Muristek
Threatened by champagne reflux at every turn, I take my award ceremony cues from the House of Gucci star, without her satin train and licence to wander about
The first thing I realise as I pour my curves into my hired tux ahead of my night at the Baftas is that I don’t have any shoes. No one had mentioned appropriate dress shoes to me at Moss Bros, so I ended up donning a pair of Dr Martens which had been gathering dust under my wardrobe. I feel like a variation of that meme: “When you’ve got the Baftas at 5pm but a Machine Gun Kelly club night in Camden at 10pm.” Also, suits don’t quite work on my lanky frame: I look like a scarecrow dressed as a slightly rebellious waiter. Later, as I check my invite for the millionth time another realisation hits me: nearly every aspect of the evening will involve champagne. Not to demystify the glamour of it all so early on, but champagne brings on my acid reflux. I imagine myself gagging in front of Benedict Cumberbatch (insert a Rebel Wilson-style cheeky wink here).
After 2021’s low-key Zoom-based awards, everything about this year’s full-capacity ceremony is dialled back up to Fabulous. The red carpet – Europe’s longest, flooring fans – is properly bright. The lights, while unnecessary given that the ceremony’s earlier-than-normal start means it’s still daytime, are retina-burning. Fans are back, too. On arrival at the Royal Albert Hall I clomp up the lightly watered red carpet walkway the wrong way, spying a gaggle of Benedict Cumberbatch disciples. One man, seemingly having drifted in from the set of Portrait Artist of the Year, clasps a sketchpad featuring a delicate pencil drawing of his idol. Next to him a Florence Pugh T-shirt is draped over the advertising hoardings ready to be scrawled over. Anyone that walks past who isn’t Cumberbatch, Pugh or even tangentially linked to the Marvel universe is given short shrift.
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