I've found my home

win one - draw one - one to go

Sunday 27th January: Heffield v Man City at 8am.

That's what it said on the Sky Guide. Fortunately I knew that Sheffield United were playing Manchester City at 4pm on Sunday 27th January. I got to watch the MIGHTY Blades on tele! And they won!!

Santos Laguna only managed a draw (because I know you're interested).

Although I am waiting on Helly's fool-proof method for picking the SuperBowl winner (something to do with what college the players attended) it is time to stick my neck out and say who I WANT to win next Sunday.

I would like the Giants to win!

Probably ain't going to happen but me, I like the underdog!

está lloviendo a cántaros

It's rained for a week. Not all day but every day. It has rained solidly from Friday night to Sunday evening.

Now, I realise that I might have been a bit cynical about the rain here in Mexico. I might have just complained (just the once) that what Mexicans call rain I would call a fine mist. There have been moments when the rain isn't heavy enough to actually reach the ground - it gives up falling about a metre from the ground and then disappears. Of course this non-rain doesn't bother me, 40+ years of living in England and I hardly notice it. However, it isn't the same for my fellow citizens.

Tijuana has a huge population but this is a fluid population. No-one stays in Tijuana long. If you move here, you move for one reason - to get into the States. If you stay here you find it is expensive compared to the rest of Mexico. So, you either make a success of yourself or move back home. If you make a success, you move across the border. Unemployment in TJ runs at less than 1% - you work, you earn or you move. Of course there are some people who are born in TJ and stay in TJ but they only make up 15% of the population. The rest of the people here are from somewhere else and in that somewhere else it doesn't rain. To be honest, it doesn't really rain here in Tijuana - TJ is in Baja California...that's CALIFORNIA, the place where it doesn't rain. My fellow citizens aren't really used to rain nor is the city.

The roads don't have a camber, which means that the water doesn't drain to the side. There would be no point anyway because there is no drainage system. Restaurants are open-aired, schools are open-aired, garages don't have roofs - you just park your car through the door, basically on the patio in front of your house. When it rains it is a shock. Worse for Tijuana is that it is built in a bowl. Through the centre of TJ there runs a river (the river Tijuana) which, once was a huge river that carved through the landscape. Now it is a small dribble and the city is built on the sides of the valley that it cut. Unfortunately this means that there are huge expanses of mud/dirt/clay/soil around the city. This is open to the elements and when (if) it rains these can wash down the streets. Fortunately it doesn't rain much. Except for this week.

And this week it has rained - proper rain. Big fat drops and lots of them. Normally when people ask me if the weather reminds them of England I just smile. However, this week it has been like living in the Lake District in April (and let me assure you, I have lived in the Lake District for a week in April [every year from 1968-74] in a caravan).

The first time I heard about acid rain I was about ten (which means Helly was walking and Maria still hadn't been born). Like any child who hears the term acid rain my imagination ran riot, probably towards the more cartoon-esque part of my imagination. I saw rain falling and everyone melting - like the wicked witch. As I grew older I realised that acid rain was a long term problem - it would take years and years of rain to actually burn through anything. Except, it appears I might have been right with my first assumption and not because people run around acting as though the rain burns!

It's the roads. I live in earthquake country. Fortunately I have yet to experience my first earthquake (and I am in no rush to do so either) but, thanks to having had to cover a missing teacher (and I can't express how bitter I am about that) I know all about moving plates. It appears that the world is made up of huge plates, fitted together like a badly made jigsaw. These plates are constantly moving. No problem if you live in England, slap bang in the middle of a plate - no earthquakes! If you happen to live on the line that two plates make - bit of a problem. This means that mysterious holes will appear in roads from one day to the next. Here in Tijuana there is a constant road crew who travel the city filling holes that have appeared over night. Because we travel the same route every day, we rarely come across new holes - maybe one a month. However the day after it has rained is a totally different thing. On Friday nine new holes had appeared on our journey (yes, I am sad enough to have counted them). And when I say holes I mean HOLES. These are big enough to swallow your tire down to the rim, some will make your exhaust bottom out on the road. They are damn big holes!

To tell the truth I'm not really looking forward to tomorrow's journey to school (although I am still hoping that school will be cancelled because of the rain). The car has not been very healthy (yesterday it refused to go into reverse for a while) and I am slightly worried that the state of the roads will kill it totally. How concerned am I about roads in TJ? Well, much as I love the fact we have a red sports car (because, according to certain internet gossip, I am only here as I am going through my mid-life crisis) and as much as I hate SUVs/trucks, I think the time has come for a change in motor vehicle. It's time for a Jeep!

Only problem is, Maria likes the Jeep Liberty. Is it me or does that just sound like a tampon?

got me a tower block!

Hope you are all still visiting Casa de Adobe. The industry is coming along well and look, no pollution!!!

Thank you!

