Traitor To The Four Eyed Cause
I've got to admit, I've never really paid much attention to the 384,473 bizarre and strangely irrelevent awards that are handed out on a regular basis. In my world there would be far far fewer. Below is a comprehensive list of awards I care about.
- BBC Sports Personality Of The Year
- The NME Awards
- FIFA Footballer Of The Year
- The Ignoble Awards
But we cannot be satisfied with this. We need more more more awards. The country must have enough award ceremonies to employ all those Z list celebrities to mince up the red carpet, hand out hideous bronze statues, and puke up in the toilets next to some coked up journalist getting hypocritically indignant about Kate Moss. Ceremonies for every minute detail of life. All of them. Everywhere. Giving me no peace at all. And numero uno on my list of awards to face my wrath is Glasses Wearer Of The Year.
Why indeed. Well because it has been won several times in the past by people who don't actually need glasses. Do these people think us optically challenged, squinters actually enjoy wearing ridiculuous contraptions of metal and plastic on our heads? They fanny around in fake glasses then go home, take them off and read Ceefax with their 20/20 vision. I hate them. I hate them because I can't do that. So I wore my glasses with pride for a long long time. I'd only resort to contact lenses when I was playing football as there really is no way a goalkeeper can get away with wearing them. Even our team's token on-pitch four eyes (Elspeth, my darling) is notorious for the one time she tried to head the ball in glasses… ouch.
But… but… I've fallen!
Once again the bane of my existance, my migraines have robbed me of my principles (having already taken my pride, my dignity and, more often than not, the contents of my stomach) and indeed of my glasses. Yes, I know what you're thinking* and it seems odd but trust me, wearing glasses was creating pressure in my head and contributing to migraines. Or at least it felt that way. I could be completely wrong. But it's my head.
So now I have contact lenses. Not daily disposables which you put in and then they dry up and try to fuse with your eye should you wear them for longer than 3 hours. No, these are proper ones which need to be looked after and dipped in solution and taken out to the cinema and bought CDs (it's my excuse and I'm sticking to it). They're lovely. Really really lovely. They make my eyes feel sparkly and smooth… which pretty much makes up for the complete betrayal of my principles.
So in conclusion, I can be bought, Ronan Keating does not deserve to be glasses wearer of any year and Andrew Flintoff will win Sports Personality Of The Year. And probably an NME Award as well. At least he's not speccy.
*"Holly, I thought you were dead, what with you not blogging in a million years and stuff... I had dibs on your lava lamp."