Another year, another head-butt in the nuts. This blog's sixth and seventh Irish Blog Awards nominations went the same sorry way of the previous five. End result - diddly squat. I think this may be some form of ignominious record.
That's the ugly, unbecoming bitterness out of the way (*sniff*).
II
Though I didn't get to receive a prize, I did manage to give some out. Is it not better to give than to receive? Well, no…but it was still a thrill and a pleasure to see the little faces of (un)lucky bloggers light up when they were handed their "pimped up" Manky Toy Raffle prizes. The general vibe was "confused, but not entirely unsatisfied".
Due to a slight (and completely understandable) mix-up not all of the winners received the natty certificates of (in)autheticity that Jess and I had prepared for each toy.
Thanks to the Nancy Drew-like super sleuthing of ace photographer (and smashing person) Caitriona,1 most of the new owners were stalked and tracked down. The list of recipients (as it stands) is:
Some confusion about this (as there were rumours of a mini scrap to claim it) but I did personally shove the certificate (and a printed copy of the relevant post) into Red Mum's hands. Here's photographic evidence (of Colm explaining the rhymes and reasons) . She accepted these nerdy gifts graciously and I slunk off before my embarrassment managed to gain a solid foot-hold.
*Update* - Red Mum has confirmed (see comments) that there was very nearly a slobberknocker over Maureen. A "steward's enquiry" was called, eventually settling in favour of Elly. She it therefore was who went home with the booty, as this delightful picture proves.
I'd ask Elly to heed three simple rules now that Maureen is in her care.
a) Don't feed her after midnight.
b) Only ever use Timotei in her lovely long pink hair (this is very important).
c) Play her some nice Philomena Begley records every evening before bed.
2) Spider-Man Phone/Torch - Three Kiwis.2
This was the one that Mr McGarr desperately wanted to get his greedy mitts on. When the winning numbers were called he rent his hair, swore violently and wailed most pathetically (or at least that's how I remember it). Big Baby.
Hearing the phone do its thing and make its random noises (barking dog etc.) on stage was one of the true highlights of the night for me. Even better, it was a gift that kept on giving. At moments of high tension or higher emotion it would delightfully and spontaneously burst back into life, threatening to drown out the MC-ing and speech-making. The winners looked mortified. I looked delighted.
3) 5 Moustaches - Ken & Ross from KilkennyMusic.com.
I spoke, briefly, to Ross about zombies and ninjas (two areas that seemed close to his heart, and who can blame him?). Here they be with their moustaches, and here they are with the certificate.
4) Happy Baby Gun - Aoife from The Indie Hour.
The only person who I didn't manage to hand a certificate to. Sorry Aoife. Delighted to hear that she is proud of her gun (and her right to bear it). Send me on your address and I'll post the goodies out to you.
5) Special Police - Tupenceworth's lovely Fergal Crehan.
A prize that stayed, unawarded, in the bag. I retrieved it at the end of the show and presented it (with much solemnity) to the man himself. He told me earlier in the evening that my continued failure to win anything was down to (goddamit!) me "not wanting it enough".
I, however, take my lead from Christ - not only turning the other cheek but actually giving those who wound me presents into the bargain. In your fucking face, Jesus!
Speaking of De Tuppenceworth Krew - Simon "McDaddy" McGarr (who sat by my side dabbing tears from my eyes and whispering "there, there" as the evening unfolded and unhinged itself) walked off with the Special Recognition Award. We clapped and hollered enthusiastically, hailing a much-deserved triumph.
I offered my hand in congratulation as Simon returned (a conquering hero) to his seat. He batted it away, glared at me with disgust, and growled, "Don't touch me you loser". Upon hearing this I fell to the floor, bawling like well-slapped child. How quickly things change.3
Stayed on (in the Alexander) long after the house lights had come on - sitting at a table with very nice people (faces old and new). Crawled to bed at 5.30 am, woke late, had coffee and chowder, went shopping with Copernicus, bought a copy of Nicholas Gurewitch's (magical) The Trial of Colonel Sweeto for Jess and almost laughed myself sick reading it on the train home.
