Well here we are, the 2012 Whitell Awards. The night with all the glitz and glamour of Hollywood, but without the people attending. Winning a ‘Whitell’ is seen by some as the most coveted of awards, akin to winning an Oscar, having your first child, or discovering that there are in fact sixteen mini kievs in your traditionally fifteen-full bag.
2012 has been an eventful year for yours truly. The ending of a long term relationship was one of the low points of the year, but I really think I’ve learnt a lot about myself. It was not as good as 2010 (my favourite ever year) or even last year, but it was action-packed, eventful and emotional. I am writing this earlier than I anticipated, as I wanted to make sure you get the chance to read it just in case the four horsemen arrive this Friday. More on that later. On with the awards.
Discovery of the Year:
Jacket Potatoes – 2012 was the year I finally discovered the value of the jacket potato. In previous years I have considered Jacket to be the older, uglier sister of the potato family. Nothing compared to the consistently beautiful Mash, and not a patch on the filthy, dirty, little slut that is Roast. Even Hash Brown, the fried cousin has enjoyed many a romp with my tastebuds. But not Jacket. So this year I decided to get drunk and experiment with the shy, frumpy one in the family. I was not disappointed. Cover her in cheese, massage oil into her skin and she’ll purr like a motherfucker. Jacket potato, I salute you.
Moment of the Year:
Surviving a Quad Biking Accident – Back in March I went to the sunny land of Egypt and became a hit with foreign children. Not in a Jimmy Savile way. In a ‘Mutter, who ist das Englisch man with the white trousers and cornrows who knows all the dance routines’ kind of way. During this holiday, I decided to be adventurous and go quad biking. I’m not a man who can drive, or a man who has even attempted to learn how to do so. After an hour of quad biking, I decided I was getting the hang of it. Then I realised that I was going too fast and didn’t have any instinct for braking. So I flipped the entire quad bike over after crashing into the bike in front. I actually thought I was going to die. The quad bike landed on top of me, and all I could think of is ‘shit, those are designer prescription sunglasses’ and emerged from the crash to rescue my visual aids. They were fine. At that point I realised I still had all my limbs and that I should never be in charge of a vehicle again. I then walked away like a badass with only minor injuries. And cornrows. Did I mention the cornrows?
Night Out of the Year:
25th Birthday Icon Fancy Dress Pub Crawl – This night had it all. Fancy dress, an early start, appearances from all my favourite people, a moment where I fell asleep in Cuba only to find my second wind and carry on, and a massive cigar. All this, whilst covered in fake tan, wearing clip-on earrings and with a truly iconic T-Shirt. I would like to thank everyone who made it out on that night and allowed it be Night of the Year 2012, with no nights in the subsequent 11 months able to usurp it from its throne.
Photo of the Year:
Self-explanatory really. In fact this leads me to…
Villain of the Year:
Thomas Stembridge – Fresh out of the studio having recorded the above abomination, Tom Stembridge made himself a recluse for 2012. Cooking, yes, cooking his phone on what must have been the only sunny day we have had this year, he made it his mission to become absolutely isolated from the world of social interaction. John Donne said ‘no man is an island’, but Donne clearly hadn’t met Tom. Tom is the human equivalent of Greenland. Remote, isolated and an autonomous region of Denmark. Worse still, when Stembridge does actually turn up, he wreaks havoc; introducing ridiculous topics from discussion, drinking until you can’t see your fingers and then disappears into nothingness, not to be heard from until his liver has recharged. Thomas Elizabeth Stembridge, as Villain of the Year I salute you, and I expect nothing less in 2013.
Rear of the Year:
Des Bennett – All I can say is if you had seen her on Saturday night you’d agree this was a pretty easy decision to make. Des, congratulations for managing to be so consistently gorgeous for the entirety of 2012, and long may it continue.
