So How Do You Expect A Coen Brother's Film To End?

I am woken up by the wind which is howling around the house. There is a clatter outside which is probably the 'milk minder' disappearing down the drive. The sexy shorted one has been awoken too. There's only half an hour until the alarm goes off, so it's really not worth going back to sleep. It's not difficult to think of a fun way of killing the time.

For once I feel I made the right decision not to cycle, it was difficult enough to walk against the wind. As I walked from the bus, I passed a few cyclists who were walking too, pushing their bikes.

Pub lunch today, cottage pie, and a nice drop of Durham Priors Ale 4.5%.

Near death experience on the way home. Driving the Red Arrow was some young impetuous bus driver; he looked about twelve. I'd not seen him before and I hope I don't again. He tried his hardest to kill us all, banking the bus around the tight corner of the slip road on to the A52, accelerating all the way. The woman in front of me spills her shopping on the floor. Another chap is struggling to get his headphones to stay in his ears; such is the G force. Then he's weaving in and out of all the BMW's etc, I hate to think what speed we're doing. It’s the first time I've seen people voluntarily fastening their seatbelts on the bus. Amazingly some chap next to be sleeps through the whole roller coaster experience.

L and Doggo walk up to meet me. Doggo tows us all back home, he's creased now which is a good job because again he's not getting a proper trip out tonight.

My parents come around, much to Doggo excitement, and then we all go out without him, much to his disappointment. We drop them off at the Arena for 'Strictly Come Dancing'; this is easier said than done. The traffic is hell, unlike at a gig almost everyone is driving there.

Once dispatched we park up and head to Broadway. A quick Beartown beer and then we see the new film from the Coen Brothers 'No Country For Old Men', which is an adaptation of the novel by Cormac McCarthy. It is a perfect choice for them. I am sure they must have chosen his novel because it is so close to their usual style.

Llewellyn Moss (Josh Brolin) is out hunting somewhere near the Mexican border when he stumbles across a host of dead bodies. Further investigation reveals a drug deal gone wrong complete with a truck full of drugs and bag containing $2M in cash.

His mistake is to make off with the cash and so from originally being the hunter, he suddenly becomes the hunted, as he is pursued by several interested parties. Chief among these is a unconventional hit man with pageboy haircut, who has been hired to find him. This man, Anton Chigurh (Javier Bardem), has two weapons, a silenced shotgun, and pneumatic air gun normally used on cattle. He leaves a trail of bodies in his wake as he relentlessly pursues Moss.



For some time Moss evades him but you just know it’s going to end in tears, or rather blood, at the hands of the clearly unstoppable and psychopathic Anton. He is a killer without any humanity, no one gets in his way. Even being involved in a car crash fails to stop him. When he is shot by Moss we get a great scene of him fixing the bullet wound in a leg, which reminds me of Terminator but with extra blood.

Meanwhile the local ageing sheriff (Tommy Lee Jones) is supposed to be chasing them but doesn't really want to. This is ‘no country for old men’ and he doesn’t really want to get involved.

The drugs people also send another hit-man, the cocky Carson Wells (Woody Harrelson) who Anton doesn’t want on his patch, so he gets rid of him too.

If there’s a moral to this film, I guess it’s just that the money isn't worth it but Moss quickly goes beyond the point where Anton would let him return the money and live. Anton offers to spare his wife if he returns it, but not him, and there is no chance of negotiation. Moss chooses to have one last try to keep his life and the money. Although Moss’s motives are mainly greed, you still feel yourself rooting for him.



The film builds the suspense but then just as you're gripped by the two main characters and their riveting duel, things change. In true Coen’s style, events you would think to be crucial to see, are not shown and Moss winds up dead but you don’t see it happen. Later when Anton finds his wife and tells her he’s going to kill her because he's promised her husband, you presume she winds up death but again you don’t see it.

The film is a very well-crafted thriller, tense with moments of humour but also brutally violent. Far gorier than Sweeney Todd. While the plot itself isn't too complicated, the characters are. I was gripped for every moment of it, every time the truly frightening Anton is on screen you feel nervous of what he's going to do next. My only criticism would be that after the breakneck pace of the first hour and a half the last bit plodded a little.

Obviously there is no happy ending. Well there really wasn’t an ending at all but then again, how do you expect a Coen brother's film to end. They leave you with a load of dangled threads that you expect to be neatly tied up but as is often the case with their films, it never quite works out that way.

We collect my parents, in far easier traffic this time, and head home, for a small drop of white wine and a slightly larger drop of red.

Where Are The Dancing Girls?

No cycling today because of the match tonight, so I'm in the car.

I've got so used to L not being online that I forget to email her and apparently our totally inept spam filter is blocking hers. Eventually I notice I have a text and email her.

After work I head to my parents place for tea. They are watching their cholesterol, so after the battered fish and chips, which we'll gloss over (they had already eaten when I arrived, so I assume they had something else), I get offered healthy bananas and sugar free jelly for dessert. That is with a decorative choc-ice on top, a regular treat for them apparently. Hmmmm.

So to Pride Park for the first game in the new American 'Soccer' revolution that our new owners are promising. I wonder where the dancing girls are. Perhaps they're saving the pompoms to give to our back four, anything would be better than having them play football.

Derby actually put in a good performance for our new owners and combined with the fact that Manchester City's strikers aren't a patch on Preston's, it means we could almost have won. We haven't been getting any luck this season but we get some tonight, as one of their defenders deflects Kenny Miller's shot past his own keeper. As ever our lead doesn't last but the game finishes 1-1. Promising. Jewell gave a start to a young chap called Earnshaw; he was outstanding, now if only we'd had him from the start of the season...

So we have eight points now, I reckon we might make double figures by the end of the season. We retire to the pub for a couple of pints of Milestone Crusader.

Trauma

I have a very traumatic morning. Firstly I couldn’t get the rear light on my bike to work. Which is my own fault; I'd left the top off it, because I was recharging the batteries, when I washed my bike on Sunday. Now it's full of water. I fiddled with it for ages before I finally got it working but that made me late leaving. Then to top that I hit another pothole and my rear tyre goes down again. I must be doing something wrong. Perhaps it's because my wheel rims are so damaged from being in potholes that I think splinters of metal are getting inside the tyre. Either that or too many black cats have crossed my path. Not looking good for my little event on Sunday.

Having read a lot of the comments posted by Leeds supporters on the various websites, I can now fully understand why Dennis Wise left. He wasn't exactly Mr Popular despite his relative success there. I suppose his move to Newcastle might be shrewder than I though if Keegan does his usual walking out trick. Wise might then get offered the managers job but can you imagine the Geordie's reaction to that? They want Shearer and get Dennis instead.

The day doesn't get any better for me and it's raining as I leave work. I put on my overtrousers but forget about my overshoes, so wet feet. My rear light isn't working again, so I pop into Halfords to buy a cheap temporary replacement. Although £12 is not exactly cheap.

No punctures on the way home but I'm still running half an hour late when I arrive at the pool. I've brought my swim forward a day because there's more humiliation at Pride Park tomorrow night. Luckily the council's random opening hours generator has chucked up an 8pm pool closing tonight, so I have time for a swim.

As I park my bike I have to push my way through the crowds because all the blinds in the fitness studio are up and the 'fan club' have assembled to watch all the bunnies inside going through their manoeuvres. Hang on a sec, that's L in there, showing them how it's done.

The pool is simply hell. Only two lanes of course, as it’s a Tuesday. There are six people in lane two and four in lane one. The main section is chocker. Lane one it is then. Luckily everyone is roughly the same pace so, despite the crowds, it's a good session.

As I get out Mr Stop-Start is just arriving. He's not going to like the crowds in lane one, nor they him.

I get home and walk Doggo up to meet L, who's having a swim herself, post aerobics. This is all the exercise he's getting tonight.

The mystery of Son always having his bedroom window open even when it's minus three outside has been kind of solved. We assumed he was just too hot and I even turned his radiator down to a lower mark but it turns out it's just to stop his wifi adapter overheating. He blames the central heating, I think it's more likely to be burning white hot with constant use.

