Ed Sheeran was clearly chuffed to receive his MBE for services to blandness, remarking, “I really don’t know what to say, but it’s a great honour.”
Sheeran has had a string of hits, although even his greatest fans were unable to hum one of his tunes.
Sheeran has carefully cultivated his blandness over many years, perfecting the Gary Barlow-like knack of turning out catchy melodies which are somehow instantly forgettable.
His attire has gone from funky to conservative. Ed is now hardly ever seen without the standard issue charcoal-grey suit and tie.
Sheeran has inherited the mantle of Britain’s Blandest Entertainer from whichever X-Factor non-entity previously held it.
Simon Cowell is said to be disappointed but claims that his influence has got Sheeran where he is today.
“Cowell-itis” has now infected almost every corner of showbusiness, even Eurovision, where the peculiar music and mad costumes of past years have now been replaced by Britain’s Got Talent uniformity.
Older people are confused by the honour awarded to the ginger tennis ball lookalike.
Colonel Bombthebastards, speaking from the Fletcher Memorial Home, remarks, “We used to beat up ginger kids. Now we’re giving them honours! It’s political correctness gone mad.”
Sheeran joins the ranks of musicians such as David Gray and James Blunt, whose very existence has been stage managed so carefully, whose lives have been so professionally scripted, whose songs have been expertly tweaked, so that nothing of any substance remains.
The empty emotion, the heartfelt cliché, the passion confined to a metronomic four beats in every bar, these are the factors which set Sheeran and his ilk apart.
As Gene Simmons once nearly remarked, “I don’t want to be in a band, I want to be in a bland!”