:: PoMo Fucknuts ::

Some things you read beggar belief. Others just make you think that April Fools' Day has come round 4 weeks to early... According to the Beeb, the Award Awards was launched this year. The back-patting hand of smug self-congratulation has finally disappeared up its own arse. If you don't believe me, look at the "industry pundit", Awards World.

Another recent media event is the much publicised retirement of Alistair Cooke, after 48 years of Letter from America. Some have been quick to point out that the man was past his sell-by-date at 95, and his quirky, rambling monologues have begun to verge on embarrassment. Cristina Odone's article in today's Observer dwells less on this than on his alleged misrepresentation of both the US and Britain. This may be so, but saying this denies the right to journalistic subjectivity - Cooke's broadcasts were hardly presented as news. The main thing I shall miss with the the disappearance of this distinguished broadcaster from our airwaves is his singular grasp of the English language. Very few come close to his use of wide-ranging, precise vocabulary, deployed in an eloquent, unpretentious manner.

So, what's rocked my world, then? Not much, but then I've always been one for tempering the rock with a little good-natured laidback stuff. Although we didn't get beyond the first round of the Drama competition (Thursday), we won a special mention for the leading man, and a cup for Best Original Play. Steering neatly away from awards territory, I'll related Friday's facts: I went to see an excellent trilogy of plays at South London Theatre. After that I went to the pub where we put on Shakers Restirred Revived. After a few ales, a "Your Mum..." shout-off competition began with one of the regulars. Bored of the "Your Mum's so fat..." variety, I decide to use a different range of adjectives. Some of the publishable ones are as follows:
- Your Mum's so sharp she pops balloons at kids parties
- Your Mum's so bulbous she has to be tethered down like a weather balloon
- Your Mum's feet are so big that she stamps on puppies for fun.

As a schoolkid, I gave my friends' mothers a lot of stick. It's nice to see a venerable tradition revived.

Saturday afternoon was dominated by a Youth Group rehearsal, but the occasion of Taxloss' birthday gave me the opportunity to catch up with him and Hypatia (finally). And today, I celebrated the engagement of Sphynx and Trafficker (pseudonyms pilfered from Taxloss to ensure blog synergy), where I had the unutterable pleasure of Taxloss' company for the second day in a row. Hypatia, meanwhile, lay at home incapacitated from the previous night's excesses. Apparently she was unable even to watch the 'Enders omnibus...