L does bolognaise, then offers another early night. Wa-hey.

Lock Up Your Daughters

The Americans are coming, so lock up your Daughters and all that. That is Derby County are now in American hands, yee haw.

Quite why they want Derby is anyone's guess. They seem to think they'll get the whole world buying Derby County shirts. I hate to criticise but that seems a tad optimistic.

The new Chairman introduces himself, and his family at a press conference. I hope he knows what he's doing because I must question the judgement of someone who calls their kids 'Brock', 'MacCall', 'Avery' and 'Quinn'. Think he's got his surnames and christian names mixed up. I just hope Jewell Paul will get some money to improve the defence. I wonder how long they'll stay. We do seem to have a takeover every year or so at the moment.

I'm in Sainsbury's at lunchtime where I'm treated to a truly horrifying sight, a chap in a flowery shirt, Bermuda shorts, and sandals, in January. Not that it would be tasteful even in summer. Our thoughts go out to his wife and family at this sad time.

Just before the end of the day L gets in touch by email, its been such a long time since I've heard from her. Somebody must have finally managed to plug the right cable into the right hole at AOL.

If football clubs were women, adultery would be rife. Dennis Wise walks out on Leeds to become the new tea boy at Newcastle. Apparently even Keegan doesn't know anything about it.



Where's the sense in that, other than short-term financial gain. If he wanted a better job, the best way was to get Leeds up, and then they'll be plenty of Premier League clubs asking him to name his price to be their manager. Mind you there are plenty of Leeds fans offering to pack his bags for him; in fact it appears that all of them are.

I get home and get a text from L saying she's stressed (AOL I guess) and needs chocolate. At least she didn't ask for Leffe. Won't I do? Unfortunately the animal and I are off training.

The training itself goes well which surely bodes badly for the event we have on Saturday. Frustratingly on the way home the A52 is closed for repairs, so we've late meeting L.

L's still feeling frazzled, so it's straight to bed, for chocolate and de-stressing, without Leffe. Excellent.

I Just Love An Unhappy Ending

A quiet relaxing Sunday. A lie-in, juice, coffee, frivolity and even the Sunday paper delivered by one of our resident delivery persons. All of this then spoilt by a (near) death experience in an exceptionally muddy field at the hands of the fun they call orienteering. Well, at least, Doggo loved it. L and I both came back scratched to hell by the brambles. You could hear the maniacal laughter of the course planner as you crossed the finish line. Not funny mate. Problem is someone will exact revenge on you by plotting an equally evil course next time but of course we'll all have to put ourselves through it too.

Doggo was actually very well behaved on the course or perhaps he just stuck with me in case he got stuck in a bramble bush somewhere and needed rescuing.

Reviving soup. Well its celeriac and something and looks a bit like wallpaper paste but it's ok.

We get home, where I service and clean my bike. Then I get carried away and start cleaning the hall and the bedroom. Most of the mud in the hall, surprise surprise, comes courtesy of the dog.

I knock up a positively excellent curry, even if I do say so myself and then we watch a bit of culture. A bit of Dickens. The 'Old Curiosity Shop' that we taped at Christmas.

It is the story of a girl called Nell and her grandfather, who owns a shop of 'curiosities'. Unfortunately her grandfather has an unhealthy appetite for a game of cards and he's also not very good at it. He borrows heavily from a loan shark called Daniel Quilp, in order to finance his losses. In the end, Quilp makes him sign over the shop if he fails to meet the repayments, which he duly fails to do and Quilp seizes the shop. Nell and her grandfather run away and in their travels they meet a number of characters, some good, some bad.

Quilp however pursues them. He teams up with Nell's brother Frederick who doesn't believe they are broke and hatches a plan with his friend Richard. Whereby Richard will marry Nell and the two of them carve up her inheritance.

A mysterious 'gentleman' appears looking for Nell and her grandfather. A boy, who is a friend of Nell's from the Curiosity Shop, is framed as a thief by Quilp and his cronies but he is then saved by of all people, Richard. Quilp is now on the run himself but as he tries to escape, he falls through the ice on the frozen lake and dies.

The mysterious 'gentleman', who is in fact the younger brother of Nell's grandfather, eventually finds them but Nell dies as a result of presumably catching something from being out in the rain. Which is a common ailment among these period dramas! All the same, I just love an unhappy ending.



All good stuff but it's not quite Bleak House.

26 units, a good week.

Listen To Your Daughter

We start the day with a high-quality lie-in followed by a session with Doggo on park.

Then I drive over to Derby because it's FA Cup 4th Round day. Derby have only to beat lowly Preston to progress but of course it doesn't work out that way. Derby are pathetic in defence again and lose 4-1. Which doesn't bode well for next season, let alone the rest of this. Paul Jewell's record at Derby since he took over isn't exactly impressive. Not exactly the 'bounce' we'd hoped for.

In the evening we head into town and to Broadway. Tonight it's 'Sweeney Todd: the Demon Barber of Fleet Street', which, half an hour before the start, they are queuing down the stairs to get into see. We go in the bar and wait for the commotion to die down and enjoy a pint of Legend.

Oddly Daughter has been against us going to see Sweeney Todd, although we've been struggling to understand why. I think it's something to do with her being a big Johnny Depp fan and this, because it's very violent, has been classified as '18' so she can't see it. So I think she expects us to wait four years until she is allowed to see it. With hindsight, it appears she's probably been tipped off about how dull this film is and was just trying to save us from it. We should have listened.

The story itself is pretty interesting. After being sent away for fifteen years for a crime he claims he didn't commit, Benjamin Barker returns to London with the help of a young sailor. Now calling himself Sweeney Todd he wants revenge on the judge who sent him away. He returns to his old barber shop where Mrs. Lovett (Helena Bonham Carter) now runs a shop selling 'the worst pies in London'. Todd believes his wife is dead and the judge now has his Daughter, Johanna as his ward. To complicate matters the young sailor he came home with, is trying to seduce Johanna, and wants Sweeney to help him in this quest.

Mrs. Lovett convinces Todd to resurrect his old barber shop and after a 'shave-off' with a chap called Pirelli, played eccentrically by Sasha Baron Cohen, he establishes himself as the best barber in London. This is one of the better moments of the film. Depp's shaving blade is a whir, almost as if reprising his role as Edward Scissorshands, as he wins the contest. I think there was supposed to be humour in the film but the only titter from the audience came at the hands of Baron Cohen during this screen.

His reputation established, Todd gets some customers but instead of give them a close shave, he slits their throats and Lovett uses their bodies to make her meat pies, which she then sells to her unsuspecting customers. The gratuitous throat slitting, and there is an awful lot of it, is overdone, there's too much ketchup and it's not very scary. We've seen it all before but the main problem with the film is that it's a musical but without any tunes or singers. The songs are all mundane, unremarkable ballads and everything is sung in monotone, so much so that a lot of it is unintelligible. Depp is clearly no singer and nor is Bonham Carter. The 'singing' ruined what could have been a good film because the film's 'look' was amazing. The sets of a grim London were very good, complete with rats. Which reminded me of something funny L read out in the paper this morning, that in London you are never more than five minutes from a Starbucks, or a rat.



So, perhaps if the music had been totally done away with it might have worked, but in this format, for me, it just didn't. The script was padded out with songs rather than with storyline. Right from the start the film was a long slog with little or no tempo to it. L was looking at her watch early on and I didn't blame her.

The best acting came from the ever excellent Alan Rickman as Judge Turpin. Although he appeared to be simply reprising his role as Severus Snape from Harry Potter, which I'm not sure was the intention. Then even he spoiled it by showing his lack of singing skills.

The most chilling scene was at the end, when Bonham Carter gets incinerated in her own oven, that bit was priceless.



Once it was over, the audience just got up and left in silence, hardly anyone commented on it, such was its lack of effect. All rather boring I'm afraid. L and I usually agree on the good films but not often on the bad ones. One of us usually likes them but not in this case and it takes us a whole bottle of Argentine Malbec to get over it. Well it actually takes an Orkney Red McGregor as well.

