Gervais - The Board Game

You rightfully sneer at those humour-free people who worship tiresome comedy catchphrases such as "Am I bovvered?" and "I'm a laydee!". Move forward one space.

Wasn't that you reprising the David Brent dance at Live8? Move back two spaces.

You get another universally-mocked faded celebrity on your show and write abusive lines for them to say, which is getting just as tiresome as the bunch of cliched catchphrases you targetted earlier. Move back five spaces.

You find one of Bernard Manning's old joke books in a skip behind the Embassy Club in Manchester. Move forward six spaces but miss your next turn while you think of ways to use the jokes in your next show in an 'ironic' context.

Do Not Adjust Your Set, It's Dubya

US broadcaster CNN has apologised after an speech by George W Bush was accidentally broadcast over the top of an anchorwoman's chat with a colleague.

The conversation between Kyra Phillips and another woman would have been clearly heard, but the network accidently aired live footage of Mr Bush talking to New Orleans.

During the chat, President Bush feigned concern for non-white people, and ignored the issue of his administrations' failure on environmental control.

CNN apologised to viewers and Ms Phillips, citing "audio difficulties".

The programme was broadcasting about 90 seconds of the anchorwoman's conversation during what has been described as a bathroom or hair and make-up break, but viewers also heard Mr Bush's speech live from New Orleans.

The gaffe happened when an outside broadcast team thought it apt to air the views of the neanderthal cretin, spewing false platitudes in the very city he failed to protect. This action was akin to handing round a West Midlands Police Force Benevolent Fund tin at the release party for the Birmingham Six.

CNN issued a statement apologising for the error. "We apologise to our viewers for the president making the disruption."

"Look, I put a pit bull terrier next to a baby and took a photo!"

MySpace is commonly abused by the hard-of-thinking for many ill-advised agendas. Like that crap folk singer who sings about the previously unknown concept of flower-donning punk rockers (surely the most lyrically incorrect hit since Alanis Morrisette's 'Ironic', and similarly annoying). Oh, and missing persons alerts, virus warnings, etc, which nobody ever seems to check to see if they're genuine. The potentials for a hoax are enormous.

If that weren't bad enough, there's the ever-increasing presence of "this MySpace user was killed a few days ago" messages, which sparked off from a genuine incident, although, to be honest, why not just leave the grieving to friends and families of the bereaved?

Today I have witnessed what is quite possibly the most retarded political petition ever.

Unknown to me, it appears that a mayor in California wants to pass a law that would require all pit-bull terrier dogs to be put down. Lovely stuff. I obviously don't live in California, and it'll never affect me, so I'd love to sign a petition in favour of ridding the world of these nuisance animals.

Unfortunately, the message came to me via a bulletin in which we were asked to pledge support AGAINST this new law. Which is never going to get my support, I'm a cat person. You don't get cats humping your leg, they don't chew the furniture, and they don't constantly bug you. Oh, and they know where to defecate. Canines always seem to be missing a few brain cells, social skills and a hygiene element.

Now, some schmuck has set up a website trying to gain sympathy for their luvvly cuddly ickle cootsy wootsy killer dogs' plight. The website - www.sorryagain.com - invites owners of dangerous dogs to send in photos of their pet, with the stipulation that there should be a caption mentioning the word "SORRY", as if the dog is apologising for the reputation it has.

The bulletin came to me with various images from the site, clearly made by people with the creative skills of a wet moth. I don't condone computer viruses normally, but if there was one to wipe out MS Paint on people's PCs, it'd get my support.

Tugging at the heart-strings, plenty of these photos showed treasured pets positioned conveniently next to the owners, and in some cases, small children and babies. Yes, great idea guys, get a potentially lethal animal and stick it next to a baby.

Still going for your hearts, the campaign site photos usually have the dog in a calm sedate pose, and gaining bonus points for being wide-eyed like a cutesy wutesy Japanese cartoon character. Aw! It's a sweet ickle pit bull! It means no-one any harm!

