Last night I watched the Brit Awards. For those of you who don’t know what they are, they are the British music industry’s equivalent of a Grammy or an Oscar. The show was presented by the Osbourne family who shot to fame on a US reality TV show. They looked like the Adams family and behaved like yobs.
It was led by the matriarch, Sharon. Every other word was “pissed” or “piss off”. Her behaviour would have got me expelled from school but here she was on live TV, being paid thousands no doubt, to screech like a fish-wife and show off her limited vocabulary. She made the so-called really bad girl of rock, Amy Winehouse, look angelic.
Someone should tell Mrs Osbourne that there is nothing amusing about a fifty-something woman dressed in a curtain swearing and flirting with a series of drunk men whom I had never heard of.
I sat and cringed for the two hours of the show. All I could think was, ‘what will the rest of the world think of us?’ Is this really the best person we have for the job? Her daughter showed more decorum but was about as elegant as a squashed snail. As for Ozzy himself, I don’t even want to go there. The son had the sense to keep quiet.
The rare highlights when Mrs Osbourne shut her foul mouth were Amy (a little wobbly but what a voice), Mika (cute as anything and extremely polite) and of course Take That, which was the main reason I was watching. They were lovely, and briefly restored my pride in the British, if not the British music industry.
Meanwhile there has been an alleged sighting of Madeleine close to us, at a service station near Montpellier. A Dutch student claims to have seen the little girl and says she reacted when she called her name. I really want to believe she is still alive, I had given up all hope, reluctantly taking down the picture of her from my blog. But if anyone else should spot a little girl they think is her, for heaven’s sake just grab her and call the police immediately – no one will hold it against you.
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2008