So listen to your Daughter and don't go. It's '18' for a reason, not for the gratuitous blood, or the burning alive, but to protect the sanity of the young.

Team Time Trial

Feeling very knackered and stiff from last night but even so I'm back on my bike again, otherwise I won't make my promised 100-mile target for the week.

I have a friendly tussle with my some time combatant. It's amicable though and we do a very professional looking team time trial, each taking time at the front, sheltering the other from the wind, which really does work. When I'm in his slipstream I can actually freewheel and be towed along unlike when I'm in front when it's a case of head down and battle the wind.

Just as he turns off, I notice that he's riding a 'Focus'. I must ask him about it next time I see him. So far so good, no punctures today, yet.

I get the usual 'are you alive?' text from L and I'm a bit slow replying. She says she was just about to call 999.

It seems even windier on the way home but thankfully it's with me most of the way. I get home and not only has L cooked up her legendary bean dish, she's been and got me some oil for my bike.

I express my gratitude while at the same time commemorating Saint Dwynwen's Day which is today. It's a lesser-known fact that Saint Dwynwen is the Welsh patron saint of lovers. Folklore has it that Dwynwen fell in love with a young chap but then rejected his advances. Typical female. So he helps himself. In revenge an angel gives the chap a potion which turns him into ice. Dwynwen gets him released but then legs it to an island off the coast of Anglesey and becomes a hermit until she dies. Women eh?

We walk Doggo across to the pub in Beeston, where they are celebrating something else because tonight is Burns Night. So we should really be on the whiskey, but we're not and in any case they have a whole load of Scottish ales on the bar. This momentarily distracts me and while I have my eye off the ball, L and obviously some other punters finish off the Damson Porter. Luckily it is soon replaced by another brew called Devils Porter which is equally as good.

Goth On A Lead

No squash again tonight so I'm very tempted to bike but also feel very tired. It’s the fault of all them psychos in the pool last night. So I'm on the bus.

In the news today is a lad from Yorkshire who leads his girlfriend around on a dog lead. They're in the news because they've been stopped from getting on the local buses because of fears for passenger safety. The bus company is insisting that he remove the girl's lead before boarding the bus or perhaps they just don't like Goths. Oddly, this isn't what they ask you to do if you take a real dog on a bus but never mind.



There are a group of students reading out the article on the bus. they are laughing because apparently, the girl likes wearing a collar and lead and says it was all her idea. Even though previous boyfriends called her a 'weirdo' for suggesting it. Her new chap doesn't mind, he describes her as 'animal like, kind of like a pet, as well as a partner' He said he 'does everything' for his pet, including laying out her clothes for her, feeding her and cleaning their house. 'You wouldn't expect your cat or dog to do the washing up.' Well it would be nice if he did.

This sets the students off on their own tales of weirdness. One lad was on about his ex, who had a penchant for not wearing underwear, which he didn't have any complaints about. Until the day she rang him on his mobile to tell him, when he was in his car, on a hands-free kit, with his brother. They split up. Now she's seeing his brother.

In the evening Son and Daughter are at a gig, L bought them the tickets as Christmas presents. It's Linkin Park at the Arena and neither L nor me what to go, so it's just the two of them. Daughter is very keen to play on the fact that this is Son's first time (at a gig), we advise her it's not wise to use the 'V' word.

We drop them off and they wander off, pretending to not be with each other. We park up near the Vat & Fiddle pub and take Doggo for a run. We run across the Embankment and head down past the City Ground. We do around an hour; L is really on top form. Naturally she doesn’t believe me that she's got a good pace on. I reckon we did about seven miles.

Then we sit in the pub and wait for the signal to collect them. Just as we've got a second drink in, Daughter texts to say the encore has started, surely not, it's too soon. As we try and speed up our drinking we get another saying 'or not'. We relax but no further messages arrive, so at about ten to eleven we go in search of them. They are waiting for us, Daughter's phone had packed up and naturally Son hadn't taken his. That apart, I think they had a good night.

Trouble with Eastern Europe

After being only one degree yesterday, it's a stifling ten degrees this morning. What is up with the weather? I scale down my kit for the cycle in.

Another L free day at work, her internet is still AOL-ed.

At lunchtime I go down and join the mass queues for Derby's next cup match on Saturday. After dishing out a right good thrashing to Sheffield last night next up for the treatment is another struggling Championship team in Preston. Ok, so perhaps not everyone is being gripped by cup fever, I had to queue for about five minutes but people ought to be gripped, I mean we have nothing else to play for this season.

After an uneventful ride in, the ride home is again, like yesterdays, a lot more interesting. Firstly I have to pull off an 'interesting' overtaking move and go round a tractor and trailer that's chugging up the hill to Risley.

Then, and I can hardly believe it, I get another puncture, in my front this time, as I'm going through Stapleford. I think I must have run over some glass, there's an awful lot about at the moment. As I'm changing my tube a group of teenagers stop by and offer help and advice. Well I think that's what they were offering. They seem very polite but also totally illiterate and I have trouble understanding them. I smile politely and hope they take the hint and go away. They do eventually. As they walk away, I do manage to make out one of their mutterings about giving me a push. Well yes that would be ok if you fancy pushing me all the way to Nottingham.

Then I'm off again but not for long as I realise my tyre isn't rotating correctly. I stop again, realise the tyre isn't on properly, deflate the tube, adjust the tyre, pump it up again and then off I go again.

Eventually I make it to the pool but now I’m running a tad late. The changing room is almost full, which isn’t promising and so it proves. The pool is packed, five and six to a lane in places. The bikini zone is standing room only. Lane one has only two swimmers in but I see that one of them is Mr Stop-Start, which is why everyone is avoiding it. The one person, who's been foolhardy enough to share with him, looks at the end of her tether. Yep, been there, done that, bought the t-shirt, so I'm off into lane two.

There are already three others in lane two and the pace is quite quick, which is good. A couple of guys are setting a good pace, so I match their pace and keep a good distance from them. Not so this girl, who in her East European accent, keeps instructing me to go in front of her but then insists on swimming right behind me. After a few lengths I stop and let her pass but every time I do that, a few lengths later, she'll stop and make me go back in front.

All of this fighting with Eastern Europe is very tiring and after doing what feels like a hundred lengths I stop for breather. She pulls up next to me and, despite the fact I've taken my goggles off, says 'after you'. Not a chance, I've had enough. I make my apologies and get out.

I get home exhausted but there's one more task today, dog class. Our trainer sets a pretty tough course and we are brilliant at it. It all bodes well for the new season, when of course it'll all go pear shaped.

We get home to L, who's done good old Cumberland sausage (imported by ourselves from Cumbria) and all the trimming. After which I crawl to bed, as does Doggo, although he's only done the agility, not the bike, nor the swim, part-timer. L's a treasure and soothes my aches for me.

Eccentricity, Chaos And A Bit Of A Limp

It's only one degree this morning, so it's a little cold on the bike but not really too bad and only a little icy. However I'd rather be on my bike than attached to a neurotic collie in slippery conditions, as L was.

The ride in is uneventful, unlike the ride home when my rear wheel goes down a pothole in Spondon and the tyre immediately deflates. I'm sure that hole wasn't there last week. So I have to stop and change the tube.

The lost time means that by the time I get home I haven't really got time to take Doggo out. What I really need is for him to be up for a ball session in the garden but he isn't, he doesn't look at all interested and instead skulks under the kitchen table, constantly giving me the eye as I cook up a chilli for tea.

After feeding the kids I head off in the car to collect L from the babe zone that is BTT at the leisure centre, then we head off for a quick Landlord/Leffe before tonight's gig. At L's request we are off to see British Sea Power at the Rescue Rooms. I'm a big fan of theirs but their gigs can be rather eccentric and a bit of an acquired taste.

As we walk to the venue I check the football score on my phone. Derby are already one down in their cup replay at Sheffield. Things are going as expected e.g. not very well.