Hero of the Year:
Martyn Ley: This was a tough one. There have been some true heroes in my life this year but in the end I’ve opted for the perennially understanding Martyn Ley. Whether it has been through music, a brief chat in the corridor at work, some sound advice through the medium of text messaging or any other interaction, Mart has been there. He’s had his own stuff to deal with, but he’s always made time for his friends, and that’s why he deserves this award. Plus, he has impeccable taste in fashion, a killer guitar solo and an interest in Gillian Anderson that led us into a very rum-filled evening. I’d like to personally thank Mart for his help in 2012, and wish him the best for 2013.
So there we have it, the 2012 Whitell Awards. Thanks for reading, and a big congratulations to the winners. I wish all of you the very best in 2013, but make sure you have too much fun over the festive period first. Stand by for a very special recorded apocalypse message from me, very soon…
Missing: A leap year that was supposed to follow 2011. Claims to be the bringer of doom.
Seriously, what happened to this year? Before I even got the chance to practise writing the date with a twelve at the end (we all practise this, right?) I look up and it’s November. The only reason I know this is because everyone has a moustache. If they didn’t it would just fade into the blurred obscurity of the other ten months we’ve had so far. Maybe that’s why Movember was invented. To preserve the identity of the eleventh month of the year. That’s right cancer, you’re just a cover story.
I know that time is perceived to be quicker as we get older but this is god-damn ridiculous! When I’m 55 (I’ll never make it) I don’t want to turn around and say ‘Jesus Christ, that was a bloody good one night stand’ and be referring to a three month relationship. Sex is short enough as it is. When people in their 70s get busy, it must be about as meaningful as licking a stamp. No wonder they have problems with erections. I’m going to stop here.
This has all left we wondering if we ever get our time back? When we die do we get a chance to revisit the moments in our lives that went by too quickly? Like some kind of kickass level select feature. I know where I’m going. I’ve written down important dates just in case. If you see me looking for a pen you know I’m having a good time. If I’m not, you should probably raise your game a bit, Tom Stembridge. It’s nice to think that there is something after death. The amount of chemical and electrical energy released by the brain at the point of death suggests something might happen. I don’t want to just think of me hanging there in my socks with only the Dyson for company for the rest of eternity. There must be something more. Wait, am I getting deep? On the internet? No, can’t be!
So, just to sum up, this year has gone by really quickly, and I am not an asphyxiophile. I’m off to listen to INXS. Here’s a picture of a horse!
Everyone is talking about the apocalypse. Well not everyone. But some people. I’ve heard one or two. I think.
Let’s start again. An unquantified number of people have at some point perhaps made reference to this year potentially being the last year ever. Contrary to popular belief, the method of thinking did not originate from the 2009 Roland Emmerich film starring John Cusack. No, it has been foretold by many people including Nostradamus and the Mayans.
When I say ‘foretold’ I mean it in a very loose sense. December 21st 2012 is when the Mayan calendar stops. Now I might be wrong but that doesn’t necessarily mean the freaking world is ending, does it? I mean if anything we should be thankful that the Mayans had the foresight to make a calendar that goes as far as it does. Contemporary calendar-makers are far more short-sighted, meaning that if we go by this way of judging the apocalypse – as soon as Kelly Brook’s December charms are no longer adorning your bedroom wall the horsemen will come knocking. Well, they probably wouldn’t be that polite as to knock. If you only get an advent calendar, life doesn’t even exist until December 1st (and will probably end on the 1st too you greedy bastard).
Nostradamus also didn’t do very well predicting the end of the world. Nowhere in his book does he mention the end of days. He also continues to prophesise until well beyond the year 3000. As did Busted. I’m not sure they thought it through as well as Nostradamus, but at least he corroborates their reports that we will still be here. Living underwater and our great-great-great grandaughters still being alive and aesthetically pleasing, notwithstanding.
