Michael O'Doherty: No Style Awards for Rosanna
No, Rosanna, you didn't pull out of the Style Awards, you weren't welcome. Now do us all a favour, quit telling porkies and sort yourself out
The Peter Mark VIP Style Awards, which took place in Dublin last Friday night, are a major undertaking. Most companies who run such events have full-time staff dedicated to them for months on end, just to put the whole event together.
In VIP Towers, however, for the six weeks leading up to it, everyone double-jobs, and fulltime magazine staff are simply called upon to do extra work to make the whole thing happen.
Which is why I get so precious about people who take it for granted, and fail to understand the difference between it and a photocall on Stephen's Green featuring an oversized phone or a model dressed as a chicken. People like, for example, Rosanna Davison.
In the days leading up to the awards, the papers were full of the potential confrontation between Rosanna and Glenda on Friday night, the first time they would have met since news of the infamous Ranelagh Rumble and Marrakesh jaunt broke. And I won't lie to you -- both of them had confirmed that they were attending, and I was looking forward to it as well.
So imagine my surprise when I read two days before it that Rosanna would be unable to stay for the dinner, claiming that she had a long-arranged skiing trip to go on, which meant that she could now only attend the red carpet before jetting off on a badly-needed holiday -- only her third so far this year, I believe.
When I asked Rosanna whether this was true of not, she claimed that she had sent a text -- we didn't get it -- and apologised, offering to still do the red carpet in the belief that this would be a consolation to us. It wasn't.
I reminded her of the work that goes into the awards. The fact is it not simply a photo opportunity laid on for people to get themselves in the next day's papers, looking fabulous and smiling as though they haven't a care in the world. I told her that her attitude, and the way we found out about her plans through the newspapers, was an insult to everyone involved in the event.
And I told her that she was no longer welcome. 'NFI'd' is, I believe, the expression.
So what did Rose do next? A few hours later at a social event in Residence, she told a journalist that she had decided to pull out of the awards herself, as she had suddenly realised that, what with a job that afternoon and then an evening flight, she wouldn't have time to even do the red carpet. Well I'm sorry to burst your bubble, Rosie, but the porkies are going to have to stop right here ...
Rosanna is a lovely girl. Bright, cheery and, it goes without saying, gorgeous, but she seems to have become strangely fond of living her life through the media in recent times, to such an extent that she seems to get the doing of things, and then the telling of the media about having done them, in the wrong order.
Do us all a favour, Rosie, and sort yourself out.
And once you have, try to resist telling every journalist within a 100-mile radius ...
To the two ladies who wore the same dress a few weeks ago, we're keeping the photographs
It took me 20 minutes to get ready for the awards. I gave practically no thought about what to wear, except to make sure the suit was clean.
And it mattered not a jot that Aidan Power, Alan Hughes, John Maguire and Mark Kershaw all turned up in the same, slightly alternative dress suit outfit as myself -- plain black suit, white shirt, black tie.
I long ago abandoned the tuxedo and bow tie look at formal occasions, as invariably some bore would try that most inane form of one-upmanship on you, by asking if your bow tie was real or ready-made.
He's right up there with the 'where to get the best pint of Guinness' bore -- the man who ties his own bow tie, principally so that he can then undo it later on in the night, and ponce around believing himself to be Dean Martin -- when he's probably got more in common with Dean Gaffney. It's a different story all together for women, who wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, fearing of meeting someone sporting the same outfit on the night.
So, given the desire for uniqueness, and with one eye on thriftiness, the name of a lot of people's lips this year was Covet -- the shop in the Powerscourt Centre which rents out couture dresses for a fraction of their purchase price. And by having only one of each, they -- in theory -- remove the chance of you being embarrassed on the big night.
Except of course, when magazines like VIP cover two consecutive black tie events in the same issue, and have evidence of two TV presenters at the Style Awards wearing the identical dresses that two others wore to the IFTAs two weeks earlier.
Don't worry ladies, we're saving your blushes and leaving the IFTA photos out.
Next time, though, be more careful ...
If I humiliated you, sorry... no, honestly
When asked why I insist on insulting so many people during my annual speech at the awards, I always use the defence that you can't make an omelette without breaking some eggs. But sometimes I go too far, forgetting to stop after breaking them, and instead going on to smash, trample underfoot, humiliate and hurl abuse at the broken shells.
And so, in no particular order, let me apologise to the eggs that went up to make my Style Awards omelette. Aidan Power, Glenda Gilson, Jimmy Mansfield Jnr, Johnny Ronan, Daithi O Se, Amanda Brunker, Vivienne Bushell, Sean Munsanje and, yes, even Rosanna Davison. Next year, I'll be nice to you all. Honest.