Till next year, children.
P.S: A Request - If the Manky Toy winning folk haven't yet chucked their prizes into the Liffey they might be good enough to send me photos of the objects ensconced in their new homes. I'd very much like to see how my cheap children are getting on.
P.P.S: Well done Damien. Well done all. A stupendous feat of organised fun.
Ah here, the non winning of Fustar is becoming beyond a joke I agree. I think it must all just building up to an awards night where you guys win EVERYTHING!
March 3rd, 2008 at 12:10 pmAhh there, there dearest fustar who’s name I don’t know how to make a proper U on. Your unwanted children have found loving homes!
Really, I’m sorry about your streak. I had no idea. Perhaps it is a good week to buy a lottery ticket. Then you can sit back and say “you lot may have won glass gongs, but BY GOD I have 30 million quid. WHO’S LAUGHING NOW?”
March 3rd, 2008 at 2:00 pmYeah there was a stewards inquiry when I came back with my prize.
Elly said she had the winning ticket so Maureen was handed over, as was the later certificate, and I have the photos to prove it.
:(
March 3rd, 2008 at 3:10 pmYipeee! Thanks again!
March 3rd, 2008 at 4:35 pmI missed the Manky Toy raffle and I am GUTTED. Had my heart set on winning one, so I did.
Twas great to see you. Still cannot believe you are 34. You look like a veritable slip of boy.
March 3rd, 2008 at 6:20 pmnancy drew eat your heart out! can you organise some more anneka rice style challenges for next year? best fun ever! you’re a total fu-STAR (groan).
March 3rd, 2008 at 6:30 pmflickr.comps. i’ve just realised you were so shafted, you didn’t even get a shafted award!!
March 3rd, 2008 at 6:35 pmflickr.comps.??? where did that come from? and what does it mean? oh dear. right, i’ll go away now.
March 3rd, 2008 at 6:37 pmaphrodite,
I like the idea of winning everything. Not just the awards themselves, but the hotel’s carpets, curtains, soft furnishings, urinals etc. Rounding off this imagined (perfect) evening would be the capture of 399 bloggers’ souls in jam jars (like a demonic BFG).
Sabrina,
CTRL + ALT + U.
Those are instructions for the accented “U” by the way…not some baffling new form of txt spk.
30 million would (I suppose) come in handy - it being 30 million more quid than I have at present - but I’m the world’s most rubbish gambler. When I bet on horses in the Grand National they tend to break their necks and get shot…before the actual race.
Incidentally, I wish I had the surname Dent. It’s Batman-bad guy-tastic.
March 3rd, 2008 at 7:14 pmRed Mum,
What would an awards ceremony be without a bit of controversy? Maureen has always had a special manky place in my heart and she was the object I was most loath to part with.
Given that reluctance, and the fact that there were almost fists flying when she was raffled, I’m beginning to think she exerts a kind of malign influence…like “The One Ring”. Count yourself lucky that you were able to pass the curse onto Elly.
aoife,
You’re very, very welcome. I’ll get the cert out to you asap.
March 3rd, 2008 at 7:23 pmThat’s the evil power of Maureen seducing you, Sinéad (see above).
As for my supposed youthful appearance - you should see the state of the portrait I keep in the attic.
caitriona,
There will be blood - I mean, Manky Toys - again next year. Unless I’m dead. Or in a coma. There’ll always be a place for Nancy Drew-ing too. Your next case: The Mystery of How to Get Served Quickly at the Bar. It’s one I just can’t seem to crack.
And yes, it seems I’m in the “Shafted Ultra Plus” category. No award except (perhaps) an anthrax-filled envelope (I’d take anything at this stage).
“flickr.comps” is a further example of a wildly irritating, links-related bug in the comments section - just in case you’re worried and think you wrote it unbeknownst to yourself.