This is the kind of schmaltzy crud I'm on about...

I don't know about you, but anyone who places a deadly animal next to a baby is asking to be dressed in the next season's Strait-jacket Collection by Westwood.

Now, don't get me wrong. Not all pit-bull terriers are vicious cold-hearted killers. In fact, I work in an office with one that often wonders in, and it's really gentle, it's like a cat, only with very poor hygiene and an attention seeking complex.

Would I want to see them all destroyed? Not quite. I do have to question the sanity of whoever breeds or buys them, as, objectively, these are potentially killer animals - what is the point of owning one? I think it's small penis syndrome, like gun-owning nutters. You don't need it, but it makes you look hard! Yeah! Isn't that cool?

As I speak, the poor ickle doggy-woggy bulletin is winging round MySpace, being forwarded on by very naive folks. (I must say goodbye to the two people who have deleted me from their friends list due to objecting to babies being placed next to killer dogs, how nasty of me.)

The website continues to invite pit-bull-related pictures for display on their site.

Well, I do have a picture for their campaign and anybody who agrees with it. Just two seconds in Google, a hit of my PrtScrn button, and I have this...

Yep, just reinforcing the point that these dogs aren't that innocent at all. I do speak from experience - a schoolfriend was scarred for life across his body after his dog turned on him.

"Oh, but he must have been taunting him, pit-bulls do that when under attack" is a common excuse used by the defenders of dangerous dogs, which I've seen on web forums where the proposed California law is under fire. Well, in this case, no. What brought it on was hot weather. Just that, nothing else. Think about that if you're currently setting up your Kodak to get a nice piccy of Tyson sitting next to Junior.

Now, where does this madness end? What is the point in owning any breed of dangerous dog? They don't make you tough. They are tough, not the owner. Why not just get a normal dog? Far more photogenic, and the baby-savaging rates are quite low.

Better still, get a cat. Cats are the dogs bollocks, if you excuse the irony.

Hang on, I feel a change of heart. I'm thinking of starting a new crusade, with the aim to be even more absurd and moronic than sorryagain.com. Are you ready for this?

savemyhungrytiger.com

I'm gonna buy me a tiger, starve it for three days, and let it out in the streets for walkies. When the authorities turn up to destroy it, I'll be on the internet as quick as a flash, (because online petitions are highly respected and always work) uploading photos of my tiger sitting next to a two year old toddler.

Maybe I should take the photos seperately, and Photoshop them together later. He's starting to lick his lips...

Politician found to be incompetant shocker!

Isn't it amusing to hear a detestable loathsome cretin act all pious and criticise us all, only for them to have some disgusting secret which will eventually be made public. I have come across such people in my life, but while there's no national recognition for the shameful oafs I've embarrassed (and am about to embarrass soon), we'll have to settle for Charles Clarke.

Charles Clarke is a member of the Labour Party, which makes him a full-time professional tosser. In fact, he's a cabinet minister, so a very high-ranking tosser indeed. Come to think of it, he's the chappy pressing for ID cards to be made compulsory for us Brits, because of the "war on terrrrrrism" invented by George Walker Bush, president of the 'Land Of The Free' (where they execute the mentally ill, and homosexuality is still outlawed in four states).

Despite the fact that 9/11 occurred in an ID-card-filled country, and that Spain had ID cards well before the Madrid train bombing took place, Mr Clarke still thinks they are useful devices. Well, maybe they would be if it weren't for the fact that they'll be created with information from our existing databases, already filled with bogus entries, and are hardly like to deter any terrorist.

PC: "Excuse me, what are you doing with that rucksack?"

Terrorist: "You filthy pig-dog westerner, I am going to blow up a bomb in Trafalgar Square, killing loads of non-believers, their blood will fuel our cause, Allah be praised!"

PC: "Er, do you have an ID card on you?"

Terrorist: "Er, come to think of it, no."

PC: "Right, go home son."

