by Danielle Kent
As evening settled over London, the stars of the music industry, and Katie Waissel, lined up at the O2 arena in front of a string of photographers ahead of the Brit Awards 2014. Meanwhile, I was sitting in an Italian restaurant in Canary Wharf choosing between salmon or cod. You may not deem this to be relevant at this point, but is in fact an indication of how my entire experience materialized.
I am obsessed with the Brit awards, so when I was invited/allowed after intense begging and insistence that Cora is basically Vogue and it would be an absolute outrage if I were not there, I was absolutely delighted. I put so much thought into my outfit that when someone reminded me that I actually was not Rihanna and no one actually cared what I wore, it genuinely came as a shock. I understand how these celebrities end up getting too big for their boots. So, back to the Italian restaurant. As a direct result of making eating my priority, I had no time whatsoever to spend getting changed and devoting hours in my own fictional hair and make-up session, subsequently so that I ended up showing up in a pair of leggings that were two sizes too big for me and a very, very old parka coat. As I said, I had convinced these people I was the editor of an elite magazine and here I was as though I had come equipped to sell The Big Issue.
Once I had gotten over the turmoil of my appearance, I reminded myself that I had a job to do. And I had the best time. The ceremony kicked off with a performance by the Arctic Monkeys, who I had duly disliked ever since I went to university and began to associate I Bet You Look Good on the Dance Floor with throwing up in nightclub toilets and in fact looking very, very bad on the dance floor. Well, to rectify my opinion, they were incredible. As were all of the other acts – including Katy Perry who I think no one expected very much from ever since her below average performance on the X Factor. Bruno Mars was completely fantastic and infectious, and Pharrell closed the show spectacularly.The only person in fact who left little to be desired was in fact Queen Beyoncé, but then again, I would rather inject my eyeballs with hydraulic acid than listen to another ballad by a ‘real woman’ singing about how she either fell in love or got dumped. I would dump you if you kept singing those boring songs.
James Corden plodded on throughout the show by making intermittent references to what Harry Styles ‘might have been doing in the toilet’ in the clichéd voice where you kind of stop yourself from breathing and condense your face into a broad yet sarcastic ‘rolling your eyes’ style grin. Not that the audience above me seemed to mind, considering 80% of the seats were populated by devout ‘directioners’ that went into cardiac arrest every time someone came close to alluding to One Direction. However, talking of over-dramatic behaviour, I had convinced myself for some time that Shakira would be there, and no amount of proof would have deterred me from my faith. In fact, I refuse to believe it now. So when James Corden announced that the next couple to present an award was (please forgive me that this section of the night seems to have induced some kind of post-traumatic stress and I can’t be entirely accurate or make any rash quotes) someone who plays at the Nou Camp and someone who is a singer. My only rational conclusion was that I was about to see Shakira and Gerard Pique, standing together, right in front of my very eyes. ‘… Please welcome Cesc Fabregas and Nicole Scherzinger’. There are just no words.
The big star of the night for me, despite everyone crowning Ellie Goulding as the queen of the Brits after she banged around on her little drums for the millionth time, was undoubtedly Ella Eyre. She performed alongside Rudimental and Bastille for a collaboration of ‘Waiting All Night’ and ‘Pompeii’ and I cannot wait to watch what you all saw at home because if it was anywhere near as fascinating as it was being there then you would have been awestruck. Not only was her voice incredible she is also exceptionally beautiful and only nineteen. Plus, as I said on the Cora Facebook page last night, nothing says ‘go to the gym’ like watching Ella Eyre jump around the stage in a skin-tight unitard.
I hope that you enjoyed the ceremony as much as I did, and you were satisfied with the winner. I would have loved to have seen Disclosure win an award, especially after their amazing performance with Lorde and Aluna (and maybe George, who knows, no one acknowledged their existed for the entire night despite her frolicking her amazing figure around on stage for the entire second half of the performance) but I felt that all of the awards were very well deserved. Now, I would like to be left in peace to mull over the fact that my dreams were crushed by Cesc Fabregas and Nicole bloody Scherzinger …