[and obviously you are visiting Pogwood - but the transport needs some help]

born standing up

Born Standing Up - A Comic's Life by Steve Martin

I like reading biographies but I don't buy them. I find them hard work and normally intensely annoying. Very rarely do I ever finish one, normally I abandon them three-quarters through. This is why I don't buy them, I don't see the point of spending money on a book I won't finish and will irritate me. If I read a biography it is normally from a library or borrowed. So, you are probably asking, why the hell do you read them? Because biographies are normally written about people who have done things and, somewhere - inside the sycophancy or hatred or half-hearted cod-philosophy - there is sometimes a small nugget of information that gives you an insight into why these people became the people they are. While standing in the queue at Borders the other day, in their 40% off sale, I saw Born Standing Up. Steve Martin is a man I admire and I like his writing - Shop Girl is a wonderfully insightful film. I thought that for 40% off I would get my money's worth.

Although Born Standing Up is written by Steve Martin, about Steve Martin, he describes it as a biography "the story of a person who isn't me now". In it he looks back at his childhood and the struggle to become a stand-up comedian. He finishes it at the moment he quit stand-up and moved into the film making business. He is brutally honest - he talks about his sexual dalliances, his drug taking dalliances, his problems with his family. You get a good feel for the man he is: he isn't "wild and craaazy", he is a conservative; he isn't an extroverted performer, he is an introverted 'A' grade Philosophy student; he isn't an over-night flash in the pan; he is an exceptionally hard-working man who took 23 years to become an over-night success. And it was all that hard work that meant, when he arrived at the top, he recognised it was time to quit before he started to come down the other side.

I finished it! I read the whole book in less than a day. So, in theory, I should recommend this book - but I won't. It worked for me because I like biographies, I like biographies of entertainers, I like Steve Martin - and this was a good biography of the entertainer Steve Martin. However, a key question I ask myself when I get to the end of a book is not "Would I read this again?" but "Would I buy this again?" And I'm afraid the answer is "No!" Not even at 40% off. If you want to read it, get it from the library.

a spot of bother

A Spot of Bother - Mark Haddon

This is Mr. Haddon's second book, the first being the highly successful: The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night. I enjoyed TCIOTDITN, well half of it anyway. I liked the idea and thought that the book was well written, giving an insight into another way of thinking. However, I felt that the second part of the book lacked some of the "realism" of the first half and started to search for a conclusion, a rounding off of the story. But, in a book that is about how other people think differently, I disliked the fact that it went for a "formulaic" feel at the end.

A Spot of Bother is a whole different kettle of fish. The story of a stereotypical English family that sets out to prove that behind the façade of a stiff-upper lip and non-communication a certain dis-functionality exists. But, in the same way that IMHO The Simpsons are not dis-functional, they are a loving, caring family who understand the role each family member plays, so it is with this family. Dad is having a total mental breakdown, mum is having an affair, daughter is getting married to a man she doesn't love, son is a homosexual who hasn't come out to his parents. Although they are all keeping secrets from the others, the fact is, that the whole family knows their secret - and (although each family member is reluctant to say it to any other family member) they still love them in spite of it.

It is a story full of middle-Englander in jokes - every problem is faced with a cup of tea, no-one wants to talk about their real feelings, everything has to be proper (even the title is slightly tongue in cheek).

On the whole a fairly enjoyable read, probably three and a half stars out of five. However, if you are going to read something by Mr Haddon I suggest you start with TCIOTDITN and then put it down when you arrive at the train journey!

email to my mum

Dear Mum,

I shall start with the usual apology for not getting round to sending you an email earlier, then will come up with some excuses and finish with a promise to write more often...which will lead to me starting my next email with an apology, then excuses, then a promise. Yes, I am this bad!

Sorry I haven't written earlier, I now realise that my last "contact" was on your birthday. Glad to hear that you had a good weekend/day of it and I am hoping that the earache didn't kick in until you were fully past celebrating (except for missing your special party-type-thing).

Life here has been very busy since I went back to work. The principal (head-mistress) is a bit psychotic about the school play. I think I told you that we were doing The Lion King in the city's main cultural centre - a big theatre that seats over 1000! Although the actual performance isn't until July 27th she wants the whole thing up and running NOW! I think my slightly laid-back attitude scares her. My feelings are that the kids don't have to know their lines by March - she wants them to have memorised the whole thing already. I am talking about "too much rehearsal will kill the energy and enthusiasm"  - she wants us to to do three hours of rehearsal this week, building to six hours by March. In the long run, I will get my way because, well because I am doing what I do. Of course, if it all goes wrong on the night I have told her she can be annoyed with me the day after the performance. For some reason, she thinks that will be too late! Tee hee!!!