We get to the gig in plenty of time, which is very rare for us but the venue is already pretty full. However we spot that the balcony is still sparsely populated so we head up there and manage to get a good spot, straight in front of the stage. We even catch the main support band 'Make Model' but we have missed openers 'John et Jehn'.

'Make Model' sounds like something to do with Airfix kits but they turn out to be a new up and coming band from Glasgow. They come over as a bit of a 'pop' Arcade Fire, and they have almost as many members. Having only just released their first single 'The Was' before Christmas and with no album yet in the offing, they are very much in their infancy but they certainly show promise. They have some great slow building songs. One to watch out for I think.



As I've already mentioned British Sea Power are an eccentric bunch. I mean how more eccentric can you get than moving from Kendal to Brighton. Ok I'm old, Kendal is probably dull if you're young but Brighton?

Tonight their usual stage decorations of foliage and assorted stuffed animals are gone; in their place are what look like various random signalling flags. As the band come on stage to the new album's opening overture 'All In It' it is without their army uniforms. Instead they look as though they had started to dress up as Morris men but thought better of it and abandoned the idea part way through.

They are without their drummer Woody tonight, who had recently injured his back. They tell us he's at home on decorating leave. He's been temporarily replaced by Tom White of the Brakes and also of Electric Soft Parade. White usually plays guitar so for him to turn his hand to drums and learn the material in just a few weeks is admirable.

Following the sequence of the album, they launch into 'Lights Out For Darker Skies'. Then comes the recent single 'Atom' which is accompanied by an air raid siren that is brought onto the stage. An old favourite 'Remember Me' follows. Their violinist accompanies them on most tracks, although the sound of that gets pretty much lost in the mix.

After four songs main singer Yan hands over to his brother Hamilton, who sings three tracks all pulled from different albums. Hamilton does not have as strong a voice as his brother but he seems to sing on some of the better material. Whether this is because of his voice or whether the songs would be even better if Yan sang them I'm not sure.



For our vantage point, I realise that the Rescue Rooms is far too small for the amount of people they have in it tonight. They may have worked out the capacity on available floor space but as the venue is such an odd shape, a lot of the floor space offers little or no view of the band; hence everyone has to cram in near the stage. I'm glad we've up on the balcony and even that was about five or six deep.

Yan returns to sing the current single 'Waving Flags', an ode to the Polish plumbers and Slovak waitresses now working in our country. Well it makes a change from singing about polar ice-shelves and Arctic explorers.

The brothers then trade the lead microphone for the rest of the night. Throughout, the audience is rather deadpan as are the band. There's little in the way of banter but it appears that none is expected from the faithful.

The instrumental 'The Great Skua' takes on new proportions when it is played live. How many bands play instrumentals these days? The track is truly immense tonight and accompanied with great visuals, although Tom White gets in the way of most of them.



The set list consists mainly of tracks from their new album, 'Do You Like Rock Music?' but with a fair smattering of tracks from their debut, we get a superb rendition of the brief 'Favours In The Beetroot Fields' but little from 'Open Season', notably 'Please Stand Up' but oddly 'How Will I Ever Find My Way Home'.

A storming 'Down On The Ground' and 'A Trip Out' would have been a good way to finish but this isn't their way and they take around twenty minutes to churn out the final two tracks.

Firstly we get the obscure but mental 'Spirit Of St Louis'. During which the air raid siren is given another airing and it all descends into muddled insanity. Guitarist Noble swaps his guitar for Yan's tambourine and ascends the steps to the balcony. He then proceeds to climb, Spiderman like around the outside of the balcony, even navigating his way around a pillar. Surely a manoeuvre he must have practised earlier. Some bands do a sound check, BSP it seems have climbing practice.

Just as we're wondering what will happen when he runs out of balcony he throws the tambourine to the bar staff, descends into the crowd and then swims back on a sea of hands back to the stage. Priceless but even so the song dragged on a bit.

Then they close the set with the full eight minutes and some more of 'True Adventures'.

They return for an encore and play an awesome 'No Lucifer' and the popular 'Carrion' before more larking about ensues with their regular improvised finale known as 'Rock In A', which apparently has been known to go on for three days but thankfully is a little shorter tonight. I lose track of who's on stage as someone new seems to take up the guitar, perhaps a roadie or a member of the support band? Another girl appears from somewhere, does a lot of shrieking and appears to start a 'friendly' fight on stage. Noble is once more in the crowd and surfs around the room on his back, pointing the microphone at anyone who wants to contribute to the chaos.

BSP have some great three-minute pop songs and if they stuck to that, which is what they are good at, they would probably be massive but they always seem to have the urge to extend everything into a ten minutes epic. Unfortunately 'epic' is not quite the result. As L says after, it was three quarters of a good gig but still pretty damn good.

Some amazing news on the way home. Derby have beaten Sheffield Wednesday 4-2 on penalties after the game finished 1-1 after extra time. So we're off on a cup run, well more a limp really but we'll take anything at the moment.

Blue Monday

Apparently today is Blue Monday, the most depressing day of the year. Presumably the people who decided that must have driven down the A52 this morning. Yep the traffic is hell.

Apparently the combination of the winter weather, short days, post-Christmas blues, together with those huge Christmas credit card bills turning up in the post and the breaking of all those new years resolutions make today the most miserable of the year. So today is a good day to have an exam, like Daughter has.

Personally though I don't feel at all miserable. I like the winter weather although it's clearly not wintry enough, I don't make resolutions, and I'm positively ecstatic that Christmas is out of the way for another year. On top of that we've just had a pleasant weekend away and I have two skiing holidays to look forward to. Over the weekend I have booked us two cottages, one in Glencoe in February, we're hoping the Scottish snow lasts and one in Austria at Easter. Bring it on.

In the evening I take Doggo training. The trainer only sets out nine jumps and nothing else. Which means there's a lot of running involved which isn't his strong point. Despite that it goes well and we have a good session, working on our tight turns. We both return home knackered, collecting L on the way.

Reinforcements

It's not such a nice day today, in fact it's drizzling but still L, Doggo, and I go out for a run to burn off some of last nights indulgence. I assume the others will go out later. I'm reluctant but not as much as Doggo who isn't keen to have his jacket on and hides under the table.

The sheep outside our cottage have called in reinforcements; there are now four of them. Doggo however is still up for the fight so I keep a very close hold of him. Thankfully the rain seems to stop as soon as we start running.

Our chefs are getting faster and breakfast is already ready before we go out but we delay it by running, so it's our fault that it’s all a bit dried up.

We take a trip to Coniston to hopefully get to see something of the famous Bluebird boat which they dredged up from the bottom of the lake a few years ago.



However, we are too late to get into the museum. We'll have to come back some other time, in any case they only have the tail fin in there at the moment the rest of the boat is currently being rebuilt by the Bluebird Project.



Reluctantly we soon have to leave the Lakes and head back south. We have the best trip home that we’ve possibly ever have. The M6, and I shall regret saying this, is almost a pleasure.

Somehow in our absence Son has managed to empty the freezer of pizzas, all three of them, despite the fact he only had one meal to cook for, as we left him chilli for Friday and L cooks for him tonight. Pizza for breakfast anyone?

All in all, quite a virtuous weekend, apart from the alcohol, which translates into 34 units in total for the week. Foodwise though, I don't feel guilty about rounding the weekend off with the traditional curry. Very nice it is too. To compensate I promise to do 100 miles on my bike this week. I also sample the 8% Hawkshead beer we picked up, it's only a half pint and it's nice but nothing spectacular. Then I join L in a glass of the 'cheeky' red, we also brought home.

Ears Slapped

L tells me off for teasing our friends last night, by telling them that we wanted an early breakfast e.g. 7.30 ish. They usually provide breakfast for us and it's always a bit of a military operation. They are up cooking before 9.00 which actually isn't bad for a holiday and breakfast is duly served at a fairly reasonable time.

Last night the wind was very strong but it appears to have dropped now and the sun is out, so our walk is most definitely on. We open the front door to find that a couple of sheep have taken up residence on the grass outside our cottage. This of course upsets Doggo immensely.

