Hello and welcome to the inaugural Bert Awards, during which I will be making a fist of this year’s Brit Awards highlights.
Where else on primetime TV do you get to see a man in his thirties leaning into the face of an uncomfortable-looking 16-year old boy to say “You smell amazing! How old are you? No really, how old are you??” But the pheromonal appeal of Justin Bieber reduced James Corden to just such a state. Amazing.
Plan B put a good effort in, with the prison-yard violence and the setting people on fire and everything, but the award has to go to Take That, whose choreographed kettling was particularly joyful.
I’m not sure what had gotten into Cheryl Cole before she lurched on to present the Best International Female award. Half a box of Nytol, by the sounds of it. Dull, limp and lifeless.
Has anyone ever turned up to present an award with as thunderous-faced a glare as Will “I’m making a documentary about Coriolanus you know” Young did? Was it because he’d been paired with Avril Lavigne? Was it all beneath him? Bad show.
All night we were shouting at the telly: ‘When’s the big duet? Who will it be?’ Because even though these unlikely popstar pairings are the best part of the event, one big collaboration per year is the best you can hope for these days.
And what a disappointment. I love Cee Lo, but hate watered-down versions of overplayed songs. Especially one he’s already done with a ‘surprise guest’ a few days ago (at the Grammys, with Gwyneth Paltrow). And who was it who came on to play Mika to his Beth Ditto? Just Paloma “Plan B’s mum” Faith.
If it had been left up to me, the big finish would have been Corinne Bailey Rae collaborating with Rastamouse. She would have sung with all the sadness of every orphan in the Mouseland orphanage, and he would have made a bad ting good. But this is why I am not, yet, in charge of the Brits.