Brittas

On Wednesday night the In Your Face squad rolled to the Brit awards, the music industry's annual who's got the biggest willy competition sponsored by Blackberry, gack and talking to people while looking over their shoulder.

I was lucky enough to be seated next to Estelle, who was nominated for several awards. She is one of the angriest people I've ever met. We got on really well. Although she was sitting with her back to me, we still managed to share a peculiar fractured conversation about her dress. She actually thought I'd asked for her address, which was slightly uncomfortable.

Estelle was accompanied by one of her managers, a voluptuous southern belle from Houston, who lounged with contrapuntal ease on her chair amidst the sea of suits. She seemed genuinely disappointed that Earls Court One wasn't a place of historical note. Her buttery drawling voice sang out, 'Honey I thought this was gonna be held somewhere old like, you know, a castle or at least an actual court, but it's just a conference centre'. Thankfully this slight despondency made her oblivious to the rutting MDs who had started cock fighting behind her.

At some point Take That descended in a spaceship and played a song. Then this happened:


Take It from I'd Prefer Not To TV on Vimeo.

For one transcendental moment a record company executive put all his inhibitions and insecurities to one side and just lost himself in his favourite song by his favourite band. It was beautiful.

I woke up on Thursday feeling utterly torn down by the buckness of sugary liquor. Fuck knows what I was drinking, but it definitely had peach juice in it. To my surprise I didn't want to kill myself and for that I was grateful.