Goody Goody Yum Yum

February 13, 2011

It’s the BAFTA’s tonight. Are you going? I’m not. Instead, I’m sitting here thinking about goody bags. They go crazy for them at the BAFTA’s don’t they? They love them, the Jeffs, Colins, Natalies and Coens. Christopher Nolan only made Inception so he could get a gold cover for his phone. And some booze.

They love booze, those film folk. But if there’s one thing they hate, it’s paying for it. It’s a known fact that BAFTA luvvie  Russell Crowe once pinned the TV director Malcolm Gerrie to a wall just because Gerrie had the nerve to tell Crowe his Tia Maria was £4.50. Or something like that. I don’t know. Don’t quote me. Don’t hold me to it. Don’t pin the messenger to the wall.

Here’s what gets them all so whoop-di-dooed.

Let’s see. There’s a phone, some booze, some shampoo. You get the idea.

It’s a goody bag. But it’s not the goodiest bag.

Last night I was at a Valentine’s Ball. It was the Caravan Valentine’s Ball. Held at the Marriott Hotel in High Gosforth Park, Newcastle (winner, in 2008, of the North East England Large Hotel of the Year Award!)

Ok, I’ll slow down. I’ve become aware that I’m maybe piling on the information. Taking too much for granted. You think I’m some kind of Caravaner. I do wish I was, but I’m not. This Caravan is the name for the National Grocers’ Benevolent Fund; the charity for the grocery industry. It’s a fundraiser and everyone there does there best to raise money for grocers who’ve fallen on hard times.

You can laugh. But I’d rather you didn’t. I’ve fallen on hard times myself now and then (mainly now), and Caravan has come to my rescue too. And yes, I know I’m no grocer (if it helps, my grandpa and grandma were). Caravan help me in other ways. Caravan give each guest a goody bag that, frankly, makes the BAFTA goody bag look like a la-di-da ponce-fest. Yes Portman, you deserve all the best for your skinny-ballet horror lesbo romp. You deserve a gold phone. But be honest, wouldn’t you rather get your bony fingers on this?

Look closer. Let’s spill the bag and see what’s inside.

There were also crumpets and tea cakes. Actors, that’s a Goody Bag!

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When creme eggs don’t drop

February 10, 2009

mini-creme-eggs1Sunday night, waiting for a train at London Bridge, returning home, cue between my legs after being beaten up at pool, I decide to cheer myself up with a packet of Mini Creme Eggs.

There’s the machine on the left. Can you see what happened? I put in a pound and pulled out a… nothing. The Creme Eggs didn’t drop.

I hit upon a plan. If I put another pound in, the first bag would drop as it was pushed forward by the second bag, which would also drop. The first bag dropped and the second one dangled there. Oh well, at least I had some little eggs to take home and enjoy whilst watching the BAFTA’s. I hadn’t planned much eating for Sunday so those eggs were my tea.

I phoned the helpline on the machine. This sent me to another machine where I had to leave my details. They haven’t got back to me. But then I am not too bothered about losing a pound. I will, in time, call them. If only to be devilish.*

I took this photo in preparation for the long court case that will no doubt ensue. After my experience with the RAC on Saturday I’ve realised we live in a culture where you are assumed to be a liar until you can prove otherwise.

If you look closely you will see that the ghost in the machine is me.

* 1.59pm 10th Feb. Stop the press! Selecta just called me. The poor woman, I was just laughing all the time. All she wanted was my address so they can send me my pound. My faith in human nature is restored and when my pound arrives I will pay it forward. Bo Selecta!