Meryl Streep looked like a misshapen Ferrero Rocher chocolate.

Thank God the Oscars are over for another year. Now we can all get back to talking about the important stuff, like who’ll be the next England football captain. The good news was that The Artist picked up five Oscars on Sunday, and Meryl Streep gave us Brits a shot in the arm by making Mrs Thatcher a winner again. But judging by this morning’s front pages, the real story of the 84th Academy Awards was Angelina Jolie and her overexposed right leg.

Yes, with literally hundreds of overdressed and underfed actresses thronging the red carpet in LA, it was the female half of Brangelina who once again managed to hog the limelight. It was almost enough to make me forget about Meryl Streep’s latest fashion faux pas — that hideous eco-friendly gold Lanvin dress. According to Sky News, Streep’s frock “resembled the statuette she ended up taking home”. Wrong. The truth is she looked more like a misshapen Ferrero Rocher chocolate. As someone (I forget who it was) waspishly remarked on BBC Breakfast, “There’s a reason that tailoring was invented.” Miaow!

But let’s get back to Angelina, who wasn’t nominated for best actress but demonstrated that she can out-vamp anyone, anywhere, at any time. She may have giant lips and a limited range of facial expressions, but who cares. The photogenic qualities of those acres of toned thigh have already gained @AngiesRightLeg almost 35,000 followers on Twitter. I realise that doesn’t mean a lot, because many Twitter users are so thick that they’d probably follow their own right leg if it wasn’t actually attached to them. There were some good lines, though, with @theprojecttv summing it up: “Don’t knock Angelina’s leg, it won Best Supporting Actress.”

I often feel out of step with popular culture these days. After sitting in my sister’s car and listening to Adele for 90 minutes, I feel like slashing my wrists or even ramming the offending CD down my own throat. I used to have the same warm feelings about the music of Will Young and Dido (“Dildo” as I affectionately christened her), while the execrable Twilight movies make me fear for the future of mankind.

Many Twitter users are so thick that they’d probably follow their own right leg if it wasn’t actually attached to them.

The phenomenon that is Brangelina, though, brings me to a whole new level of stunned incomprehension. Seriously, if Brad “Monkey Boy” Pitt and creepy looking Angelina Jolie are the most fabulously glamorous, gorgeous and incandescently sexy couple on the planet, then I really need glasses.

I know that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but these two smug, preening idiots make the Beckhams and TomKat (that’s diminutive Tom Cruise and his latest brainwashed spouse, Katie Holmes) look as though they’re not really trying.

I’ve also (belatedly) realised that I’ve spent far too many blogging hours worrying about offending people with my opinions. I’ve tied myself up in verbal knots trying to find ways to be rude — but not too rude. So I’ll just come right out and say that I don’t like Brad and Angelina, or their oddly named and ever-expanding brood, or most of their films. The fact that Versace-clad fembot Angelina was, once again, able to get her leg over most of the world’s editors is deeply depressing.

To cheer myself up, I offer you a glimpse of Hollywood’s greatest couple, Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall. Real glamour, genuine class and an indefinable magic. Here’s looking at you.