Get a grip

It's wind up time again. Wind up for me that is, because each morning on breakfast news, a considerable amount of time is given over to the forthcoming Oscars. I now know all about this worthless event. An event where so many people are so far up their own backsides. I have seen interviews with dress designers, providers of jewelry, one or two columnists from the LA Times, the guy who sweeps the carpet, chauffeurs and technicians. The only one that bore any semblance to normality was the guy that runs the alternative Oscar ceremony, "The Golden Raspberries". The BBC quite often mentions the phenomena of celebrity worship, but it is as guilty as anyone of fueling the media hype.

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So what did we do last night? We watched Oceans 12, a film with so many "stars", it begs belief. Over time we have collected many DVDs, all still in their protective cellophane wrapping, for general winter viewing. Jan, who is partial to the odd drool over Brad Pitt and George Clooney, chose the film because we both quite enjoyed Oceans 11, but it was she who, for the first 30 minutes, kept asking me, "What's going on? Do you understand the plot?" Me, full of male bravado, told her not to worry (dearest) because all will be revealed in the fullness of time. At which point I fell asleep. I was trying so hard to understand what the hell was going on and straining so hard to hear the pathetic dialogue, that my brain gave up the ghost and I sank into a coma. It was awful. (Might have to agree with you on that one - Ed.) As if I need to prove my point, I typed Alternative Oscars into Google and look what I came up with.