We ascend the hills behind the cottage and walk over to Grasmere. The weather is glorious, the views fantastic. Doggo misbehaves with a few sheep and gets the usual slap around the ears, which of course makes no difference.

We underestimate how easy the walk is and it takes us only around an hour and half to get to the lake outside Grasmere. So we sit in a café at the edge of the lake and have a drink in the sunshine. This is the life. Our friends and Daughter haven't joined us; instead they drive around in the car and do so some shopping on the way. For some reason they, in common with a lot of Lakeland tourists, prefer this, Daughter even text's us to say how much she's enjoying being cooped up in the car. Incomprehensible.

We accept a lift back to the cottage, as planned, although really we had plenty of time to have managed the walk back.

Back at the cottage Doggo again manages to briefly escapes my watch, in order to see off the sheep who are still taking the Mickey outside our front door. Ears slapped again.



Derby lose yet again. This time 3-1 at Portsmouth but a Benjani hat-trick is going to do wonders for my fantasy team. So mixed feelings.

In the evening we head down the local for a meal and several Lancaster Bombers, although L's on the wine and finds a rather cheeky Rioja. Everyone restocks on the carbs after their hard day out on the fells. Oh hang on a sec, it was only L and I who were on the fells, and we're the ones on the healthier options.

We sneak home a bottle of blue alcopop for Daughter, bubblegum and blue raspberry flavour WKD. I have never tried one before and it's 'interesting' to discover that it looks and tastes like the bubble gum panda pop she used to drink when she was younger. Only difference is this one has an ABV of 5% because it's got Vodka in it but of course as vodka is tasteless you're not going to notice that. They tell us these drinks aren't aimed at youngsters...

Hardcore

I've already got all my cycling kit on before I realise that it's raining. I decide that I can't wimp out again, having already done so on Tuesday, so I have to go for it. After all the weather really can't be as bad as it looks. Unfortunately it is, worse even. The traffic too is horrendous. I've been avoiding the A52 all week even in the car and it appears everyone else must be doing the same as both Sandiacre and Spondon are rammed full of cars.

I aquaplane my way into work, where everyone thinks I'm mad or as someone puts it 'hardcore'. Which I prefer.

I have the afternoon off as we're heading to the Lakes for the weekend. L gives me strict instructions not take any detours on my way home, she's remembering when we went up to Durham in October, and I detoured just slightly to take in the Sutton Bonington Duathlon course. That didn't really go to plan but it wasn't really my fault; I did suffer a couple of punctures on that trip. This time and because it's daytime I take the shortest route which is also my favourite through Ilkeston.

When I get home, in blindingly good time, L is already home. She's not armed, so I must have done ok. While I pack the car, she goes out on Daughters paper round. She's still not back by the time Daughter is due out of school, so I go to pick Daughter up. By the time we get back, L has finally finished the round and even comes home with a £1 tip from a satisfied customer. She's been told to treat herself to an ice cream, for being a 'good girl'. I consider reprimanding her, paper girls aren't supposed to take 'sweets' from strangers.

We hit the M6, which is hell even though it is early and it’s a real crawl. Eventually we arrive at our usual cottage, practically gagging for the Old Peculiar but first I cook up some tea, and wait for our friends who are not as late as usual. Then we head off in search of the dark nectar.

It'll End In Tears

In the car for the third time this week, a necessity because I'm doing the pub run today. Traffic dreadful.

The nominations for this year's Brits awards are out. I don't really know why I care because they're always a joke but why have they nominated Mark Ronson and Amy Whinehouse for their horrendous rendition of Valerie? They've got to be having a laugh? That record is a really appalling case of bad cover version syndrome. Surely only their bank managers know why they did. It must have taken them all of ten minutes. She probably recorded it after a night out on the booze, in fact it sounds like she probably did. The minute it came out I erased the Zutons from my Ipod, sorry guys, you could have said no.

Hopefully it won't win; it should be beaten by The Hoosiers (Worried About Ray) or the Kaiser Chiefs (Ruby). Ruby is ok but it's an immensely annoying record but nowhere near as annoying as Kate Nash's Foundations which is also nominated. The other candidates are, stifling a big yawn :- James Blunt (1973), Leona Lewis (Bleeding Love), Mika (Grace Kelly), Mutya Buena (Real Girl), Sugababes (About You Now) and Take That (Shine). No wonder CD sales are declining if they're telling people that that’s the cream of British music.

The Arctic Monkeys should walk away with the best album award for Favourite Worst Nightmare because the competition is dire :- Leona Lewis (Spirit), Mark Ronson (Version), Mika (Life In Cartoon Motion) and Take That (Beautiful World).

Those mad Geordies entice Kevin Keegan back to Newcastle. Surely, it'll end in tears.



The pub is good, Stout 4.5% and Cottage pie.

No squash tonight, my opponent is still having car trouble, he says its gone insane on him and the alarm keeps going off as he's driving along. His partner, rather selfishly, is using her own car so he can't borrow it. It could be a while before we play again; I think it's the end of February before I next have a free Thursday evening.

I get home and cook two dishes. A chilli to take to the Lakes tomorrow and a curry for tonight. It's got be curry, as we need to finish off the remains of the paneer from the other night. Unfortunately, in common with most things that go in our fridge, the paneer has reduced in quantity all on its own overnight.

Doggo and I walk up to the meet L again. I've been up to the leisure centre four times this week and only once have I been inside. As we wait outside it dawns on me that where as once, when he was a pup, Doggo was a babe magnet, now all I get is pitying glances from the girls. Could it be time to get a new dog?

We walk to the pub, where L joins me on the pints of Supreme. It's been a stressful week for her, AOL and all.

You Are What You Wear

I’m 100% healthy, as ever, apart from this bloody cough and its fine weather, so I'm on my bike today. Unfortunately it's not working quite right, my gears are slipping, I think this time I've not got the back wheel in right.

L's not talking to me today; her internet is down. AOL are assuring her it's her fault, as they do every time this happens and they've not been right yet, so it's unlikely they're right this time either.

Apparently Stuart Maconie has a new series on TV called 'Pop On Trial' which has caused a bit of a debate on the internet. The aim of the programme is to decide which has been the most exciting decade in pop music. Most people will usually say the decade of their youth. 'Things were better in my day' etc etc. Which is all garbage of course. The most exciting decade of pop music is, obviously, the next one.

I cycle to the pool. Again it's very busy and I end up back in the bikini zone, although today they seem to be out numbered by the vest and knickers brigade. I get in lane three, just as a rather nice pink ensemble bails out leaving me to share the lane with a chap in the ubiquitous drongo shorts. His pace is just a little under mine which is ideal and I use him for a little pace making. It does me good because he keeps me in a good but not too fast rhythm which I keep going all session, never stopping for around 25 minutes. I think that’s the first time I ever done that. People join us, and either decide we’re too slow and upgrade (swimsuits/trunks/tri shorts) or the opposite and downgrade (bikinis/vest and knickers/drongos shorts). You are what you wear.

I get home and take Doggo training. There's only three of us there which is good but it also means Doggo gets to do 45 minutes without a break. He's knackered and so am I. L's cold when we get home and needs warming up, the strength to do so takes some summoning but heroically I manage.

Lies Damned Lies And Bottoms

It's wet but not that wet. However the weather forecast is so doom and gloom that I take the car rather than bike. There are plenty of cyclists about but I'm not jealous yet, at least not until it fines up later.

Heavy rain mid morning but then it does clear up. It seems I've been conned by an overzealous weather forecast again. As L says it won't be long before the forecasters start advising us to not to leave our homes when it rains. Gales? Where? Lies damned lies.

Talking of lies, today's crap survey 'informs' us that men tell five lies a day and women tell three but obviously the research is flawed because the women would have been lying when they gave their responses.

'Nothing's wrong, I'm fine', is apparently the most common fib. Never used that one myself. I'm always fine even when I'm not.

Old clichés die hard because also in the top ten was the classic 'Does my bottom look big in this?'. The answer of course is, 'No Dear, of course it doesn't'.

