Tuesday, November 04, 2003

DANGLING FROM THE CLEF: It turns out that David Sneddon's glorious prize wasn't even the slightly disappointing award it was meant to be - the original plan had been for the Tartan Clef to go to Rod Stewart, but despite Mr. The Mod's constant moaning about how nobody gives him awards for anything, he couldn't be fagged to go to Glasgow to pick it up, so instead they handed it to the first Scottish person prepared to make a quick dash back on a Virgin Westcoast train. Okay, not "quick."

In other rock-gong news, we're delighted that one of the people being used by The Guardian in their campaign to lift the secrecy in the honors system is Sting. The paper wants to know exactly what it is the phrase "for services to the music industry" means - apparently, there would have been a hundred word citation produced to argue that Sting is worthy of his title. Could it have been the rhyming of 'Nabokov' and 'cough'? The advert for the luxury car? Or is it merely the Queen, too, has dreamed of blue turtles ("except in my dream Philip shot them.")?


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