March 3rd, 2008 at 7:35 pmHey there fústar dent. It sounds like you were sitting in the row behind me during the awards. I’m only guessing by the rapid intake of breath before “and the winner is..” and the rapid output of tears soon after. One of you guys also provided one of the funniest overheard comments on the night - the hopeful wishing that the winner of the manky moustaches would approach the stage already equipped with their own all-too-real moustache..
March 3rd, 2008 at 9:19 pmLatchiko, I was under orders from my poor sick wife to say hello to certain people. You were on the list. Obviously enough, I failed…but by the sounds of it I was damn close to getting our paths to cross.
I do remember saying something to the Tuppenceworth lads about a moustachioed raffle winner getting into a huff and complaining that there was nothing inherently funny about moustaches so it may have been me. Even if it wasn’t, can I claim it?
March 3rd, 2008 at 10:29 pmThe soul of a blogger is thin gruel indeed Fustar. What you need to collect in them there jars are the nightmares of web designers, or perhaps the conscience of a photoblogger. Potent stuff indeed.
March 3rd, 2008 at 10:56 pmIt’s all yours!
Jess had put you on my list too and I spent a lot of the evening squinting in vain at name badges. There’s always next year (where we unknowingly sit next to each other!).
March 3rd, 2008 at 11:09 pmFergal, Didn’t the BFG do something very similar? Combining different elements to make the perfect dream-in-a-jar recipe.
I’ll capture the elements you mention (mix them with the secret anxieties of a business blogger, the self-loathing of a journalist etc) and turn it into a heady brew.
If I don’t win something next year then I’ll unscrew the jar and release the horror into the Alexander function room. The ensuing mass psychosis should make for some tasty photos.
Latch, Thanks for the gift. Squint harder next time.
March 3rd, 2008 at 11:16 pmDo you have a jar big-enough for the self-loathing of a journalist? (well, I have no idea, but they should loath themselves)
March 3rd, 2008 at 11:35 pmLatchiko,
I remember only too well the embarrassment of squinting at other peoples’ name badges, only to realise you’re staring at someone’s cleavage. I suggest flicking the eyes down quickly a few times but don’t stare. See you next year.
March 4th, 2008 at 10:07 amfústar.. apologies for my manky toy blood lust on Saturday night.
However, the painful burning on my hands from squeezy dog’s inner juices has abated and my surgeon tells me the skin will grow back in time, but my days of playing atonal banjo symphonies with the Royal Philharmonic are over.
Which saves them the cost of renewing the restraining order I suppose.
The guilt and nightmares will be with me for some time to come. At least until I kill again.
March 4th, 2008 at 10:23 amI wore that ‘tache with pride for the night :) You might see Marcus (Pix.ie), Darragh Doyle, Darren Byrne and Ross sporting them too.
Event my pint glass got to sport one until some swine took it away!
Certificate now hangs on the wall though :D
March 4th, 2008 at 3:04 pmRaffle Schmaffle! If you are willing to cheer very loudly when Fustar’s name is read out and boo quietly but menacingly at the non-Fustar winners, them you get bestowed with not one, but two Manky Toys. Though the remains of Puppy Squeezer are still burning into Daragh’s epidermis, Imaginary Racer and his strangely pop-offable legs will grace my bookshelf for years to come.
March 4th, 2008 at 4:19 pmDaragh, I keep telling you, the full effects will not be known for some time - even when the physical damage heals.
Late some night you’ll awaken, perspiring and shaken, as the voice (in your head) of a burst dog commands you to kill and kill again. It’ll probably sound something like this - “Rrrill and rrrrill arrrraiin”. Your mutant hands will be compelled to obey.
Ken,
Glad to hear the ‘taches enjoyed plenty of upper lip action. You are now certified “100% manky”.
Embarr,
Yourself and Fergal were/are the only ever honorary manky toy winners. Simon’s piece of poor-man’s Waterford crystal is as nothing to your prize.
March 4th, 2008 at 9:32 pm