Now women might think their men are lying when they say that but in reality they're probably not because a woman’s idea of what constitutes big is totally different from a man's. Most men like a nice rear on their partner but you can't really get away with saying 'Phoarr, yes it does'.

L's always 'working' on hers and tonight is no exception. She's at another BTT class (not to be confused with BLT, which is sandwich). She said we didn't have to meet her but said she would be happy to see us if we did. I would hate to upset her, she might stop wearing those shorts and I need a run but that bloody furry thing (the dog) puts me off. I don’t fancy the pond because after the rain it'll be like a swamp and it would be hell trying to do a reasonable distance with him on the road but...

Somehow I get my unenthusiastic dog into his running jacket and we squelch our way around the pond. Then just as he's turned for home, I get my own back and divert our route up Ilkeston Road.

We are ten minutes early at the leisure centre so just to annoy Doggo I continue up the hill to the edge of town and back. When we arrive there's a right selection of young girlies crawling out of the leisure centre, all red faces and heaving chests. I thought it was supposed to bums, tums, and thighs they were working on. Looks more like they've all done Boxercise with Joe Calzaghe. Several are vowing to go home and put all the calories they have expended straight back on. By comparison L practically skips out, and she's done an hour of gym first, she can clearly show these youngsters a thing or two.

I do curry tonight and try the kids out on paneer, which seems to go down ok. Regrettably I don't get to listen to tonight's cup replay as the game has been called off.

Makes No Sense At All

We've all been looking forward to seeing Andy Murray do well at the Australia Open which starts this morning. As my alarm goes off he's fighting back from losing the first two sets and appears to be making a pig's ear of the fourth after winning the third. He loses before L's even finished in the shower. Oh well, here we go again.



I expected the traffic to be bad so I take the 'scenic' route through Ilkeston. In fact there were problems at the M1/A52 junction so it was a good call.

Daughter's latest saying is to calling everyone a ‘twig’. L seems quite pleased with this phrase and sees it as flattering in her quest to be slinky for her LBD. I’m not so sure.

Interesting tea tonight, Monkfish, posh chips, and Bluebutton mushrooms (whatever they are). Quite an experience and all very nice.

We watch the final part of Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility which we taped last night. As I discover it is very inappropriately named as it makes no sense at all.

It all comes out in the wash as they say. It turns out that in the opening scene of part one what we witnessed was Willoughby deflowering Colonel Brandon’s ward, Eliza. Brandon was once in love with his brother's wife, who ran away and had a child out of wedlock. The child became Brandon's ward. History repeats itself and the same fate befalls his ward, getting illegitimately knocked up that is. Having done the impregnating, Willoughby legs it, and moves on to have a pop at Marianne but instead he is forced to marry someone else because she is better endowed, with money that is. The men, it seems, go where the cash is.

So Marianne has to articulate her desires elsewhere. As there's a shocking shortage of men, she cracks under pressure, and plumps for old man Brandon. She employs almost the same distressed female trick that she pulled on Willoughby but this time without the cliff top and ends up in Brandon's arms. Then before you know it she's transformed herself from frivolous to frumpy and is popping round to perform, as requested, on his pianoforte. I really can't see what she sees in him, I think he's incredibly creepy but then I'm a man, L thinks he's 'lovely'.



What Marianne doesn't know is that he only wants to marry her because she reminds him of his brother's wife and of her daughter but of course he can't have her because she's been placed in his care. So it's a case of bring on the sub. Annoyingly for him both Eliza and Marianne seem to be gagging for Willoughby.



Meanwhile drippy Edward is being lined up to marry some other cash endowed female while being secretly engaged to another for FOUR years, a destitute one who's only after Edward's money. Neither of these women are the shockingly dull Elinor. When Edward's mother disinherits him for wanting to marry the wrong girl, his fiancée follows the inheritance and runs off with his brother. It's all about the money! So having lost both of these women Edward settles for third choice, his mother tells him that at a push she'll do, and Elinor is thrilled to bits. Romance eh? I know it's supposed to be the eighteenth century but even so I'm ready to bang my head on the coffee table by this point.



There's clearly something lacking in all this and after I'd read up on it I realise that if Andrew Davies was looking for an 'edge' to the story then this revolves around Eliza but is glossed over. Bleak House it isn't but perhaps that's not Davies' fault, you can only work with the material you've got. Jane dear, you must do better.

We retire to bed and L accuses me of post-watershed seduction but it wasn't my fault, it was her shorts that made me do it.

Stalker

After our lie in, L runs but I decline, due to the 'slight' cough I've now acquired. Mr sensible I am, as always. Instead I kick Doggo on the park but keep it quite short. He's not happy about that and looks very worried. I'm sure he's expecting a dumping. He needn't have been concerned because we all go over to my parents for Sunday lunch, him included. Even Son joins us.

After a pleasant lunch, my father even gets the wine out, we head home and then into town for this weeks film. It's been a bit of a debate about what to see, in the end we (slightly regrettably) decide against seeing Natalie Portman's bottom which is on view at the Screen Room as a supporting feature to the 'Darjeeling Limited' and instead opt for the 'Killing Of John Lennon'.

There's a rather temping Raspberry Wheat Beer from Milestone 5.6%, on in the bar which just has to be tried. It's odd but still nice.

Tonight we're downstairs in the Paul Smith screen with its stripy loveseats, which are not terribly comfortable. The film is the story of the events surrounding the murder of John Lennon by Mark Chapman (Jonas Ball). The film uses Chapman's own words and the actual locations, as it takes us through the lead up to the killing. The film gives you an insight into his background in Honolulu, a place Chapman is desperate to escape and to go and achieve 'something'. He comes over as a man constantly on the edge of madness and it is no surprise that he chooses to do something stupid. Rather than do the sensible thing and top himself, he chooses to kill Lennon for no reason other than that he feels Lennon was a bit of phoney. This chain of though is inspired, somehow, by J.D. Salinger's 'A Catcher in the Rye'. Chapman travels to New York to carry out his task where he even uses the identity of the book's central character, Holden Caulfield. If Lennon was a phoney then what does that make Chapman. He rings an 'escort' to spend his final night of freedom with, as Caulfield does in the book. He assumes he'll manage to meet and kill Lennon the next day, which he duly does when he eventually encounters him at his apartment.



I thought the film dragged a little because Chapman wasn't that interesting and nor was his life. I thought the story lacked depth. There didn’t seem to be much to tell about his background and we find out little about his relationship with his wife. He was just mad but not even interestingly mad. The film carries on after the shooting and actually gets better after the killing.

The film was interesting but not enthralling because it was not easy to identify with Chapman but that may have been because the film kept a good emotional distance from its subject and therefore did not glorify him.

In the end, Chapman just wanted to be famous. At this he succeeds and becomes the world's first celebrity stalker. The movie was made without the cooperation of Chapman or Yoko Ono. However I'm sure Chapman would be happy about this film because he wanted fame and this gives him more of it.



'I was nobody, until I killed the biggest somebody on earth'

We get home to some of L's famous slag which she says that I must refer to as healthy slag.

Now Christmas is over I can start counting units again. 26 this week.

Utopia Does Not Last Long Enough

We enjoy our lie-in amongst the chaos that is Paddington Station or at least it feels like it. After which I take Doggo on park with his ball. L and Daughter head off into town, where L embarks on a bender at the Rock City ticket office, including the Delays tickets she promises to be eternally grateful for, while Daughters apparently goes blonde, ish, in the hairdressers.

I get home and enter L and Doggo into the Canicross event at Crufts. I can't do it because I haven't ran him in other events, so I'm not eligible. After three years of agility we haven't even had a sniff of Crufts qualification but for Canicross you just have to apply to enter. Simple as that, of course they may not get chosen but its a damn sight easier than having to run in loads of qualifiers. It'll be good to watch them if they do get in.

The usual Saturday afternoon misery sees Derby give debuts to four new players against the mighty Wigan but it makes little difference to the performance. Particularly not when you have Claude Davis needlessly getting himself sent off and once he's departed we concede the traditional late goal.