Terrorist: "Okay. Sorry to have bothered you."

Fittingly, parts of our media have exposed the folly of ID cards, and also the rather disgusting bully-boy actions of the US administration over their "mission of peace" (er, an illegal military invasion) to two third-world countries (verdict: not a lot of peace going on there at the moment, must try harder, 'World Superpower').

Mr Clarke, being a world class tosser doesn't like this one bit. Here's what he said last week on the media: "As these descriptions and language are used, the truth just flies out of the window, as does any adherence to professional journalistic standards or any requirement to examine the facts and check them with rigour ... "

Well, well, I guess we must get on fact-checking and ensuring jobs are carried out with the utmost professionalism then.

With that out of the way, I'll end this entry with an update from BBC News.

The home secretary says he "regrets" that 1,023 foreign prisoners have been allowed to walk free when they were meant to be considered for deportation.

They include three murderers and nine rapists, Home Office figures show.

Charles Clarke said he could not say "hand on heart" that they would all be tracked down but said he did not think it was a "resigning matter".

Stuck between soft rock and a hard choice

"It's just Spinal Tap isn't it? It's just a lark. I'm not sure they think so, though. I think they take it seriously. They made a little splash in the US but, man I don't get it at all."

This was a comment made against novelty joke rock band The Darkness. Whilst I'm all for mocking the pretensions of Justin Hawkins, there is one problem with the above quote. It's made by Jon Bon Jovi. A hairspray queen who has made a career out of singing the same song for two decades, and it's not even a good song.

I'm still baffled at the decision to degrade Spinal Tap too. As if Bon Jovi are above that! Face it, they're a boy band that happen to hold guitars, and make 'music' for housewives.

Foxtrot, Oscars

I continue spewing my thoughts onto the interweb with a vague attempt at being topical, because it sure beats dullard blogs that tell you "I had a cheese sandwich for lunch at work today".

UN estimates show how catastrophic the proportion of seriously uninteresting blogs are. 31ill be on the subject of having a bad day at work. 12ill inform you of the colour the author is painting their room. 9ill be a report of meeting a famous celebrity, but it'll turn out to be an apocryphal account from a friend of a friend who read it on Popbitch anyway.

Right, we've just had the Oscars, have we not, and a bunch of media luvvies are in a tis over some gay cowboy movie that triumphed at Sundance, failing to do well at the Oscars. This despite the fact that many years ago, South Park well and truly ripped the piss out of Sundance because every movie in it was about gay cowboys. Hey, Hollywood, get some original ideas.

And with that, here is another buckletload of my opinion, that relates to the film industry. The ten most important films of all time. Not necessarily the best, or technically outstanding. Just ones that are significant to me. And what matters to me, will matter to you. Because I say so.

10) DIGBY, THE BIGGEST DOG IN THE WORLD
Was this really on at the cinemas? A wacky Jim Dale 'romp' which sees the family pet, well, the title gives it away, doesn't it? Could be filling the gaps in any bank holiday schedule back in the days when ITV was a patchwork of wildly varying companies. Anglia would stick this on one week, and you would find it on the next, if you could pick up Central (or "ATV" as we say in the old money).

9) WATERSHIP DOWN
Children's cartoons are there to entertain us with falling anvils and acme bird seed, are they not? Well, this is a strange tale of some rabbits on a farm. For a children's feature, it took the genuinely eerie step of highlighting death. Depicted by mangy rabbit corpses. And a dark disembodied scarlet-eyed rabbit head 'ghost'. If that wasn't frightening enough, you had to contend with Simon and Garfunkel providing the sound track.

8) CARRY ON ABROAD
An introduction to holidaying stereotypes via this almost satirical look at the 70s boom in Spanish package holidays. Rather out of form for Carry On to have Charles Hawtry NOT playing the ambiguously gay character, and so it languishes at this lowly spot in the chart. Would have been further down still, if it were not for Peter Butterworth's comedy-foreigner character calling Stuart Farquar (Kenneth Williams) "Mr Farty-Arse".

