Summary
IN OUR house I'm in charge of the phone. I have to be, otherwise my wife's calls can get out of hand. If she rings her mum and dad in France, she can't phone her brother in Dubai. And if she dial-a- votes for smouldering fool Olly in The X Factor final - blowing all her permitted premium-rate calls on one end-of-year, over- indulgent, light-entertainment monster - then she will have none left for Jenson Button for Sports Personality of the Year.
Actually, I've no idea if she'll be rooting for Button but F1 is her kind of sport; that is, a non-sport. Apparently he's the hot favourite. I canvassed some male chums who follow F1 - idiots, one and all - and even they say he's a playboy who got lucky with his car (while Lewis Hamilton didn't) although they like it when his girlfriend wafts into view. So let's recap: F1 isn't a sport, its champion almost certainly exfoliated between Melbourne and Kuala Lumpur more than Jim Clark did in his whole life, and even so- called fans are more interested in the attendant, VIP-section glamour. Oh, and it's far from being the cleanest non-sport and is killing the planet into the bargain. Yes, give the prize to Button. He'd be perfect for an award I used to love but now find increasingly tedious.See the full content of this document
Extract
Pressing the Wrong Button
It annoys me for a good month before the big night. This is when the BBC announces the list of contenders - something which irritates me all on its o...
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