In the evening, L gets skirted up and we head into town where the Borlase has Everards Christmas Ale 4.5% on sale. Not that it is at all Christmassy in taste or strength. There should be a law that no ale of less than 5% can be called Christmas or Winter.

However all is not lost because alongside it they have the perfect winter warmer/Christmas ale on. This being my good chum Old Peculiar. I can't resist texting my mate the Quaker, ribbing him for the fact that he's on the wagon while I'm on the Old Peculiar. He thanks me for my support in his abstinence and warns me to be careful I don't choke on it. Which is nice of him. Why do people abstain in January, when some of the better beers are still around. If you're going to have a month off why not do the month before Christmas, then you'd have an excuse to miss all those Christmas parties.

Utopia does not last long enough, after three pints it runs out and we walk out of the pub in protest. We cross the road to the Ropewalk. Where Greene King have some special on, which as it does actually appear to be one of their own and not something they have stolen from someone else, I give it ago but it's pretty average.

L is obviously less drunk than me because she cooks up a spam curry which is totally excellent and keep us out of the curry house.

My Favourite Films Of The Year 2007

Better late than never. This is the third of my short series of special blogs summing up my year. This time I give you my favourite films of the year.

This is my top 10:-

10. Flying Scotsman



Not exactly a classic, it also bares little relation to the book and therefore to Obree's life but it's just so good to see a decent film about cycling that I have to include it.

Read My Review

9. Last King of Scotland



Anything that sees James McAvoy strung up by his nipples has to be in my top 10 and Forest Whitaker is excellent as Idi Amin.

Read My Review

8. Kite Runner



It could and should have been much better. Flawed but still good enough to be in my top 10.

Read My Review

7. I'm Not There



I loved this, L loathed it. For having the nerve to be different, it deserves it's place.

Read My Review

6. The Counterfeiters



I love anything to do with the war that doesn't just degenerate into battlefield scenes. This tale of concentration camp life is just excellent.

Read My Review

5. Hallam Foe



A totally mad, off the wall film, with the voyeuristic Hallam and his barmy love interest. Which together with the complete absence of a happy ending added up to terrific entertainment. Just don't try and understand it.

Read My Review

4. Notes On A Scandal



Oh dear, two Cate Blanchett films in my top 10. A totally gripping tale of two women, a schoolboy and a whole lot of stuff going on.

Read My Review

3. Eastern Promises



David Cronenberg's tale of the Russian mafia in London. Two cut throats, an eye gouging and a leather clad Naomi Watts. Need I say more.

Read My Review

2. Control



As a Joy Divison fan I'm totally biased but the casting was superb and not just Sam Riley as Ian Curtis. The film is full of excellently cast characters and even though you know how it all ends, there's still tension to it.

Read My Review

1. Atonement



A predictable choice but Joe Wright deserves huge credit, firstly for filming an Ian McEwan and secondly for making life hard for himself my casting Keira Knightly and James McAvoy in it. Despite these handicaps he has a made a superb film that has everything.

Read My Review

Persuasive Powers

I feel that the cold that I am suffering from will not benefit from a damp cycle ride so instead I choose to spread my germs on the bus. Yesterday the bus was full of medical students heading over to Derby for an exam and that seems to be the case again today. As they test each other on the likely questions I realise that the future of medicine is not necessarily in safe hands.

A survey in the paper reveals that 75 per cent of women would marry for money. Which just shows how much you have to keep your eye on them.

Also in the news is that one in four adults didn't read a single book last year. I'm actually surprised that as many of three out of four people did. At least I can say that I did but I am hardly prolific in the book department.

Wiggle deliver L's new running trousers and she asks whether I'd fancy trying them out and running to the pub tonight. I think she phrased that slightly wrong, I'm not sure they'd suit me?

There is fantastic snow at all the Scottish ski resorts with further cold weather and snow forecast. I’m getting very itchy feet. L suggests we zoom off tonight, which although very tempting is incredibly impractical.

On the way home, a girl on the bus is talking to a friend on her mobile phone and assuring her/him that they'll both be 'well shit faced' tonight. Which is so very ladylike.

I get home a little earlier than expected and I catch L in the bedroom in just her dressing gown. She momentarily looks very worried, as if thinking I might take advantage of the situation. She knows me too well. My first thoughts were that she was all set to use her persuasive powers on me because she wants me to take her to see the Delays on the 4th March instead of Stiff Little Fingers, which is what we were planning to do that night. She said she'll be eternally grateful if we do the Delays, which sounds great. Apparently though she's only in her dressing gown because she's just had a hot bath after being caught in the heavy rain. Whatever the reason, lets call it fate.

We abandon our plans to run, despite the fact that I assure L that I'm feeling 100% because it is very wet outside. We opt to stay local instead. L goes to the gym first and Doggo and I meet her there. I hit the Legend and a few Supremes.

Dangerous Nose Rings

I decide to make today a 'rest day' and take the bus. It's very busy with more than the usual number of people trying to un-impress the other passengers with their vulgar choices of ring tones on their mobile phones.

L's sister sends through some photos that she took of everyone at Christmas, unfortunately they are nearly all spoilt by a certain dog looking ridiculous with that flipping tongue of his hanging out.

On the way home there's a comical moment in the bus queue when a girl with a nose ring gets in a mess hurriedly trying to slip her coat on when the bus came. The zip of her coat got caught in her nose ring. Ouch.

I get home and Doggo helps/hinders me putting a new tyre on my bike.

I'm back playing squash tonight while L is working on the other half of her body, it's the bottom half's turn today, in one of those awfully named 'Bums, Tums, and Thighs' sessions. Which sounds rather gentle but probably isn't.

My squash opponent says that together with his partner, he's temporarily joined the Quakers (again) and gone on the wagon for a month. They're also, in his words, eating 'sod all' to try and lose weight. So he might not have enough energy to last the game. I've got a cold, so I'm not sure I will either. Ambulance on standby then.

This not drinking and not eating sounds like a real bundle of fun. I prefer to exercise off the food and alcohol. I had a text from him last night saying he was already coming around to my way of thinking, I wasn't sure whether that meant he'd collapsed on his treadmill from exhaustion because he'd been 'watching his calories' too closely or whether as L thought, he'd given up Quakerism because a bottle of wine had tempted him back to the dark side.

So it wasn't a gripping game because we were both in a weakened stake but I still lost, 4-1. We even played fewer games than usual and we skipped the pub, but not for health reasons but because he hadn't got his car with him. So I was AF on a Thursday which is a real novelty.

L seems to be trying out a different outfit in bed every night this week. They all seem to be working.

In Lowly Lane Three

On the bike again today and this time no unexpected mishaps.

There's a funny bit in the news that Jeremy Clarkson, who likes to think of himself as a bit of a rebel, has in fact made a bit of a fool of himself. He rubbished the furore about the loss of those computer discs with everyone's personal details on. He said it was a lot of fuss about nothing and wanted to prove it, so he gave out his Barclays account number and sort code in his column in the Sun newspaper. He even told people how to find out his address.

"All you'll be able to do with them is put money into my account. Not take it out. Honestly, I've never known such a palaver about nothing", he said.

However some bright spark managed to use the information to create a £500 direct debit on his account to the charity Diabetes UK. I hope you saw the funny side Jeremy.



L seems to be getting in touch with her oriental side because she's recommended another 'dodgy' Chinese film that's coming to Nottingham soon, to me.

She's at another fitness class tonight, yoga again; she's been working seriously on her upper body. Which sounds good. Hopefully pumping that chest up. She says she won't be able to lift her Leffe at the weekend. I’m sure she’ll cope, even if she has to use a straw.

I cycle to the pool where it's very busy. So busy in fact that it looks like World War Three has broken out among the psychos in the top two lanes, so I end up in lowly lane three where the girls in the bikinis reside. Life is tough. It's a mixed blessing really, aesthetically it's not too bad but I don't like mixing with the un-sporty types and the pace is nightmarishly slow. It doesn't go too bad, despite the cold that L seems to have gifted me. Bless her. She did warn me and yes perhaps I should have kept my distance from her as she suggested but it was well worth it.