7) BUGSY MALONE
I despise musicals. They're all crap. Except for three of them. This one decided to go with an all-child cast, set in the context of America's prohibition era of the 1920s. The really surreal twist is that all the gangsters use gunge and cream pies, which are fatal to anyone on the receiving end. A good job that universe didn't have Tiswas then, that'd be a live weekly massacre broadcast to the nation. Still, you have to admire the reasoning - you can't have real blood and gore mixed with children. Bonnie Langford was in this. Now that she's old enough, I'll get my gun.

6) GHOSTBUSTERS
"But you can't see that, it'll scare you", said my ill-informed mum in 1984, not realising that 1) this is a comedy and 2) any idea of ghosts 'succeeding' is obviously quashed by the film's title. About eight years later, I did get to see, as afternoon filler on the telly. I liked it. I bought the DVD. I even bought the DVD to the sequel. Oh dear.

5) GREASE
The only other musical in this list. "But Pete", I hear my audience of one reader cry, "you said you liked three musicals". Well, yes. The remaining one is the Rocky Horror Picture Show, and that appears to be set-up to parody 50s horror b-movies. Thing is, that's a subject that has been parodied many many times since. By the time I actually got round to watching Rocky Horror, I couldn't see what the fuss was about. Hence it doesn't appear in this top tne. Richard O'Brien's good though, and Meatloaf gets killed, so those are two positive factors about the film. The crossdressing/lingerie idea is a bit fun, but I suspect it's the major thing that this film has a cult following - lots of repressed folk wanting to put on fishnets. That's wrong, because 1) fishnets are damned itchy and 2) I have been associating fishnets, and indeed, suspender belts, with speeded-up chase sequences from Benny Hill. Hence not even the hottest FHM model will do anything for me when they're in such items. Oh yes, back to Grease - damned catchy tunes and a plotline that eight-year-old me could follow. Just. American Graffiti is better though.

4) CARRY ON CAMPING
Best Carry On film ever. It's Charles Hawtry announcing his name as "Muggins, Charles Muggins". The unrivalled double-act of Sid James and Bernard Bresslaw as the sleaze-merchant and accident-prone hanger-on. Their prudish girlfriends. Peter Butterworth saying "paahnd". I won't mention THAT bit with Barbara Windsor, it's overrated.

3) MONTY PYTHON'S QUEST FOR THE HOLY GRAIL
"How do you know he's a king then?"
"He's not covered in shit"

2) THREADS
Stick yer Exorcist, yer Omen, yer Amityville, yer Friday the 13th, yer Evil Dead... this is genuinely the most scariest film ever, because of the possibility of it being real. It's a BBC-funded project, that followed the realistic aftermath had a nuclear bomb got dropped on Sheffield in the mid-80s. Those were the days, with a crazy extreme-right-wing American president who believed in military might no matter how many innocent people could be in the firing line. Thank goodness things aren't like that any more...

1) MONTY PYTHON'S LIFE OF BRIAN
"Python is Satan" said one placard waved by a handful of Christian fundamentalists who wanted this film banned, not realising that it actually says nothing against Jesus Christ or Christianity, but in fact pokes fun at followers of religion who get it wrong. As well as pissing off people who worry about coveting their neighbour's oxon (never bothered me, my neighbour's got a bloody terrific ox, and I'm not ashamed to admit that), this is the only comedy film where every gag generates a belly-laugh. Not even Airplane gets me laughing as much as this film. The timing is flawless, the satire is heavy while being incredibily subtle, and it's thankfully low on catchphrase-based humour, so because it doesn't generate "Ni! Ni! Ni!" from pub bores when you mention it, this is why it marginally beats '....Holy Grail'.

And none of these films won an Oscar. Titanic and Gladiator did.

Foxtrot Oscars.

