To judge by the look on the woman's face, something momentous, something of planetary-level importance, had just taken place. She was shaking her head, clutching at her chest, and repeating: “Oh my God, oh my God” in a shaky whisper, all while trying to claw her way across a crowded room to a microphone, where she finally cast a teary glance at the assembled stars, executives, and dignitaries.

I had just switched on the television.

If I hadn't recognised the woman as Kate Winslet, and the event as the Golden Globes, I would have expected some kind of extraordinary revelation.

“After 61 years, I can confirm that the Israeli-Palestinian conflict is over,” she might have said, through her sobs. Or: “I've been informed that Asian markets are up 500 per cent, Bernie Madoff has found his missing $50billion, and everyone has their jobs and savings back!”

But no. When the caption appeared on the screen, it read: “Kate Winslet - Best Performance by an Actress in a Motion Picture (for Revolutionary Road).”

“Please forgive me,” gasped Winslet. “[To herself] Gather. [To the crowd] Is this really happening? Thank you so much. [Suddenly sobbing] Thank you so much! Oh my God!

[Reading from autocue] “Please wrap up?” YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH I'M NOT WRAPPING UP. [Again, to herself] OK, gather. [Back to the audience] This is absolutely extraordinary, I've had an incredible couple of years. Thank you so much. [Resumes sobbing again] Thank you so much! God!!”

The rest I'll spare you.

I realise, of course, that it is easy to come off as mean-spirited when criticising movie stars' awards speeches. They're as entitled as the rest of us to feel proud when they work hard and produce something good, and if TV networks want to make entertainment out of that, well, so be it. Yet every so often a speech comes along that is such an assault on taste and dignity - think of Gwyneth Paltrow's whimpering snotfest at the 1999 Oscars - something must be said.

The problem, I think, is the primetime airing of awards shows on network TV. Consider, for example, what else Americans have watched this year on TV: the Dow Jones losing almost half its value; the beginning of a new war in the Middle East; the election of a black president.

Because awards shows are broadcast on the same medium - and treated as news - an equivalence is created, no matter how unfair. Which means that in times such as these, actors and actresses risk appearing extraordinarily isolated from reality if they do a Winslet after winning a gong. Also, if Barack Obama can hold it together in Chicago on election night, then surely Winslet - a professional actress - can tone it down in LA on Golden Globes night. Indeed, part of me wonders if Winslet was simply hamming it up for the Americans, as such public displays of emotion are hardly in the British DNA.

It was a mistake, regardless.

This is a new America. A darker, crueller America. An America in which you should thank your good fortune when it comes - then get back to work, fast.

Pocket porn

While the Golden Globes were going on in Beverly Hills, a less respectable entertainment industry event was being held in Las Vegas: the annual Adult Entertainment Expo, at which porn executives show off new ways to bring smut to the masses. This year's big invention was a website entitled iPinkVisual, created specifically to allow iPhones to access explicit videos. “Wherever you go, your porn goes with you - your office, the bathroom, or the supply closet!” declared the company, with pride.

Never again will I be able to look a fellow iPhone owner in the eye.

Not quite a barrio millionaire

This year's big awards season winner looks set to be the British film Slumdog Millionaire - based on a novel about a boy from the Mumbai slums who wins big on Who Wants to be a Millionaire? - but an even more remarkable rags-to-riches tale is being played out in Mexico at present.

A poor 34-year-old working mother named Cecilia Velázquez was this week awarded a cheque for 356,000 pesos (£17,500) - a fortune by local standards - after winning a nationwide competition organised by President Calderón to find the country's most pointlessly bureaucratic proceedure. Ms Velázquez's winning entry? Having to spend four days a month standing in a queue in Mexico City to get government stamps that allow her to qualify for medicine to treat her son's immune-system disorder.

The story is all over the Mexican news, and it's been great PR for the unpopular Calderón. I just hope that Ms Velázquez doesn't suffer the same fate as many other newly wealthy Mexicans - and end up being kidnapped at a police checkpoint as she drives home one day.

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