Merry Twixtmas, one and all. Cut yourself a slice of leftover turkey, microwave a clump of figgy pudding — and join me for my totally random and completely biased awards of 2023.
Disappointment of the year: Hugo Keith, the QC for the Covid Inquiry. Thought he was going to be all super and dashing, a kind of legal Mr Darcy. Instead he’s just a dreary point-scorer who loves the sound of his own voice.
Irony is dead moment of the year: David Cameron calling himself Baron Cameron of Chipping Snorton.
Ceaseless self-promoter of the year: Carol Vorderman. The lovely Carol has come a long way since she was Cameron’s maths tsar and a regular on the Tory rubber chicken circuit.
Lately she’s reinvented herself as a cheerleader for Labour, frantically fangirling Keir Starmer and posing wherever possible in latex for the pages of assorted colour supplements while declaring her loathing for the evil Tawries.
Will it be Baroness Vorders of Countdown under Labour? She’s certainly put the work in.
Comeback of the year: Nigel Farage, who pulled off an astonishing coup by getting ITV to pay him £1.5 million to appear on I’m A Celebrity.
The result: Farage (who is a GB News presenter and Honorary President of the political party Reform UK) now has an enviable fanbase of 18-30-year-olds and over half a million followers on TikTok — in other words, pole position for the forthcoming General Election campaign. Truly, he is the Del Boy of modern politics.
Bore of the year: Just Stop Oil. Do I really need to explain?
Spoilt, entitled brat of the year: Prince Harry. Also, do I really need to explain?
The why-are-we-even-still-discussing-this-nonsense of the year: Trans women in women’s sport (see also Feminist of the Year). It is simply not possible for a biological female to compete on equal terms with a biological male who has undergone male puberty. It’s not about transphobia, it’s about fairness.
Feminist of the year: Sharron Davies, obvs, for explaining the above calmly and clearly and with consummate courage in the face of the usual hysteria.
Dishonourable member of the year: It has to be Prince Harry’s frostbitten penis.
Soul-sapping social media trend of the year: TikTok’s Instant Glamour filter, the AI that launched a thousand facelifts.
Ladies’ man of the year: Rupert Murdoch. Seriously, how many girlfriends does one nonagenarian need!?
Head girl of the year: The Princess of Wales, for somehow managing to be practically perfect in every way.
More sinned against than sinner of the year: Suella Braverman, for being condemned as a racist witch for daring to express the concerns shared by many about the challenges of uncontrolled migration.
Damp Squib of the Year: Mark Zuckerberg’s rival to Twitter/X, Threads. Is anyone still using it?
Hysterical over-reaction of the year: Phillip Schofield. And probably Huw Edwards, too. Plus that poor Spanish man who got cancelled for kissing that footballer after the Fifa Women’s World Cup.
Granted, not exactly edifying behaviour in any of those circumstances; but did they deserve to lose everything they’d worked for their entire lives?
Annoying blonde of the year: Barbie. Honestly, the amount of pseudo-feminist guff that was written about what was essentially a long advert for a rather vulgar plastic doll could fill a black hole.
Sh**show of the year: British Airways. Once the world’s favourite airline, now one of its worst. Persistently late, delayed, cancelled, incompetent and overpriced.
‘Dur’ of the Year: Russell Brand. Quite why anyone who was alive in the Noughties was even slightly surprised to discover Brand was not much of a gentleman with the ladies is beyond me. He denies it all, of course.
Snake of the year: Omid Scobie, for stirring the toxic pot of the Duke and Duchess of Sussex’s feud with the Royal Family, and ‘accidentally’ revealing the identities of the so-called ‘royal racists’ in his book.
Hot flush of the year: Madonna’s Celebration Tour. We all got very excited about this — and rightly so: she’s an icon.
In practice, though, the whole thing was perhaps a little too ambitious in size and scope even for the Queen of Pop herself, not least because despite being the fittest 65-year-old on the planet, even she can’t pass for 21 any more.
Excuse of the year: ‘My A-levels were downgraded.’
Hypocrite of the year: The Duchess of Sussex, for saying she wanted a private life and then getting her own Netflix show.
Well, that turned out better than expected of the year: The Coronation. For months the naysayers had been predicting an almighty outpouring of indifference at the coronation of Charles III, but in the event it all went rather swimmingly, even the crowning of Queen Camilla, which some of us had been decidedly unsure about. Shame about the Archbishop of Canterbury, though.
WTAF of the year: Oh Lord. So many. Sue Gray, having presided over the investigation into Partygate being appointed as Chief of Staff for Labour leader Keir Starmer; the BBC refusing to call Hamas ‘terrorists’; the UN refusing to condemn the rape, torture and mutilation of Israeli women; Owen Jones; net migration; NatWest closing the bank accounts of people who ‘do not align with our values’; Joe Biden, aka the actual President of the actual United States of America, getting the All Blacks (a rugby team) mixed up with the Black And Tans (a UK military force) on a visit to Ireland; some idiot cutting down the Sycamore Gap tree; Credit Suisse collapsing; people getting upset because someone with short hair won a beauty contest.
Cringe of the year: Kanye West having his bottom out on a gondola in Venice.
Unexpected outbreak of common sense of the year: Eddie Izzard not winning his bid to become the Labour candidate for Brighton. Great comedian, amazing runner — but being a good MP is about so much more than identity politics.
Sweetheart of the year: This year’s winner of I’m A Celebrity, Sam Thompson. He’s just the human equivalent of the Andrex puppy. Adorable.
Obnoxious, overpaid so-and-so of the year: Gary Lineker, for saying the Government’s language over immigration was ‘not dissimilar to that used by Germany in the 1930s’, and for generally abusing his huge, supposedly impartial, BBC platform in pursuit of his own political agenda.
Iconic moment of the year: Barry Keoghan dancing naked to Murder On The Dancefloor by Sophie Ellis-Bextor at the end of Saltburn, possibly the most disturbing but also brilliant film you will see this year. (warning: do not watch with your mum!)
Un-cancellation of the year: Graham Linehan, the comedy writer behind Father Ted whose life and career were shredded after he was accused of transphobia for a scene he wrote for the Channel 4 comedy, The IT Crowd.
His account of the ordeal, Tough Crowd: How I Made And Lost A Career In Comedy, went straight into the Sunday Times Bestseller list after it was published.
Silliest fashion moment of the year: Too many to choose from, as ever, but for me it has to be the actor Jared Leto turning up at the Met Gala dressed as a man-size version of the late Karl Lagerfeld’s cat, Choupette. No, just no.
Moral panic of the year: Ozempic, aka Wegovy, aka Semaglutide, aka a weekly injection that helps users lose weight.
Apparently a drug that can help tackle the obesity crisis is immoral and a ‘cop out’, or at least that’s according to all those people who think fat people are morally deficient and being overweight is a deliberate lifestyle choice.
And finally… trouper of the year: Kate Garraway. That woman’s resilience and fortitude in the face of her husband Derek Draper’s devastating illness is an inspiration. I am in awe.
James Parker is a UK-based entertainment aficionado who delves into the glitz and glamour of the entertainment industry. From Hollywood to the West End, he offers readers an insider’s perspective on the world of movies, music, and pop culture.