Smack My Brits Up

Like a geography teacher dancing at a sixth form disco, there's nothing as amusing as someone terminally uncool trying their damnedest to be hip. Here in the UK, we have a national institution dedicated to such an endeavour. It's called the Brit Awards, organised by the BPI. The mere handful of people over the age of 12 who do sit up and value this ceremony of giving meaningless tokens to meaningless acts confirm that Darwin's theory remains unproven.

In any case, I should be getting a bit of flak, because it's been over a week since the Brit Awards occurred. A whole seven days! That's the average career-span of a typical boy band these days. Sorry for being late with this one.

Every year, the record market shrinks ever more, thanks to people within the BPI insisting on daft chart regulation. We used to get four tracks on a CD single, but in the late 90s, the industry kow-towed to demands by manufactured pop acts into setting the maximum amount of tracks to three. And these pillocks wonder why they're not selling records any more.

Let's focus on one BPI member - former WEA chief John Reid, who once signed someone to a 500,000 five-album deal, stating "he is very talented singer and fans will buy his records because of that".

That 'singer' was Craig Phillips, a member of the public who won a reality show. He did have a single out, it flopped. Not really surprising, as Craig admitted to the press "I've never sung in the bath, let alone a recording studio".

Still, in 2002, the BPI saw fit to elect Mr Reid to their council. So now have a little insight into who actually votes for these Brit Awards. I'm not sure what substance was in the coffee that night at the BPI's AGM, but perhaps the management were having a laugh in deciding to have this failure of a man on board. He could be there for comic relief, alongside that Decca official who famously said "four-piece guitar bands are out, Mr Epstein".

You only need to see the headless-chicken-like panic at the way the recording industries are worried about MP3s. These emporers lauded it about with their new clothes for ages, and the public took the right stance by telling them where to stick their overpriced CDs. As this battle raged on, I recall one Sony executive in a newspaper making a statement as to why record labels were necessary. "We have invested in talent," said this exec, "such as Big Brothas". If you're saying "who?", don't worry. Like the failure of Craig Phillips to be the next, well, anything, the phrase 'Big Brother' does not tie in with music.

Lest we forget, let's take a look at some of the past winners of Brit Awards. These are all genuine, and more's the pity...

1987
British Group: Five Star
Around this time, the band were on a phone-in on children's Saturday morning show Going Live, where one child caller asked the band "Why are you so fucking crap?". Clearly a rhetorical question.

1988
British Single: Rick Astley "Never Gonna Give You Up"
"Can't sing, can't play, can't dance... you'll go far!" went the pseudo-witty Kit-Kit TV commercial of the time. What they should have said was "can't sing, can't play, can't dance, you're Rick Astley, that dignity-divorced arse-monkey".

British Producer: Stock/Aitken/Waterman
"Oh, we hated them at the time, but now it's all so good" say so many 'post-ironic' pundits. No. No, no, no. They were shit then. They are shit now. They will always be shit. Apply this to the Take That reunion, the Spice Girls, Vanilla Ice, etc. Cheese has a sell-by date for a reason.

British Breakthrough Act: Wet Wet Wet
People will argue about musical tastes 'til the end of time, the fools, not realising that my taste remains the best on the planet. Whilst indie kids will moan at R&B/urban (oblivious to the excellent output from Outkast, Beyonce, Blackstreet, Aaliyah, etc), and chavs will sneer at rock/metal/punk (ignorant to the passionate rage of The Clash, Deftones, Dead Kennedys, Sex Pistols, etc), there is one musical genre that is total excrement through and through. That is LOVE SONGS. Crooners who sing about love - why? They aren't singing that because they are in love, they're doing it for the money. Look at the most prolific of them - Phil Collins and Chris De Burgh. Both cheated on their wives. Proof that romantic music has about as much sincerity as day-old plastic bucket of petrol garage forecourt flowers. I'm supposed to be focussing on Wet Wet Wet here, and I am unaware of any polygamous goings on from their chief warbler Marti Pellow. But then, that's not surprising, it is Marti Pellow after all.

