And the winner is...

Not me.

Robbed, I was.

They gave the prize to some girl who blogs wonderfully and has done so for years, and who has in recent times, climbed Mount Everest.

I wish I was making that last bit up, but I'm not.

Fortunately, I had rehearsed my Oscar nominee expression of graciousness in defeat in the run-up to the Awards ceremony.

It was ruined somewhat by having to stick my fist in my mouth to stop myself crying out that I climb my own personal mountain each and every day, just staying alive.

I'm nothing if not dramatic. But causing a scene would not have been appropriate, just like throwing my tennis racket at my opponent was never a measured response to defeat on the courts.

As I have admitted to you all before, I do transform into a monster at the mere hint of a competition, but in all seriousness, I didn’t so much mind losing this one.

Annie writes with an effortlessness that I greatly admire, and she also takes the kind of photos that make people and places of this earth seem extraordinary and beautiful. You should read her stuff.

Apart from the Awards, I was also present in Croke Park yesterday to see Mayo lose. One of these days, I will be part of the optimistic contingent there to see them win, and we will spill out onto Jones’ Road, jubilant and giddy, and singing songs of the green and red that have not been heard on the Northside of Dublin since 1951.

It was a weekend that was far too hectic. The sickness is on me today, as a result, and my eyes are not responding to basic commands.

There is but one word for me in such a state, but it is a funny one, which eases my burden somewhat.

Banjaxed.