Oh God - please tell me it's not that time of the year again. But it is... It's the Mirror's Pride of Britain Awards.
The most mawkish event in the history of journalism returns. The usual ingredients were all there - unfortunate punters being patronised by minor celebrities, pictures of tastefully maimed children and the grim sight of Brian Reade abandoning every iota of the passion and scepticism that makes him the best male columnist in the business every week but this.
Some Mirror loyalists will, of course, claim the event is an act of wonderfully heart-warming altruism. But even they must know that everyone at the paper involved with this appalling event view it with the sort of cynicism that makes me look like a particularly naive Brownie.
The worst bit had to be "Miss" Diana Ross's appearance. Here's hoping no tragic but plucky victims of a callous drunk driver had to be shunted off the guest list once the old jailbird accepted her invite.
At least this year no members of staff have been discovered doing anything illicit in the lavatories. And no well-known guest goosed a lady columnist, smashed up a bedroom and got hideously drunk.....

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