1989
British Male Solo Artist: Phil Collins
Around the time he had that hit 'Another Day In Paradise' that purported to be about the suffering of Britain's homeless. That juxtapositioned itself well with Phil's public adoration of the then Conservative government.

British Breakthrough Act: Bros
Picking on Bros would be like punching a baby. Well, twin babies at least. Clad in denim. With Grolsch bottle tops on their trainers. And singing "Oooh-yeah" in an attempting-to-be-macho-but-coming-out-really-camp voice that has only been topped by Will Young. Sod it, let's roll up the sleeves.

1991
International Breakthrough Act: MC Hammer
The 20th Century's answer to Nelly.

1993
British Breakthrough Act: Tasmin Archer
Known only for two things. 1) The chart hit 'Sleeping Satellite'. 2) Being a target of a surreal 'celebrity badger' running gag by Harry Hill. I have made that list in reverse order.

1995
International Breakthrough Act: Lisa Loeb
An old joke: "How do you confuse an idiot? Fish!". The gag achieves its aims to most people, I guess, but if you do have a fetish for seeing people confused, simply ask them the title of Lisa Loeb's second chart hit.

British Dance Act: M People
The post-rave fallout, the rise of house superclubs, the DJ culture, the Prodigy winning over rock-orientated festivals with a hybrid of critically acclaimed sound, The Chemical Brothers' first steps towards a decade of chart limelight, the seeds of Big Beat being sown, the explosion of Ibiza, yes, that was Britain's globally-important dance music scene in 1995. So let's give the award to a hotel cabaret act with a female singer who sounds like a man with his testicles in a vice.

British Breakthrough Act: Oasis
I'm not knocking Oasis here, I raise this point to highlight the ineptitude of the Brit awards - that typical policy they have of placing votes against bands already made very popular in the past 12 months. The surefire bet, all done at the expense of being a exponent of risk-taking cutting-edge talent. Arctic Monkeys won an award this year, great band, but you know the Brit committee just looked at their headlines rather than listen to their album. The Brits - voted for by Heat magazine. Probably.

1997
International Breakthrough Act: Robert Miles
A man who created a plinky-plonky piano house-lite annoyance, called it music, and got a hit with it. He then did this again, about two or three times with the notes slightly rearranged.

British Female Solo Artist: Gabrielle
It's 1997. I am Princess Diana, and Gabrielle is a Paris underpass pillar. Resultant metaphor: Gabrielle goes right through me.

1998
British Female Solo Artist: Shola Ama
Quirky fact! Peter Townshend and Roger Daltry really won this Best Female Solo Artist award. Well, it seemed like it to me, because I'm pretty damned certain that as this no-mark Shola Ama walked towards the stage, the audience were shouting "WHO!?".

1999
Freddie Mercury Award: Jubilee 2000
An award not seen since, er, 1999. And in case you're wondering, "Jubilee 2000" was a campaign to get big western nations to cancel the debt of third world nations. I saw Geldof taking notes. Meanwhile, it's 2006. Britain gets 1.1billion a year from poor nations that owe money to it.

British Female Solo Artist: Des'ree
"Life! Oh, life! Doo-do-doo!" screeched soul harpy Des'ree. Ironic really, hearing her using the word "life" so many times instigated a sucidal tendencies.

British Male Solo Artist: Rodney Williams
Where the emporer picked up his new clothes...

2000
Outstanding Contribution: Spice Girls
Do I even have to add a comment to this?

International Female: Macy Gray
Thankfully, ths one's fallen off the radar. Seems like the chart-buying public got tired of this professional Marge Simpson impersonator.

Pop Act: Five
Granted, pop music in the noughties is going to carry more excrement than a nursing-home duvet, and I suppose I shouldn't be picking on it that much. I'd try to say something nice about Britain's premier 'unconvincing-thug' boy band Five, but all I can come up with is that they are not Daphne and Celeste.

