Saturday Night Sofa

I wonder if the curse of Bridget Jones is descending. I stayed at home this evening, ostensibly to tidy up my sprawling jungle, but also because suddenly I prefer staying at home. Now I'm watching the BAFTAs with a glass of wine or two. And thought that being as I'm not likely to interact with any humans until tomorrow and regrettably have no snoggage planned for the foreseeable future, now would be a good time to follow the dietician's directions and eat that whole head of garlic. Which may have proved to have been a dreadful mistake: I've since been warned that unless I drink Lemongrass tea, nobody will want to go within 50 feet of me until next week. Who knows, maybe that is a good thing?

Ooh – well done Best Supporting Actor Clive Owen! He's still "Chancer" to me... I remember the days when nobody watched the BAFTAs, and whoever was the rubbish Brit-com flavour of the month would lethargically pick up the awards "on behalf of" Hollywood Stars they probably still dream of meeting 15 years on. And now, the famous people actually turn up! But that's because they’ve gone all strategically-placed-between-Golden-Globes-and-Oscars: see, I do remember some things I read in "Empire", even if I fail to recognize Ian Hart when he's right in front of me.

And look, tenuously, HarryP3 just won the Orange Best Film. Even thought the book was better! Hmm- what's Hermione doing babbling on up there? Some embarrassed glances from the audience show me I'm not the only person wondering that.

Where was I- the plethora of famous faces at the no-longer-pointless awards? Although there are still far too many suspiciously "unable to be here this evening", it is still a marked improvement on the boring old days. Last year, my friend went to the BAFTAs- and ended up next to Renee Zellweger in the queue for the ladies. Ah yes, now I remember what I was saying- explaining why I am turning into Bridget Jones.

OK. So I was talking to my mother on the phone. She was very excited: "I've got some WONDERFUL news for you, darling! X is also having twins!"

Now, I don’t know X well: Our parents are friends. She's always seemed like a very nice girl. Nevertheless, her pregnancy, while it might be wonderful news for her family and immediate circle, is not of interest to me, nor will it ever be. I'm having enough problems drumming up enough requisite enthusiasm for the impending arrival of my nieces/nephews.

Does this mean I am turning into a Bridget? The signs are all there: The preferring to stay in with wine and good viewing. The desert which is my current romantic landscape. The mother intent on imparting irrelevancies. A significant amount of self-confessed "Smug Marrieds" in the speed-dial. The declared admiration of Mr. Colin Firth.

Having said that, I've never made Blue Soup. Nor have I been involved in an overly dodgy capacity with my boss, or been imprisoned in Thailand for possession. So perhaps all is not lost just yet.

Yay! Eternal Sunshine won the screenplay award, a welcome relief after a whole slew of random nonsense awards. That well-deserved nod has almost excused those vile leopard-print chairs they are all sitting on which are beginning to hurt the eyes. Or maybe it is the wine.

Now two awards ceremonies have been watched live in 2005. Which Rhymes! Wonder if I'll manage the Grammys or the Oscars? I'd best stock up on the Chardonnay.