Fresh Prints of Bel-Air

Like many I was shocked to see the images this morning of Will Smith “slapping the sh*t” out of Chris Rock at last night’s Oscars.

I also had egg on my face, having told The Eldest not to worry about missing the ceremony as it is usually – and I quote myself directly here – “boring as hell”. I did message her this morning to let her know that occasionally, very occasionally, her father might be wrong about some things.

I have recently finished reading Will Smith’s autobiography and it was OK, but there was a lot of braggadocio in it and a wealth of ego that by his own admission he was desperate to try and satisfy.

Rock joking about the absence of hair on Smith’s wife’s head when she suffers from alopecia wasn’t clever or funny, it was just plain mean and yeah, he might well have deserved a slap, but thinking he deserves it and actually doing it ON THE WORLD STAGE are two very different things. 

Having read his book and watched that footage, I saw a man who knew he was going to finally win that Best Actor Oscar that he had worked so hard for and didn’t want his perfect evening, his moment, the pinnacle of his career ruined by some gobby comedian. The ego that was fit to burst, finally erupted in a bout of self-righteous self-importance, which ended in Rock getting a clout for his poorly conceived words. Ironically, the second Smith left his chair, he ruined his own moment.

Anyone who has told a bad joke to a room full of people knows that the most chilling sound you can hear in response to your delivery is a cold, abject silence.

It will be very interesting to see what happens to Mr Smith and his career from here.

It was Manic Monday this evening as I Dad-Ubered the wee ones hither and thither from Beavers and Cubs. I did smile as they’ve been rapping ‘Bonkers’ all evening….

Oh, and m’boy has it from a reliable source that he has an admirer in his class. He knows who it is and I asked if he was going to do anything about it, to which his response as he regarded and playfully twirled his tuna pasta bake about on his fork was a wistful: “Nah, I’m just going to keep living my slightly weird nine year-old life.”

It took me a long while to stop laughing after that one.

The photo is a shot of a fish ornament which hangs above the sofa here. I quite like it.