British Album: Travis "The Man Who"
Twelve years after winning their first Brit, too! A canny idea for Marti and the boys to rename their band to Travis, and continue putting out the same bland monotonous dirges. Record shops mistakenly placed this stuff in the "indie" section. Yes, what cutting edge stuff we have here. A song about a piece of wood, well done guys. And then using the word "turn" many many times in place of meaningful lyrics, and titling the resulting blandfest with that word. A feat they repeated in 2001 with "Sing". Let's not forget how this antithesis-to-all-that-is-Clash made their mark either, with their anthem that goes "Why does it always rain on me, is it because I lied when I was 17?", which completely ignores the issues of atmospheric fronts and the water cycle, much like the band have ignored the issues of soul, punk rock, energy-injected tunes and stabbing Embrace in their faces instead of emulating them.

2001
British Female Solo Artist: Sonique
Songs can be like buses. Take the justifiably-forgotten Sonique. She waited ages for a hit, got three at once. And just like buses, her hits didn't sound at all pleasant, were overpriced, and regularly took shortcuts to complete the stop quota at Willesden Green. Er, scrub that last one.

British Breakthrough Act: A1
Jesus weeping on a bicycle! They've applied the term "breakthrough" to a boy band that impersonate a third rate Take That tribute band, minus Rodney, Mark, Howard and Jason.

2002
British Female Solo Artist: Dido
This 'singer' has a relative in Faithless, the band that produced Insomnia. Dido herself takes a contrary role to that. Within a mere minute of hearing her dull-as-porridge ballads, Insomnia is completely cured.

2003
British Urban Act: Ms Dynamite
Ah, the anti-war celebrity who recently started a fight. It's no surprise that this person is billed as a cutting-edge passionate and talented singer, yet turns out not to be so. Dynamite blows.

2004
British Urban Act: Lemar
It is decreed by the British music industry that some runner-up of a reality TV show is better than the Streets. Given what I said above about one of the judges having been responsible for giving a Big Brother winner a 500,000 five-album deal, I was expecting Nadia's single to elevate him/her to Outstanding Contribution To Music status. That didn't happen, but I did get told that 'I'm A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here' winner Kerry Katona once had a record deal for some reason or other, singing with two other reality TV show contestants.

2005
British Breakthrough Act: Keane
Did these Coldplay-wannabes ever turn up to pick up their award? It'd be pushing it gone 8pm, well past their bedtime.

BRITs25 - The Best Song Award: Rodney Williams - "Angels"
An award dedicated to the past 25 years of British music, with the obvious intent in avoiding the cliche of Bohemian Rhapsody or Imagine when it comes to asking the public what their favourite song is. And the British public need taking out with a crossbow, for choosing this overrated dirge as the best thing from two and a half decades of music! It was up against Joy Division's ':Love Will Tear Us Apart' and Kate Bush's 'Wuthering Heights'! Where's your taste, UK? This slushy ballad has as much genuine sentiment as an Asda 8p Valentine's card. One that's fallen from the shelf, too. With several footprints on it. Handed to your loved one in November. Christ, it's not even Rodney's best song! (Not that picking his best song would be a pleasant task - it's like having a beauty contest on a leper colony.)

British Single: Will Young "Your Game"
Will has fought hard for his success in the charts, scraping his way to the top by only having the support of a prime-time television series and a multi-millionaire record chief.

At the first awards, things were very interesting. The Beatles' Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band was awarded best British Album, and the Fab Four themselves (John, George, Ringo and the other one) won best British Group. Only one problem, this was the year 1977, a full decade after the album was released, and quite a while after the Beatles had split up. Fitting in with this glorious inconstistency was Queen winning best British single for their 1975 hit Bohemian Rhapsody.

The final item I must note from that very first awards ceremony, is that Richard Burton won something for best "non-musical record". I'm surprised they haven't brought this back for this year. James Blunt gets my vote for that.

I can avert the national terrorist threat.

