The 2020 Academy Awards will be my seventh. I’ve yet to win one but I’ve brought home some great stories
When you read this, I will be in Los Angeles, which is nice. I love LA, which is not a sentence you hear often, especially in Britain, where the city is often derided as too shallow, too full of celebrities and too hot, none of which are negatives in my book. The British antipathy to LA is rooted in a suspicion that anything that pleasant can’t be good for you, and an experience only counts if it involves endurance. I’ve spent the past 20 summers hacking it out at British festivals, trudging through mud with a rucksack the size of a car on my back, all in the name of Fun. So the first time I went to Coachella in California’s Palm Springs I thought I was hallucinating, like when Tintin gets so dehydrated he fantasises a sparkling oasis surrounded by palm trees, because that is what Coachella looks like. As I sat on the perfect green grass, eating my acai bowl, I remembered when Brits grumped that Glastonbury was getting gentrified because there were flushable toilets. Britain’s self-image is rooted in 1970s sitcoms, whereas California believes life should be like a Hollywood movie.
And sometimes it actually is. I’m out here to cover the Oscars for, I think, the seventh time. I know this is deeply uncool to admit but, hot damn, I love the Oscars. Even as a kid one of my most beloved video cassettes was called Oscars Greatest Moments, but attending them has taken matters to a new level. I’ve yet to win an Oscar, but it is at the awards where I’ve lived out some of the great movie storylines. Behold, my Oscars Greatest Moments.
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