Later we have the first of our now 'free' trained dog classes and the old man is not too bad. Then home to work on L's upper body.

Doggo And His Genes

As I leave this morning the papergirls and boy are all up. Daughter is oddly chipper, not so Son.

It's good cycling weather today, not much wind. All the same I try out my new skullcap, designed to keep my ears snug and warm. It turns out to be a more eventful ride than what I'd had planned. I hit a small rock on the road with my front wheel just outside Borrowash and puncture my tyre. I have to stop and change it, which takes ten minutes or so. Just as I am finishing someone I overtook in Risley comes past me. So they were really slacking.

Only problem is I've put the wheel in backwards, not that it matters much, just the tread is going the wrong way and my bike computer won't work. I wait until I arrive at work to turn it around.

L and Doggo also have had an eventful morning. They manage a run, do a street of papers for daughter and still manage to help Son. Doggo will either be knackered or incredibly fit if they keep that up.

A work colleague limps in today, claiming that she had done an hour in the gym and then an hour of gym circuits. Either that or L reckons she may have been to see 'Lust, Caution'.

L gives me a final chance to join her and Daughter at Girls Aloud. I decline politely. An all seated gig, at the Arena, for a mere £26 doesn't appeal and of course it's Girls Aloud. Even OMT (Open Mind Theory) can't stretch that far.

Get home and Doggo isn't looking too knackered so I offer him a run, at which point he seems to fake tiredness and tries to hide in the lounge. Unfortunately it is in his genes to always try and accompany me when I leave the house, so in the end he has to reluctantly join me.

I spoil him a touch and walk the grass verges with him, letting him have a good sniff, then we do the two ponds he likes, before we hit the streets to the Tennis Centre to meet L. I have to chivvy him along occasionally but he seems resigned to his fate and does get a good off-lead session around the university. We meet L and walk back.

There's more fish for tea tonight but its trout this time, regrettably we're all out of the vivid dream inducing Pollock. L says she had a very similar 'dream' to me last night but she's blaming it on too much herbal tea.

When I come to bed, L's in her pulling gear, so there's no need to rely on dreams tonight.

You Can't Beat A Bit Of Pollock

It's a nice bleak morning but for once I’m pleased that I’m not cycling, the wind sounds evil.

Once at work, for my sins, I do the online entry for the Derby 10k for both L and me.

The Chinese, who cut seven minutes out of 'Lust, Caution', have been horrified to find out that their countrymen have been downloading the missing bits off the internet. This has caused them to issue the following hilarious warning against imitating any of the scenes from the film:-

“Highly difficult sexual positions can cause unnecessary harm to both the male and female body and, hence, people should not be imitating what they see on the big screen. Most of the sexual manoeuvres in Lust, Caution are abnormal body positions. Only women with comparatively flexible bodies that have gymnastics or yoga experience are able to perform them. For average people to blindly copy them could lead to unnecessary physical harm.”

So, don't try this at home.

L meanwhile tells me she already wants the DVD, I assume, because of the gripping plot.

Back to school for everyone today even Doggo. Our first agility training of the year goes well. As usual on the way home we collect L, who's been doing a yoga, which will no doubt please the Chinese authorities.

L cooks something called Pollock for tea, which sounds like one of our 'pet' names for Doggo but is in fact a fish. Very nice it is too.

We then watch the second episode of Sense And Sensibility, that we videoed. It is far too romantic for it's own good and therefore not as good as part one.

Then it's bed but L's feeling a bit under the weather and has a sore throat, so she makes it clear they'll be no frivolity tonight, even kissing is outlawed in case she passes on her germs. So I settle down for half an hour with the newspaper, after which I put the light out and doze pleasantly, enjoying a dream about cycling through six foot high snowdrifts.

So it's all comes as a bit of a shock when I am rudely awoken and subjected to the Shanghai experience. Honestly you just don't know where you stand with women. I can hazard a guess about what she was dreaming about or maybe it's something to do with the Pollock. We'll have to have that again.

A Bit Of 'Rough' On A Sunday Night

An uninterrupted lie in this morning followed by a pond and park run with Doggo and L.

Then it’s time for some football. Derby who are usually consistently embarrassing in the FA Cup, live down to expectations by going 2-0 to Sheffield Wednesday with some more of their trademark comical defending. For a change though they claw themselves back from the brink to draw 2-2. Winning the replay might not be beyond them if the promised new signings materialise before then.

On the way home I collect L from Sainsbury's, cook and then we head off again to Broadway. We break our AF Sunday with a half of Nottingham Noel 4.7%, presumably a festive special which is oddly not available at the Plough.

I've only seen one of Ang Lee's famous 'masterpieces', that being 'Crouching Tiger, Hidden Danger' and that never really thrilled me that much. I've often just not fancied his subject matter but it appears I may have been missing out.

Tonight we see his new film, 'Lust, Caution'. Set in Hong Kong and Shanghai during World War Two at the time of the Japanese occupation. The story follows a young girl called Wang Jiazhi who has been left behind by her father, who has escaped to England. She gets asked to take a part in a patriotic play. A symbolic moment as she ends up working for the resistance and lands herself an 'acting job' for life.

The resistance group she gets involved with are not only amateur dramatics but also turn out to be a right bunch of amateurs in the resistance stakes too. They devise an audacious plan to assassinate the powerful Mr. Yee, a Chinese traitor who is working for the Japanese. They wish to remove him but they know little about him, he is very much an enigma, always cautious and always very well protected.

Masquerading as Mrs. Mak, Wang Jiazhi is chosen to infiltrate the social circle of Yee's wife and thereby catch the eye of Mr. Yee. The resistance's plan is to use her as bait to lure him out into the open where he can be assassinated by the others. He however is so cautious, they realise that it is not going to be that simple and Wang has to be prepared to have a full-blown affair with him. To 'train' for this eventuality she gives up her virginity for the good of the cause, practising with a very unappetising fellow resistance member. In the end though the plot goes awry, a botched murder follows, and Wang flees.

Time moves on and in Shanghai three years later she again encounters the same resistance fighters, this time they are better organised, and the plan is revived. Yee is now the head of the secret police in charge of hunting down and interrogating resistance agents.

She has no problem catching his eye and attempts to seduce him but he is already one-step ahead of her. He is not a man to be seduced and instead rips her clothes off her and forces himself on her. Wang's 'training' would not have prepared her for that. It is scenes like this that have already made the film notorious. At first to him, she is just an outlet to release his repressed lust and the pent up anger and frustration of his job and his life. In order to keep his trust, Wang has to go along with these rough fantasies and fulfil her patriotic duty.



The scenes do calm down and don’t to me feel gratuitous or out of place. They enable you get to see inside Yee's character, the bedroom is the only place he relaxes his caution, revels in his lust, and occasionally appears human. These scenes reveal a lot about both of them as their liaison gradually exposes their joint weakness. The same weakness. That they have fallen for each other.



We were very worried that at two and a half hours, the film would be too long and drawn out but no, it did not feel long at all. The story was well paced and used the time well. Also I usually find subtitles hard work. I often find the dialogue too quick and I don't keep up or I forget to read them. This was the case here too for a while but half an hour into the movie the plot became so gripping and the film so mesmerizing, that I forgot about the subtitles because they had become part of the film. Another reason the subtitles got easier was later in the film there were less of them, as less needed to be spoken. The actions were enough. The scenes of the two of them together were fraught with a psychological tension and I found myself holding my breath.



This is a great film with so much to it and huge emotional complexity. It builds to an ending when Yee finally relaxes his caution too much. The end was slightly surprising but all the better for not having a predictable Hollywood ending. I'm sure people who don’t like ‘art’ films will slag off the whole movie and people who don’t have sex will criticise the sex scenes but the first words L spoke after the film were ‘absolutely brilliant’ and she is right.

I have possibly seen the best film of 2008 already and we're only six days into the New Year. If this isn't it then it's going to be one hell of a good year at the movies. Two and a half hours very well spent.