I don't do horror films. I, a product of the dalek-generation, am well versed in the ancient protective arts of "watching through ones fingers". This might cause some people amusement, but I am at heart the most delicate of flowers and too many shocks and my petals will fall to the floor where they will be crushed by passing goths without so much as a "how do you do".
In case you didn't guess that was a review of Gothika I'll precis... Audience meets pretty girl; pretty girl is going out with ugly man; prettier man flirts with pretty girl; pretty girl goes to swimming pool (it's important later!); pretty girl meets ghost; pretty girl wakes up in mential hospital; prettier man sprayed with grey paint so audience aren't sure what side he's on; pretty girl gets a shower scene with other girls; pretty girl escapes; pretty girl meets ghost in swimming pool; plot twist happens; pretty girl looks like she's got away; plot twist happens; plot discarded; less-pretty girl gets a job.
It was ok. Twin Peaks meets Shawshank Redemption meets Starship Troopers meets Sex and the City.
Following this trauma I met an old friend. Slightly peachy, but good with a light mixer. I don't recall much except attempting to leech pheremones off pax_draconis(who retaliated by telling me NWO gossip which will bug me for the next five months), having a conversation with blaak, counting to 100 and posing for awful photos for purplewizard. Oh, and I got pushed into the Ladies where there was a concert going on.
Sunday involved a train station (boo!) and a pub. The pub contained chocolate. This was good.
Today I had to get up and drive to Oxford. This is only good in the way that it is going to be the last time for some time. Tomorrow I'm doing the parent-thing for a couple of nights (reduced net access) then I have an hour on Thursday to pack for Whitby. Busy busy busy.