Brit Awards 2010: An unbearably tame, suburban event, overloaded by chubby executives playing air guitar and ruffling their receding hairlines

By Quentin Letts

Tumbleweed: Jonathan Ross's jokes were met with silence after he rushed on stage to present a prize


Just two F words, one projectile into the crowd, and a bloke who took a purler when he ran on the stage to collect his prize.

Otherwise, last night's Brit awards were an unexpectedly middle-aged event. Dare
one even use the word 'passé'?

The thing was about as cutting edge as a British Airways in-flight dinner knife. Plasticated, blunt and possibly bent.

The Spice Girls turned up - two of them, anyway. The others perhaps had a prior engagement, such as doing their toenails at home.

We heard from Robbie Williams, who started in showbiz roughly when the Sinclair C5 was being unveiled.

Good old Dame Shirley Bassey presented a prize, as did some Radio Two disc jockey, camp as Millett's tent shop. I missed his name amid the corporate braying.

He was at least better than another Radio Two man. Jonathan Ross rushed on stage to present a prize. He was wearing a bowler hat and silly jeans and promptly died a horrible stage death.


Take that: Liam Gallagher threw his microphone into the crowd and swore


Near total silence greeted his 'jokes'. Here was career death in the swivelling spotlights. Agony.

After this disaster, the Great Yarmouth panto season surely beckons for over-wated Wossy.

The best act was Lady Gaga, who was wearing a a mish-mash of bandages, or something similar. Shades of the Invisible Man.

She, alone, radiated the sort of artistic weirdness that sticks in the memory. The rest of it was pretty conventional, except when Kasabian ran on stage and - whoaa! - hit a skid patch. Crump.


Incendiary: Lily Allen was lowered onto the stage on a fake nuclear bomb sporting a wild black hairstyle
It was my first Brits. A deluge outside meant the stretch limos had to disgorge their skimpy-skirted occupants into west London puddles. Inside, one found ageing blokes holding bottles of wine and an usher who had to apply his reading glasses to locate one's table.

A Mohican in a tartan suit wandered by but he was the exception.

Otherwise, it could have been a Status Quo revival. Office girls queued for the ladies alongside a big sign saying 'Goods Lift 8'.

Various ancient groovers in grey ponytails and ill-judged goatees hobbled towards the bars. I bumped into Boy George. Pink felt hat like something from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. A chubby, humdrum waddle. He was charming.

Some 4,000 of us sat down to dinner. Aubergine caviar and black olive nougat (yuck).


All white on the night: Lady Gaga scooped three awards, while Cheryl Cole was applauded when she came on stage to perform


Beef loaf with pea crush (a smear of mushy peas). The waiter told me I was in charge of the ice bucket, which turned out to be a vast trunk of bottled plonk.

A warm-up artist called Matthew leapt on stage and yelled 'we're gonna get yer going'. He should work for a laxatives firm, that boy.

Lily Allen was the first act and arrived mid-air, riding a fake nuclear bomb. With her black hairdo she reminded me of Pauline Prescott.

Talking of which, this was the same event at which John Prescott, in 1998, was attacked by a man from Chumbawumba. No such danger here last night, though. No politicians. But David Cameron's sister-in-law Emily was there.

I did grab a word with opera singer Katharine Jenkins, wearing an eye-popper dress designed by the late Alexander McQueen. Lots of mentions of him.

But you know what? I think McQueen would have found it an unbearably tame, suburban event, overloaded by chubby executives playing air guitar and ruffling their receding hairlines as they pretended to be pop stars. All sponsored by Mastercard.

Liam Gallagher made a horse of himself, chucking his microphone into the audience and swearing (he was cut off in his prime, thank goodness).

In the ad break, the stage manager tamely had to ask for the mike's return. Prince Harry gave a recorded message, to sparse applause. The suits and their Dorises were too busy knocking back the vino.

When Cheryl Cole came on, plenty of people stood and yelled their support but they were also laughing. Good old Cheryl.

At the start of her act she bounced up on stage like someone who had just flown off a
pogo stick.

During her act she wore dark glasses, crossed her arms, flexed her fingers and did some shadow boxing. Imaginary biffing of her husband, perhaps. Or her manager for landing her at such a tame gig.

As for the awards, it was noticeable how many of them went to stars - JLS, Lily Allen, Kasabian, Florence & the Machine, Lady Gaga - who had made the effort to attend and perform earlier in the show. One turn deserves another?


source: dailymail