Like me, you probably thought they have all these award ceremonies at this time of the year because this time of the year is rubbish.
With nothing to do but huddle for warmth in front of the TV, goes the theory, we need the crackle and pop of the Grammy’s, Baftas and Oscars to melt the ice that forms when family members spend too much time in each other’s company.
But no, it turns out that award season takes place not in the grimmest, but in the happiest time of the year, at least according to suicide rates.
Counter-intuitively, it’s the summer months you need to watch for people making the ultimate sacrifice. Yay, short days and cold nights make us deliriously happy! That means all those gushing acceptance speeches might be genuine after all.
I thought the same about Valentine’s Day – that it was a cynical mid-winter mood-booster invented by priests fed up with moaning-about-the-cold parishioners – but now realise, sweetheart, that it must of course be a genuine expression of love and that if someone forgets, it isn’t suicide they need to worry about, but murder.