I didn’t make it in the Best Political category which is a relief. The less I have to do with politics, the better.
I didn’t make it in the Best Personal either but I don’t take that personally.
For some reason I did make it through to the Best Humour though and that confuses me.
You see, I don’t see my cerebral ramblings as being particularly funny. I don’t set out to crack jokes or even make people laugh, I just write about stuff as I see it. So what the fuck am I doing in Best Humour?
But then it occurred to me – humour is non-specific. It doesn’t necessarily mean good humoured and can just as easily be interpreted as bad humoured? That must be it? The judges read through my meanderings and comment to one another that they have found a right bad humoured cranky old bollix and I get through on that basis? To be honest, that thought makes me feel a lot better.
There were one or two things that struck me about the other finalists.
I had a good look through all the finalists in all the categories and I had never heard of any of them! Well, maybe one or two familiar names appeared, but where are all the sites I have known and loved all these years? Have they all gone to the great WordPress in the Sky? Have they all retired and got jobs presenting TV3 programmes? Have they all been snapped up by the newspapers?
Another thing that struck me is that they nearly all seem to be written by wimmin. Wherever I went, I seemed to find myself surrounded by recipes and tips on make-up. Now I have nothing against recipes as I am quite a dab hand in the kitchen myself, but you can keep the make-up – when you see me, you see me as nature intended. There were one or two of the male persuasion in there but they were few and far between, and mercifully I didn’t find any writing about high-heels or eye-shadow.
So here I am now – an old pensioner up in the mountains, surrounded by lusty farmers’ wives and yang wans.
The thought is enough to put me in good humour.