Last night, while America was proving just how much the world has moved on, I was at an industry awards ceremony.
It's an occasion that celebrates the best in magazines, but what it actually is is a bunch of editors who consider themselves to be a cut above passing judgement on magazines they think are posh, thereby making it look good for them. The day they actually reward anything populist - other than Heat or Closer, obviously, will be the day Gary Wilmot becomes prime minister.
That aside, the event was hosted by Ronnie Corbett. Now, I've never seen Ronnie C in the flesh, so I was hoping for a treat. Bad news. He was awful. Some shockingly unfunny jokes, not helped, it must be said, by the sound system, but jokes I've heard many times before. The usual height gags, etc. He got few laughs, did the old 'is this thing on?' fallback, but still couldn't really cut it. He looked flustered and nervous too, which didn't help.
But it's a tough room. The host has to work quite hard. Piers Morgan discovered this when, on his second year of doing it, he practically got booed off when he started telling the same stories again ("I knew Diana well", etc.). But it's a very lacklustre ceremony done, quite clearly, on a shoestring. The food was paltry, the decoration minimal. The ceremony is rushed and confusing and, frankly, cliquey. Not even a guest appearance by Brucie could save it. He was clearly there to support Ronnie and to mark 25 years since these particular awards were created, when he was on the first judging panel along with Prince Michael of Kent and Katie Boyle (those were the days, eh?). But even together they weren't any good. Note to self: do not book for forthcoming awards ceremony.
So no wins over here, not even in the raffle, which frankly seems like one big fix too. You really had to be there.
On a lighter note, I went to a really nice Japanese restaurant yesterday lunchtime, and who should be on the next table, but Raymond Blanc. Little, but that nose is unmistakable. He loved the food - he was doing all those dramatic, exaggerated tasting gestures he does, and he went to congratulate the chef. He ate enough too. The food was fantastic. I recommend Roka in Charlotte Street if you've not been already.
So today's a new day. And there's always next year. But somehow I doubt it. Am I bitter?
Yes.