The recent pictures of British soldiers abusing Iraqi prisoners have risen tensions in the Gulf, already a hotbed of unrest that has had its fires stoked in recent times by the crisis over the Danish newspaper cartoons.

As such, we are being warned to be on our guard against Islamic militants who are prepared to strike the UK as revenge for the West's invasion and exploitation of the Middle East.

I have a perfect solution that will appease the both the anger-fuelled Muslims and the open-minded westerner. We have to accept that the culture in the Gulf is one of 'an eye for an eye'. With that in mind, I have constructed this flawless proposal.

We, the British people, are saddened that some of our armed servicemen have abused their role. We offer compensation by handing over a highly prolific former soldier who has served in the British Army.

This man is James Blunt, who, for some reason, has shifted more albums than anyone else last year. Quite tragic really. I am willing for James Blunt to be handed over to anyone in the Middle East, even the most extreme anti-western groups (especially them), and they can do what they like with him. I recommend slow torture, preferably involving sulphuric acid and pliers.

"But Peter", I hear you cry, "this is irrational and you can't seriously propose that". You'd be right. We can't just jet that caterwauling fop off to the Gulf for an imminent (and welcome) death. More than one perpetrator was involved in the abuse scandal, and so, I nominate more of Blunt's ilk - like Daniel Powter, that bloke from Kubb, and all the other lamentable Tesco Value Chris Martins that the tone-deaf record industry are signing up even though the sound of a bedwetting school-bully-target warbling the word 'beautiful' every other second is something that has the shelf-life of milk.

Al-Jazeera can charge sky-high pay-per-view fees for Blunt's execution. I'd personally like to sign up to buy the DVD rights. On second thoughts, there'd be a queue so long that you'd need a full tank of petrol to reach the end of it.

A multi-millionaire makes a romantic gesture to me.

This morning, I saw a red envelope on the doormat, addressed to me. "Ah," thought I. "How nice, the missus has got me a Valentine's card already", at exactly the same time a burden of guilt dropped on me as I realised I've done precisely nothing in gearing up for this year's annual Reason For Florists To Get The Rounds In.

Thing is, the envelope's writing was not that of my girlfriend's. What could it be? Someone playing a cruel hoax to make it look like I'm cheating on her? Someone doing a wind-up on me? Or even possibly a real actual Valentine from someone who doesn't know I'm attached?

Well, there was a real proper Valentine's card inside. It was from a businessman called Rupert. Now, I'm not that way inclined, but this bloke I do know about, and he is loaded. Was this a strange Indecent Proposal? Hey, I could do with the money. I would sleep with a guy for a few million pounds, oh yes. (I'd have to make sure the money is on the table first, I'm not falling for that trick again.)

Sadly, he wasn't offering his wealth of riches to me, but a different service. That of his satellite television business. It was actually an advertising shot from Sky. I've led quite a riddle here, with "Rupert" being that famous antipodeon billionaire with a huge stake in BSkyB.

No point taking up such an offer of romance from Mr Murdoch even if it did exist, because with the above-inflation price increases I had to accept in Sky's contract last year, I feel that Rupert has already screwed me.

As for the envelope, that was printed in a handwriting-like font, and has probably gone out to the seven million other Sky susbcribers out there.

Rupert, you're such a slut...

In the beginning, there was nothing.

Blogs, eh? 99% of the bloody things appear to be social dullards talking about what they're going to have for dessert, and how their pet dog is recovering from an illness.

Well, none of that here, at least I hope not. I lead an ultimately boring life, peppered with the odd bit of fame when I go out and do things in the meeja industry. So, basically, I sit at home and watch DVDs, surf the interweb, but just occasionally have to speak to a celeb or someone vaguely celeb-like in the course of my travels.

I pretty much despise all blogs. They clutter up the internet with tales of nothingness, and opinions that really don't matter at all. Which is why I won't post as frequently as the average blogger. People should be banned from posting data to the internet, unless it's interesting. And who would be the judge of that? Well, me of course.

Everybody's entitled to my opinion.