There's no business like showbusiness!

Thank heavens the awards season has ground to a halt for another year.

Anorexic waifs stagger down slick, wet red carpets, decked in Dior and rented diamonds. They smile sickeningly at the ridiculously effusive press, showing off perfect sets of glow-in-the dark bleached teeth. It gets worse when they start to burble disingenuous prattle about how 'honoured' they are to be nominated for this year's what's-a ma thing. Fair enough, this time of year it must be hard to work out what Award Ceremony you are at. It seems they have a 'gong' these days for pretty much everything... 'The award for best dressed pooch goes to….' You get my drift! At this time of year the British public have to suffer an incessant round of sickening displays of celebrity back-slapping.

The winner's speeches themselves transport me straight to the third circle of hell. At the Bafta's they turn on the waterworks, thanking everyone from 'God' to their best friend at nursery who taught them the importance of loyalty and good potty training. Who even decides who wins what at these ghastly ordeals? The Bafta’s are voted for by 4,000 crusty middle class representatives of the British Public who cling on to the golden years of the good ole' BBC. Even more irritatingly there's the Best Film and the Best British Film award, as if we struggling Brits have to be lent a hand by the inclusion of a category we know we can win. It makes me smirk when the American celebs grace us with their presence. Bronzed bodies look thin and wasted as they brave our February weather. Up go the umbrellas as unnecessary gowns get dragged through freezing, murky puddles in Leicester Square. At least Stephen Fry still hosts the do, perhaps the one saving grace for this night of horrors.

At the Brits, "crazy" rock 'n' roll youngsters use the winners' podium for amateur politics and Blair bashing. I say leave the politics to the pros, boys and girls. The Brits are unbelievably sterile. Past unseemly behaviour saw an enforced alcohol ban back in 2003, swiftly lifted when it emerged that sober ceremonies are even duller. This year was the 25th Brits, and perhaps the blandest of them all. McFly skipped up to collect their best pop act award – didn’t they do well! But should these kiddies be allowed out on a school night at an all-drinking, all hip-happening awards bash? Joss Stone scooped her fair share. This frightfully wholesome, white, blonde-haired specimen, with a chintzy posh English accent, and Devon countryside upbringing, picked up the uh… "Urban" music award over poor old jilted Jamelia. And yes, when Robbie's 'Angels' won the best song of the last 25 years I lost the will to live.

Every year Brit organisers drivel on about a fantastically wonderful new emerging artist only for them to vanish without a trace. Can you honestly remember who won last year? I am more likely to remember what colour my toothbrush was this time last year than who picked up what at the Brits.

How refreshing when comedian, Chris Rock, pandered to a prejudice widely held but seldom voiced when he branded the Oscars (which he's just presented) as 'idiotic'. Perhaps I would have put it more delicately but this young man certainly shares my sentiments. So, did I tune into the Brits and the Baftas? Nope, as I recall I had to arrange my DVDs and CDs into alphabetical order and get an early night.

London makes a meal of it

New York foodies' bible ‘Gourmet’ has just pronounced London the best place in the world to eat. The news that London is blessed with an astonishing variety of delicious, affordable eateries and world class kitchens was no surprise to us at LondonTown.com, but we would have liked to see the reaction over in Paris!

Two pints of theatre and a packet of art

An Italian survey this week produced the surprising assertion that Britons are more cultured than their rivals on the continent. We apparently attend more films, plays, galleries and libraries than almost anyone in Europe. We even manage to visit more ruins and monuments than the Italians. Doubts were cast over the survey when it asserted that 47% of us use a library. Clearly, not true.

Penny Chews

Next month sees proposals put before parliament to add 1p to the price of chewing gum in order to cover the cost of cleaning it up. 60% of Londoners chew gum regularly and it all ends up underfoot, where it takes 6 years to biodegrade. I say, make the cud-chewers pay!

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