So basically we don’t really know. Just like that one guy who thought that the rapture was coming last year and was left rather embarrassed when it didn’t; we’re all just stabbing in the dark and using very old and unreliable knives to do so. The Mayans can predict the end of the world but they didn’t predict the invention of mini kievs, did they? Thought not. Come December 21st there are probably going to be a lot of disappointed people. I’ll probably be drunk in a bar somewhere, just in case. But what happens if the end actualy is nigh? What if we’re all about to be Michael Bay-ed?
10 Things I Wouldn’t Miss if There Was An Apocalypse
Yes, I know that there is a scientific explanation for why wires get tangled. Still doesn’t make it just. I have spent approximately 14 years of my life untangling wires.
2. Robert Carlyle
I don’t really know why I hate him, but I hate him with every fibre of my being. It’s either because of ‘The Full Monty’ or the fact that his eyes look like sultanas. Or maybe both.
3. People Who Use the Word ‘Ignorant’ to Mean Something That It Totally Doesn’t Mean
Listen up, idiots (I mean loyal readers. Actually no, I mean idiots). If someone is ignoring you, they are not being ‘ignorant’ unless they genuinely do not know you are there. We don’t have an adjective to describe someone who ignores people. ‘Rude’ will suffice you ignorant people.
Why? We had computers that were fine (until you actually need it to do something) and we had mobile phones that were perfectly adequate. Then someone said ‘we need something that’s not as functional as a computer and more like a big phone that doesn’t actually make calls’. Okay sure. So by my logic we have doors, and we have windows. So what we need is something that’s smaller than a door but doesn’t open fully like a window.
But for humans.
5. People Who Protest About Everything
Don’t get me wrong, I like to moan about things. I also think that it is possible to change the world with the right approach. However, liking a post on Facebook and then standing in a field for fifteen years whilst claiming that ‘Capitalism is gay’ just makes you a douchebag, dude.
Before I begin, let me just hand a free pass to tomato purée. You can go, you are fine. Right, now that we’re alone, Mr Tomato, what the fuck are you doing in my sandwiches? If I go to Tesco (or M&S if I’m feeling frivolous) I don’t expect to spend twenty minutes picking you out of my lunch. You just don’t taste right. Yet everyone thinks you’re welcome at the party. Get the fuck out!
7. Reality Television
Everything is a reality show these days. How To Live Your Life, How Not To Live Your Life, How My Wife Cleans Her Bathroom, Who Is The Best Singer, Who Is The Most Annoying Person In Dundee, Who Is the Most Annoying Person In Dundee – Celebrity Edition. I thought TV was supposed to be a form of escapism? Documentaries are great, but when you assume I want to know about the sex lives of some creosoted Geordie people you are so very wrong. I’d rather watch myself watching me on a live streaming webcam. At least I might get an erection.
8. The Person Who Decided This Was A Good Idea
“What’s on Sky Sports this afternoon?”
“Oh it’s just a team of men in jumpers trying to catch a ball. They know where this ball is probably going to go, because they know who is throwing the ball and they know who is hitting it. Occasionally they have to jog.”
“Do you want to know how they work out the score?”
I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking I’m going to make caveats here. Like I’m going to say ‘annoying kids who scream on public transport’ or ‘all first-born sons, Herod-style’. Nope. All of them. I am aware that I was a kid once, but I was a fantastic kid. I could eat anything, I spent a lot of time pretending to be a chicken and I convinced my younger sister I had magic powers. But now kids are just loud, needy, obnoxious and unnecessarily pandered-to. Children’s books are being read by adults (that might not be their fault directly) and they have stupid names and stupid hair. But the one thing that gets me is that people are creating more and more of them and then clogging up my Facebook with pages and pages of people that all look the same until they reach the age of about 5 anyway. I’m tired of blaming the parents; take some responsibility for yourselves you little shitbags.
So there we have it. I am actually hoping for the prophecies to be fulfilled now. At least I can die without seeing Colin Farrell do a massive shit on Mars.