So our podcast won a Sony Award for ‘Best Internet Radio Programme’. I went to the Grosvenor House with KP, Becky and Jack Boots. I wore a suit, Jack Shit wore white patent leather shoes. Strangely, Flap Jack still looked more stylish than me.

On my way there, I was really quite excited. But, upon walking in to the actual event, I found myself swelling with misanthropy, a reaction that was as predictable as it was pointless. I don’t know what’s wrong with me sometimes. I think I have a Groucho Marx attitude to prizes – if I can win one, it can’t be worth winning. Worse still, if the award’s not worth winning, then the other award winners must be losers (as it were). Consequently, I sat through the fancy dinner getting increasingly sneery for reasons, I can only assume, of my own insecurity. It’s not a good look.

Enough of the self-analysis. I’ll have to ask the florist for a professional opinion.

There were minor pop stars at the awards including Jason Donovan, Will Young and the smug one from Blue. Jason was wearing a waistcoat and a pair of tight jeans – I swear it was the exact same outfit he wore to sing ‘Especially For You’ with Kylie at the 1989 Royal Variety performance. I have a certain respect for a man who sticks to his guns, style-wise.

Nonetheless, Jason’s face is becoming increasingly scary. I remember horror films from the late ‘70s in which the protagonist would walk around a darkened warehouse before, as the music and tension built, they would find themselves face to face with a gurning model clown. That’s what Jason now looks like when he smiles. I’m sure he thinks highly of me too.