The latest Phil Evans column from the South Wales Evening Post

The latest Phil Evans column from the South Wales Evening Post.

Comedian Phil Evans is from Ammanford. He is known as the man who puts the ‘cwtsh’ into comedy.
---------------------

An Oscar Winner’s Speech Should Be A Thankless Task – Otherwise It Takes Far Too Long.
In London a couple of weeks ago, I walked through Leicester Square and saw that a movie premiere was underway.
I guessed immediately that the film was “Fifty Shades Of Grey” because the carpet outside the cinema wasn’t red. It was black and blue!
The film’s already made over $130 million in America. Talk about money for new rope . . .
Staying with films, you’ll know by now who won what at the 87th Academy Awards, held at the Dolby Theatre in Hollywood.
You’ll also know who made the longest, most toe-curlingly embarrassing speech and who wore the most inappropriate frock – the guilty party usually, but not always exclusively, being a woman.
Most importantly, you’ll have discovered which actors and actresses are incapable of hiding their naked jealousy when someone else wins the award they were also up for.
They may be brilliant up there on the Panavision screen, inhabiting their character and delivering their lines so well that for a couple of hours you truly believe they’re a scheming murderess . . . a sword-wielding, bearded warrior from Middle Earth . . . a brilliant scientist who cracks an unbreakable code . . . or a scheming, sword-wielding, code-breaking, bearded murderess.
Now that’s a performance I’d pay to see!
However, their chameleon-like talent seems to desert many of them when, with the TV cameras just inches from their faces, beaming their reaction to viewers around the globe, they have to be seen to enthusiastically applaud their fellow performers as they watch them walk to the podium to collect their coveted awards.
But their fixed smiles tell an entirely different story and that they’re silently screaming “That should be me up there!”
Hack away at the thin veneer of Hollywood glamour (if you have the appropriate tools and nothing better to do with your time) and there is no more false, competitive, envy-ridden, money-driven, superficial environment than the film world.
Apart from insurance broking!
Oh yes . . . and owning a mobile fish & chip shop.
But, with all the terrible things going on in the world . . . war, famine, disease, 30 years of Eastenders etc are we really that interested in this over-hyped annual ceremony attended by a bunch of incredibly well-paid actors and directors who have lifestyles we can only dream about, in a city thousands of miles away?
Personally speaking, as much as I enjoy a good film, I really couldn’t care less about the Oscars.
I honestly can’t recall sitting through any film in the cinema, thinking “The way he held up that wall single-handedly, he’s a dead cert for Best Supporting Actor!”
Or “That living room deserves the Oscar for Best Art Direction. I’ve never seen more convincing wallpaper!”
But I, Phil Evans, am not everybody. If I was, I’d need to buy a few more suits.
So if you stayed up all night to watch the Oscars on Sunday and enjoyed the experience, let me say this...
“Wake up! It’s Wednesday!”

----------------------

Motorway driving

I do a lot of commuting in my line of work, so without the trusty M4 motorway my job would be quite difficult.
But, the more I drive on the motorway, the more I find myself disbelieving a few of the outrageous things I’ve seen over the last few weeks – and I’m not just talking about the price of the motorway service area sandwich!
There’s the tailgater, the one person whose journey is so much more important that everyone else’s, who insists on driving so close to your rear end you can no longer see their number plate!
Why does this action wind me up so much?
Is it the fact that if I had to stop suddenly...there is no way that they would?
Another favourite last week is when I leave enough room between me and the car in front as we’re about to turn off at a junction . . . which some people see as an invitation to bomb up the outside lane and squeeze into at the last moment with less than 100 yards to go before we turn off!
That’s it. I’m going to start catching the bus . . .

-----------------------

Phone boxes
Ahhhh those were the days, when the only way of communicating with someone who didn’t live within a five-mile radius was to use the local phone box.
How many of you can remember the unforgettable aroma as you pulled open that ridiculously heavy door and it hit you . . . a mixture of stale cigarettes and wee.
I wonder if any well-known candle companies have ever thought of adding the fragrance “70s Phone Box” to their candle collection?
There you stood, with all of the dialling codes on the wall in front of you, armed with your bag of 2ps which weighed a ton.
Or, if you were lucky enough to be phoning a mate who was well off, you’d give them the phone box number and they’d call you back – much to the annoyance of the seven people standing in the queue outside!
Can you remember the feeling of running out of change and the ‘pips’ going, so you had about 30 seconds to cram in as much of the end of your conversation as you could?
Magic times, kids have none of this fun nowadays!

----------------------

You can follow Phil Evans on Twitter @philevanswales