Small children are a kind of hangover cure. After a day on the pop I would genuinely lie around doing little but watch films or American sitcoms – perhaps be dragged to the supermarket to be asked my opinion on which vegetables to buy (sample answer “I don’t mind – any” making my presence 100% necessary). However due to visitors (yes, yes, yes – I went out all day with my mates while we had people staying with us: I am not my dad I don’t care what you say) having two small children I was not afforded this luxury. Instead I was winning back the confidence I lost when a lovely baby cried at me a couple of weeks ago with a little baby boy who aligned to more traditional reactions, by finding me hilarious. I also had to do a bit of jogging around the flat with the little girl (I am not sure how what was funny – but when your audience is laughing, you just go with the flow). Perhaps I am the world’s greatest children’s entertainer after all.
I had a couple of hours break from the entertaining as I didn’t fancy a walk to Chorlton. Instead I did what needed doing: I noticed Teen Wolf was on Syfy and watched the shit out of it. I fucking love that film. I have lots of shit knowledge in my head. One of the ways I grow shit knowledge in my head is this way: when I watch a film I will often go on the IMDB and read the trivia on the film. Bizarrely I don’t seem to have done this before for Teen Wolf – surely because the facts I learned were awesome. Like the house Scott lives in is THE SAME HOUSE Marty McFly’s mum lived in, in Back to The Future. I wont bore you with the rest of it – but you can bore yourself here if you want to know it all. It is interesting how much of the trivia is to do with BTTF – like changing the name of the film and characters in foreign markets to link it in with Teen Wolf as though there is any other connection than just the same actor. Well I suppose the word interesting is subjective.
I wasn’t given long to ponder the deep and meaningful questions one is inevitably thinking about after watching Teen Wolf, though. The kids returned (with parents and my partner in crime, they hadn’t come home by themselves) and I was back into the line of fire. And by ‘the line of fire’ I mean I did some impressions of various animals while a little girl laughed and then climbed over a sofa. The fun couldn’t last all day though and eventually my small friends had to go. I like to think they will remember the fat man with the ugly face and the laughter we shared next time they see me. However, they will probably run (if the baby is able to by then) and hide behind the mother or father’s legs looking at me as though I am some kind of ogre.
After some truly fucking horrible dried, shit fried chicken (from Kohinoor Krispy Chicken on Lloyd Street – if you’re looking for some particularly shit fried chicken) and an episode of Mad Men I finally thought I should do the decent thing. That’s right: I agreed to watch The King’s Speech. It wasn’t all that bad y’know. It wasn’t all that good either. Obviously everyone is great in it but it shouldn’t be banded about for the Oscars – this is just my opinion of course. If the Producers of TKS are reading this please don’t feel the need to reply with a comment, I am not quibbling something factual just offering my opinion.
I have now seen six of the ten films nominated for Best Picture. The King’s Speech is not in the top five. Actually it is – I think it is better than 127 Hours. The Fighter, Inception and The Social Network are definitely miles better, that’s for those of you seeking my opinion on the films chasing the Academy Awards winner *looks up from lectern to see a rows and rows of empty chairs* ah, right..