So, last night the Fag Hag slipped into something incredibly uncomfortable, donned her dominatrix heels (well, Christian Louboutin’s answer to dominatrix heels) and sashay/shantay’d down the red acrylic carpet to attend the 2008 BAFTAs.
Fortunately, my arrival wasn’t eclipsed by the likes of Sienna or Keira, in fact the biggest stars on the red carpet when I pitched up were slightly less pant-wetting for the paps: namely Nick Rhodes and arts correspondant Rosie Millard, whose dress I managed to step on. She gave me a glacial stare and whipped it away angrily. The thing is, bitch, I don’t want your nylon train anywhere near my red soles so take that trash away before someone lights a match.
[Jump the jump for an inside view on the ceremony, the after-party and who turned out to be ‘insanely fuckable’ in the flesh…]
The ceremony was expertly pulled off by J-Ro and a host of trophy givers, with the Best Dress going to Kate Hudson, working the gold shiny thing and a controversial plait, Best Drunk going to Rhys Ifans, who looked like he’d been necking back the White Lightning beforehand, and Most Hot Right Now going to Daniel Day Lewis, who just looked insanely fuckable.
It was time to retire to Grosvenor House for dinner, where I chatted to Jason Isaacs about the black tie issue: he’d gone dickie and was regretting it as every man under 50 was sporting a Strokes-style long black skinny number. ‘Well, I think you look lovely,’ I enthused. ‘You have to say that. You’ve just met me!’ he pointed out. Which was firm but fair.
The champagne continued to flow, people started nicking BAFTA placemats (that means you James McAvoy) and I searched for DDL in vain as instead Matt off-of Busted wandered into my eyeline literally unable to believe his luck at being there.
As I staggered off into the night and my carriage, I managed to step on something else, this time an expensive YSL platform. I turned round, preparing for the Shackleton stare and potential lawsuit when I realised it belonged to Julie Christie.
‘Oh, my god! I’m so sorry,” I gulped. She smiled, put an arm on my shoulder and said, ‘Don’t be silly. It was my fault.’
Read it and learn Millard.