Oscar Night

My husband and I both watched the Oscars last night, although we live so far apart that if you rotated the A1 by 90 degrees he would actually be looking down Helen Mirren’s cleavage in Los Angeles. The A1 of course runs north to south and, in actual fact, there are no east-west roads in Yorkshire, which may be a legacy of the wars of the Roses but is probably because if you live in the north, why would you want to visit somewhere else that's equally north. Even though we are so many hours apart, even travelling in my publishers corporate jet, we felt very close last night and I’ll feel even closer when I read his own account on his blog Husband in the South. Unfortunately, Helen Mirren won the best actress award and I had put my money on Jan Ravens from Dead Ringers. I find gambling helps with my drink problem and with my attempts to stop smoking. 'Look Mummy!' Said young Tilly, 'It’s that woman who fixed the brakes on Diana’s car! Can I have some pocket money now I’ve given you something to write on your blog?' I remembered wistfully how I had stopped her pocket money until she said something which was childlike, charming and innocent and yet with an inadvertant hint of adult insight and sophistication that I could quote in my book, I mean on my blog about normal family life in the North, which this is, just like happens in any normal family, which we are. 'Oh, OK', I sighed, relenting. 'Sign this release and have your people call my people.' Of course last night was also the occasion of the less well reported but more widely followed up here Yorkshire Oscars, In which The Queen also did well, picking up the award for best foreign language film, but that story is for another day, and another dollar. Tootle pip, as they say up here!