You don't have to be cool to win prizes

"Student union grunge. A tie-free zone where gingham shirts sit happily with corduroy dinner jackets, where pyjama jackets, un-ironed, seem an appropriate partner for Savile Row smartness." So might David Attenborough have observed of a strange gathering in London last week. Britain's "creatives", a species normally residing in select advertising offices in Soho, flocked to Bafta's Piccadilly headquarters for the 1995 Radio Advertising Awards.

The stiff cardboard invitations should simply have stated at the bottom "dress". Award Ceremony cool at its coolest should mean no hint of excitement; no hint of expectation; no hint of making an effort. For the men, the lads, the boys it means no portable phones, no Psion organisers, no Filofaxes. For the women, the babes, the beautiful, it means their flickable "international" hair shouldn't look too groomed.

Low-key cool was also the organisational style and tempo of the award ceremony. Our hosts, the Virgin Radio breakfast-time duo Russ and Jono, arrived on stage their drinks still in hand. The creatives, now adopting a group public display David Attenborough might have identified as "uniformly unimpressed", fiddled with each seat's remote control device that would allow them to vote in each category of nominated adverts.

"We believe in technology," said Jono. "But it could all fuck up immediately," Russ added. "By the way, we're from Virgin Radio. It's a national station, but then everything is national for you lot, because you never go outside London."

Jono is an ex-creative himself. Working for an Australian ad agency he was given the Pan Am account. He came up with the slogan: "Pan Am - First into the Pacific." Shortly afterwards a Pan Am plane ditched in the ocean off Australia and Jono was off the payroll.

Russ explained the award ceremony rules. Nobody listened; the creatives were too busy looking casually distracted. Russ battled on, insisting: "No speeches. You come up, get the award and your gram of cocaine." Suddenly there was laughter and attention.

Late arrivals allowed their plumage to be inspected by those already seated. Basketball referee shirt by Jasper Conran? Surely not. Red tartan bondage trousers. Ah, a historian. Vivienne Westwood skiwear? Too early in the season, surely.

John Hegarty, of Bartle Bogle and Hegarty (immaculate black suit, immaculate white shirt buttoned up to the collar, no tie) was chairman of the nomination judges.

Commercial radio no longer needs to apologise for anything, he said. This year the commercial sector overtook the BBC and the magical 50 per cent of the total listening audience for radio. But there is still a long journey ahead. "There are very few good radio adverts," said John Hegarty. "And when they are bad it really shows up - they can be cringe-making. But it is a terrific area for people to make their names."

But was this gathering of the species as exciting as, say, a television or a film awards ceremony? "To to be honest, no," admitted Hegarty. "But it will be."

Up on the stage the steady procession of winners arrived to receive the silver awards, which bore a striking remblance to Sega Megadrive joysticks. The voting technology - all flashing graphs and moving statistics - would have had Newsnight's Peter Snow hopping. Russ and Jono avoided Newsnight fervour in favour of more on-stage drinks and such helpful announcements as, "You can get soft porn channels if you press certain buttons on this gizmo."

Appropriately, the "unimpressed" theme of the night was reflected in the winning advert, a classic of laid-back indifference, but both welcomingly short and funny. Written by Alan Fleming and Paul Falla of the Simons Palmer Agency, it featured the voice of Gregor Fisher in his best Rab C Nesbitt character. The Glaswegian tones of the ad began "You know if I was a sports lover, I'd be impressed, seriously impressed by how much they know about Nike at JD Sports ... [sound of lager can opening] ... but I'm no'."