Results.

So, I’m drunk, which helped. I’m also standing outside in a Soho back-alley talking shit with an old friend who’s turned up, but doesn’t want to go inside until the actual awards are over. This gentleman doesn’t deal with This Sort Of Thing well. I recall him, at a Future Christmas Party, looking up from his Vodka/Coke and growling “How come every sip tastes more and more of hate?”.

So, after some cheery bollocks-spouting, and I decide to go and get another drink. Wandering into the main hall to find that they’re going through the award I’ve been nominated for. Each name gets called up, followed by cheers and boos. 3 of the 5 of mine gets a boo - including me - which is funny (The last three, I believe - Mott, I and someone else) as I’ve been cheerfully booing virtually everyone (The only venue which managed to get pretty much unanimous cheers was Eurogamer, which says much about why they ended up the awards they did. Oh - and UKR (”But I’m still going to slag you off on the Internet”). And what did Spong do to piss so many people off? Anyways!). So, working my way through the crowd, flicking Vs into the air.

Now, I’ve been hoping I wouldn’t win, partially because it’ll sidestep me having to explain why it’s fine to accept the award despite me rolling my eyes at it earlier and partially because Zone’s Log clearly should have got it. And I’m half convinced that I can’t win, because they’re playing music as everyone comes on stage in a cheery pun based on their name. UKR? Anarchy in the UK. Steve Boxer? The BoxerBeat, which has worryingly stuck in my head ever since. And there’s no songs with my name in it, meaning Tony Mott should get it so they can play a quick burst of All The Young Dudes or something.

But, no such luck.

Name’s called out. I turn around on the spot, a few metres from the bar, and wander back stagewards, trying to work out what they’re playing. I recognise it, but in my current state, can’t place it. Since it came out of nowhere, I forget to one of the two things I wanted to say if I had won (”I’d have given it Log”) but do get out the other (”Thanks to UKR for all the hits”), then wander off into an evening of - well - even more drinking.

The best thing about the award was that despite being a clunky thing, fit neatly into my back pocket so I could pull it out

Best thing about the evening was meeting a load of people who - spookily - I’d never actually met before and catching up with people I hadn’t seen so for ages.

Most common conversation topic was my facial extra hair.

Funniest Drunk person was AK, who by midnight was reduced to crouching outside, saying he wanted to go home to his girlfriend and be held, whilst whimpering.

Most nagging worry is that having finally met Aleks, being a little spooked she’d changed her hair colour to something darker, from her famous ultra-pink - but I’ve grown a ludicrous beard, so image changes are clearly in season. Except looking at the gamesblog photos reveal that - no - it’s still pink. So either I’ve met someone who isn’t Aleks - except it is! - or that somehow I’ve hallucinated her hair colour. It could have been the lighting.

Most embarrassing thing in the evening was when I thought it’d be funny to ironically bring up Gary Penn’s review of Civilization circa 1991, which I giggled a lot at the time, but sober, realise wasn’t really giggle-worthy.

Thing I’d forgotten, which is pretty funny, was Log inserting my award into his trousers. Thanks to Rammy’s comments thread for reminding me.

And, yes, I’m hungover still.

Okay - the award. Well, Walker’s already said that Tom and I should have turned it down. Stuart’s already said I violates the memory of AP, in his usual cheery idiom. And past me has called present me a lapdog.

Here’s the secret: the awards don’t really matter.

Actively boycotting them makes them matter, because it implies the results of any award ceremony are worth getting pissed off over rather than just rolling your eyes. It also makes you a big dirty prima-dona who has an incredibly over-developed sense of your own importance.

I mean, I’d rather a games writing award ceremony get voted by other writers (i.e. Peers) or the readers (i.e. The Audience). Hell, even some sort of compromise of more generallised Industry figures could work better. Or a random draw from a tombola. Whatever.

But, in its current form, what is it? About 100 PRs choosing some people from a list of who they think an award should go to. PRs are fine. They’re just people. They voted according to whatever reasons they felt the need to. Yeah, that the Official Mags swept the board was a bit suss, but any analysis of the ceremony which argued it was just about the Big Boys is simple minded. There was an equally strong movement towards the more independent venues e.g. Eurogamer. In actual fact, it was the magazines in the middle - people part of Future (therefore The System) but without a license to elevate them who were overlooked (e.g. NGamer, PCG, PCZ, Edge, etc).

But basically, 100 or so people had a vote and decided they’d want to give me an award. And telling them to piss right off would be just rude. I mean, I don’t agree with their choice, but it’s just a nice thing for anyone to think about you. And - really - I can’t think of a reason why anyone could profit for voting for me. I mean, can you? I’m just a bloody freelancer.

In other words, the only sane response is smile and say cheers.

So Cheers.

(And, randomly, I’m even quietly impressed they went for Gary Penn as the legend award or whatever.)

I never actually worked out what music was playing before it was taken off, but I was later informed it was Once And Never Again by the Long Blondes. Which makes me smil even more, y’know. Byron was trying to make it be Kenickie which - I suspect - would have been a bit too much.

Really should have been Log though.