And so to the UK Press Gazette awards, held on Wednesday night at the Park Lane Hilton, and an evening whose wretchedness can best be gauged by the fact that rightwing comedian Jim Davidson emerged as the unlikely victim.
Barely had Jim settled down to enjoy a quiet Campari with a lady friend in one of the hotel's bars when a contingent of Mirror journalists burst in to get an early start on the drinks. "I don't believe this," said Jim, recognising them."How many more of you are there?" The reply "About a thousand, Jim" elicited the sort of look normally reserved for the most backward of Generation Game contestants, but what a credit to Jim's showman credentials that he turned the situation into the sort of pantomime of which he is so fond.
Forcing his companion into a passionate clinch, he announced, "Ladies and gentlemen of the press, I think the game's up. Meet my new mystery girlfriend. Thank you, and goodnight."
Hapless victim number two was surely Rick Brooks, the Metro cartoonist told by at least 500 hacks that he must be alopecian's Sun editor's long lost twin. Also popular was the theory that News International executives had positioned Saddam style lookalikes round the room in order to deflect unwanted attention from the real David Yelland. As for the tumbleweed spotted blowing across the acres of tables taken by David when Newspaper of the Year went to the Mail - well, we'd better draw a line under the whole sorry business.
Good news for Matthew Norman, though, who found himself feted by paparazzo-turned-Express Newspapers' editorial director Jason Fraser. "You write very well," purred our long-lensed friend. High praise indeed. "But you're wasted at the Guardian. Why don't you come and work for me?" He's right of course - how much better Matthew's talents would be suited to filing picture captions to accompany fuzzy snaps of beached celebrities than the meaningless toil which currently sustains him. Will he put the Guardian "at a respectful distance"? We'll see, we'll see.
On balance, the rest of the evening is best not brought to a wider audience. Although I fear it might be.
Max Clifford is in touch to point out that the Max Clifford whose public relations skills we called into question after he sent the Diary a cut price holiday offer for its "Late Availability column" is in fact, not him. Unusually for us, it's not an out-and-out cock-up, for the Max Clifford in question is in fact Max 1's nephew. And idle chat with Max 1 unearths the curiosity that his Uncle Norman also named his son after the PR maestro, bringing the grand total of Maxes in this branch of the Clifford family to three. Chuckles about a little tribe of Cliffords all named after their shaman-like relative lead us seamlessly into Max's final thought. "Perhaps when you clarify it you could mention Saffron Travel, my nephew's company...?" he muses. "Only if you can." Max, Max, how could I ever have doubted you?
Press agent Jonathan Theobald calls. "I've just received a press release which I was going to stick straight in the bin," he begins, "But then I thought of you." You're very kind, Jonathan. Still, the offending article has made it so your assessment of this column as a repository for items not fit for the rubbish can't have been too wide of the mark. "For every bottle of Inis cologne sold in the UK, £1 is being donated to the Whale and Dolphin Conservation Society," it proclaims."And as a special token for Mother's Day, Inis is kindly offering to give away an Inis T-shirt, a 100ml bottle of Inis cologne, and a 'Seven Surfing Dolphins' poster to all editors who include this special story for Mother's Day in their news sections." Normal Guardian address, then, you big-hearted lot, and we shall pass your wares on to the boss.
