening page of a new decade, it was a year with a markedly transitional feel. A tainted old era full of Gordon Brown and Big Brother came to an end, paving the way for a fresh haul of new, improved bullshit.

As the year began, no one knew who Nick Clegg was. If, in January, a researcher had stopped you in the street, shown you his picture and asked who he was, you'd probably have guessed he was a Dutch newsreader or the bloke who invented Jenga. But then, during the election campaign, a series of prime ministerial debates beamed out of every TV set, and voters sick of Brown and repulsed by Cameron found themselves wooed by this dewy-eyed third guy: a man who looked them in the eye and promised he was different. Overnight, Cleggmania had taken hold. "I agree with Nick!" screamed everyone in the country, in unison, unbidden. Yeah they did. You're just not remembering properly.

A few months later, the man's a walking hate magnet. Cleggphobia is the new order of the day. His reputation-nosedive is so spectacular it almost overshadows the sheer weirdness of the coalition government he's part of. In the immediate aftermath of the election, no one knew quite what to expect of this new management squad, although they've turned out to be old-school Thatcherite bastards, but with the addition of a few pained-looking liberal faces, forced to smile on camera like unenthusiastic members of a mad redneck cannibal family having to pose for a group portrait. For the hope-depleted population at large, it's all just one more helping of hot shit soup, which doesn't taste any better for containing a few apologetic croutons. No wonder people are so angry they're trying to smash the Treasury apart with broomsticks. What else can you do?

Raoul Moat was another who captured the imagination of the public and media alike, except he did it during his brief spell as Britain's Most Wanted. The Sun in particular outdid itself: highlights included a photo of Moat as a baby captioned "CUTE BABY … but two month old Moat clenches his fists"; speculation that steroid use may have shrivelled his penis; and a front page quote from his mother saying "YOU'D BE BETTER OFF DEAD SON". This was the equivalent of prodding an angry bear with a stick, and sure enough the following day, in a message for police, citing the sort of coverage he was getting, Moat threatened to kill a member of the public for each reported inaccuracy.

Still, if you were scared, you could always escape. Not abroad – not with volcanic ash clogging the sky – but down a virtual rabbit hole. We spent even more time gawping at screens like fixated magpies than ever before, thanks to the launch of the iPad and the iPhone 4. The former was hailed as the saviour of press journalism, although in practice most of the much-vaunted "digital publications" available turned out to be little more than snooty electronic pop-up books for shallow, moneyed wankers. As for the iPhone 4, antenna issues aside, it was uglier than its predecessor and probably the most pretentious mass-market product ever designed. A pocket handheld device with a glass front and a glass back? What's the iPhone 5 going to be made from? Meringue and balsa wood?

Technology continued to dominate entertainment, with the movie-going public facing a sustained bombardment from one cinematic 3D mess after another. The industrial distraction industry is determined to push 3D as a must-have product in the face of increasing consumer apathy and a string of obvious drawbacks: 3D TVs, for instance, come with a recommendation that the viewer refrains from drinking alcohol while watching. Still, if you tire of the Sky 3D channel's endless diet of coral reefs and football, there's always 3D videogaming. Yes, 3D TV owners can play Call Of Duty: Black Ops in full 3D. Hilariously, the first time you squint down the sights in order to shoot a baddie, you instinctively have to close one eye to aim, thereby turning it all 2D again. Still, it's probably good for your eyelid muscles.

If that wasn't enough, Microsoft also unveiled the Kinect system: a device which essentially turns your Xbox into a creepy voyeur. The Kinect can recognise your face, understand your voice, and scan your entire body to make sure you're behaving properly, a bit like a distant Victorian parent.

Technology also squats behind another big story of the year: the continual drip of classified information via Julian Assange's Wikileaks. Every day a fresh puddle of revelations, as though the CIA had started urinating secrets in its sleep. What do you expect if you leave a paper trail? If there's one lesson to take from all this, it's that it's best to never, ever write anything down. In fact, in a bid to prevent future embarrassments, from now on all overseas US diplomats will be required to communicate with Washington using sign language via Skype. Should be fun. How do you mime "David Cameron", exactly? I'd impersonate a wanking robot. As for Clegg, that's easy. Just do a U-turn and point to your arsehole.

Charlie Brooker's 2010 Wipe, Mon 27, 10pm, BBC2