WASN’T Ricky Gervais fantastic on the Golden Globe awards? Even although I think he is hugely overrated in much of what he has done – yes, even The Office – he was red hot the other night before the po-faced Yankee celebs.
Their well-publicised bad habits were an absolutely spot-on target to prick a load of puffed-up windbags who are obsessed with themselves and used only to everyone else flattering them.
One of his best was: “It’s going to be a night of partying and heavy drinking. Or, as Charlie Sheen calls it, breakfast.”
Another was when he had a go at Robert Downey jun, who hasn’t done a great deal that has been any good recently.
“Many of you in this room probably know him best from such facilities as the Betty Ford Clinic and Los Angeles County Jail.” Ouch.
Stars you would think would love the ribbing hated the home truths. Tom Hanks, for instance, forgot that we know him as a funnyman and showed us he why he should be in the Free Church.
“We recall when Ricky Gervais was a slightly chubby but very kind comedian,” he growled. Then the unfunny Tim Allen added: “Neither of which he is now.”
Teehee. Whatever. Get over it, glums.
It was a great night, seeing self-obsessed guys squirm. Not least because it gives me the chance at last to mention my mate, the Hollywood superstar. Have I not mentioned it before? Oh yes, I was in a film with Robert Downey jun, you know. Me and him; we’re like that. Shame you can’t see my hands.
Robert Downey, Jun
It was in the early-1990s on the film Chaplin. Did I not mention it, darlings? Oh yes. We had a couple of days shooting scenes together in Hackney Empire in east London. Let me think now: Rob was the lead and I was the, er, fourth man from the left in the balcony scenes when Chaplin looked up from the stage. You can see me under a big bonnet and looking uber-Hebridean.
Our director was Richard Attenborough. Ah, dear Dickie. He was fabulous, of course. Nothing was too much trouble. He explained the intricacies of the plot, the subtle cultural overtones of the period and, most important of all, when to clap and when to shout “Rubbish”. I think that was all we had to do. Och well, everyone has to start somewhere.
My mate Rob, who in those days was always in trouble for drugs, kept disappearing and holding everything up. I wonder where he was? Probably out looking for his sense of humour. He was a nasty grump even then.
I remember the catering guy bringing him a coffee. Not as much as a thank-you from him. Dickie, on the other hand, was all: “How very kind of you, old chap. You’re a very fine fellow. You’d like an autograph? Of course; the least I can do. What shall I write? To Judy, Bill’s beautiful girlfriend, OK. And do you want one for your wife as well?”
What a wag.
However, my short excursion into showbiz as an extra did not end my home island’s connections with the glitzy world of the silver screen. Last night, a wee girl with Great Bernera connections made it through to the live rounds of a TV dancing competition with a top prize of £250,000.
Wee Tamara Robertson, aged 10, from Musselburgh, whose granny is Annabel Cameron, from Breaclete, dazzled the judges with her performance. As bendable as Ed Balls’s deficit-reduction policy, the lassie was talent on a stick.
Kitted out in Lady Gaga-esque outfit, the kid with the Bernera blood made a massive impact at the auditions, especially when she tried to recruit Davina McCall into her fan club.
So, listen, dear reader, here is your homework for the next few weeks. Check out Got To Dance on Sky 1 at 6pm on Sundays and vote for the tremendous Tamara.
It will give you a nice, fuzzy, warm feeling to support this wee angel and, also, it’ll put me in with a shout to be her publicity agent. Deal?
Now what is the big deal in Point? We thought it couldn’t happen, but David Cameron’s Conservative Party may be about to make a resurgence in the peninsula, east of Stornoway. The signs have been there for a while. The love-in with Labour couldn’t last. Ach well, it was inevitable, I suppose.
When a Tory councillor once let rip you could never be a socialist and run a 4×4 because it is a sign you have too much money and care not tuppence for the environment, he had a point. The point is that Point is full of them. Everywhere you look, there is another gas guzzler.
Sadly, this reckless lack of care and drive to accumulate the wonga is now rubbing off on the district’s kids.
There is a new school being built down Bayble way and education chiefs decided to give the youngsters the chance to decide on the dominant colour scheme of the entire structure.
They made all kinds of suggestions, such as dark brown to reflect the heritage of peaty slabs that have warmed the hearths and boilers from the causeway to the lighthouse for hundreds of years.
Or, dear children, how about some green to show your environmental credentials and how you care for the environment here in our own special place?
The results are out. They were sent to parents at the end of the week. The kids have decided. They want blue. Light blue, dark blue, any colour as long as it’s blue.
The pupils know what they are doing. They aren’t daft. Any party that thinks the man they call Balls is the answer to the economy’s troubles has to be sent a clear message that the next generation is ready to take a stand.
You know what they say: the kids are all right.