On top of all this the sixth grade teacher has quit - or she might not have (I will try to explain but I'm not sure I totally understand everything myself). You may remember that she had left to have a baby at the beginning of November. They replaced her with a substitute teacher, for her maternity leave, who turned out to be a little less than useless. They sacked the substitute and I ended up teaching the English until Christmas. Well, she came back at the start of January and has lasted two weeks. As far as I can gather, she is missing her child and doesn't want to come into work - which is fairly expected. However, she is also having problems with her husband. He is an American who works out of their house, the joys of the internet. Unfortunately, the plan that he would stay home, look after the kid and work isn't as fool proof as they thought. So, a week ago she decided to leave her husband, move back to her parent's house (in Mexico city - a two hour plane ride away or a three day car journey) and quit her job. I was back teaching the English! Except her parents don't want her. They have offered to pay for her to rent a place in Tijuana so that she can continue with the job - are you still following this? But this means she has to find a nanny - which will cost - and she is worried that her husband will try to take the child away from her. So, she doesn't want to come into work. I am back teaching the English! The school is a bit confused as to whether she has actually quit or is coming back...every morning I am told that she will be in school that day, then (at 8) I am asked to go teach the sixth grade English because (surprise, surprise) she hasn't turned up. Me thinks that I am going to be stuck with the English full time, the school thinks I am just covering the odd lesson. Of course, if I WAS stuck with the English they would be paying me more but while I am just covering the school counts it as a favour. I'm hoping that they just sack her and I get paid for the work I am doing and will be doing for the rest of this academic year. Anyhoo, if that was too confusing, ignore it and just accept the fact that I am teaching English now (as well as maths).

All of that aside I am having a great 2008! We have decided that 2007 was not the best of years but this year is going to be brilliant. So far I have not come down with a cold, even though most of my colleagues and the school seem to be suffering. Also, my foot appears to have healed totally. It doesn't even ache the day before it rains - and, oddly for TJ, it has been raining on and off most of this week. We have decided to see everything that occurs as a positive, fun thing and try to avoid getting upset and worked up about anything. We find the humour in everything. All of this has been helped with Maria coming out of her depression. She suffers from depression and these bouts can last a long time. It is not debilitating but it means that she gets upset easily. At first it was difficult for me to understand what she was going through but we have talked, at great length, and come to the realisation that she is caught in a vicious circle. Some of her depression is caused because she feels a lot of guilt for dragging me to Mexico and then not providing the perfect life for me. Some days the washing up might not be done and she feels that she has failed me. This drives her to bed which means that the washing up might not get done the next day which exacerbates her depression. Through talking, I have pointed out that I didn't come to Mexico just to have the washing up done. I came to be with her and that is the important thing. I want her to be happy, not to be fed up because there might be some dirty plates in the sink. A lot of this has to do with her ex's expectations, not mine. We used the New Year to wipe the slate clean, start again in a relationship that we both wanted - i.e. one that doesn't mean the washing up has to be done every day! Round about the 10th of January Maria realised that the black cloud had lifted, she was really enjoying her life, the depression was over. 2008 is going to be great.

It's a good job that the depression had lifted because, although you don't want to talk about what is in the media, I am now going to talk about the biggest story in Tijuana at the moment. Now, this paragraph (and the next couple of paragraphs) might start to sound scary (however, Denham is going to love this story!) but, we are both safe, we are both well. TJ can sound like a very scary city but I actually feel safer here than I did in London. In London a lot of the violence is random - I have been in pubs where it has just suddenly kicked off, the bombings are totally random and, at night, I never felt particularly safe getting home. Here it is totally different. The violence seems a lot more extreme than in London but it only happens with a certain group of people. If you are involved in drugs (or anything illegal) then you are going to get into trouble with rival gangs, with the police. If you hang around in certain parts of the city after dark, then things will go wrong - but only in those parts of the city. The rest of the city is wonderful at night and very safe.

Recently the running of the city has changed hands. The previous mayor and city council were corrupt - the mayor ran all the gambling in the city, the police force was full of corrupt cops, kidnapping was at an all time high, drug running was (to the USA's annoyance) working successfully. In other words, the city was a hotbed of naughtiness. The mayor got a bit carried away with his success and last year decided to quit being mayor (and running a single city) and ran for governor of the whole state - his plan was to then run for president of the whole country. This was not a man who thought small! Unfortunately this was a man who didn't think that the laws totally applied to him - and, to be honest, they probably didn't in TJ. He nominated a guy to take over as mayor and set off to win the state. The bad news, for him, was that the rest of the state don't really like TJ and really don't like him. He lost the election - even though, on the day of the election, 100,000 ballot boxes were discovered in a warehouse, stuffed with votes for him and goodness knows how many were in the warehouse before it was raided - he still didn't get enough votes. At the moment he is in hiding, the authorities want a quiet word in his ear about election irregularities and problems that went on in the city while he was in charge. This is because the man he nominated to follow in his footsteps didn't get elected. The reason that happened is that a week before the election it turned out that this man was not actually eligible to stand for election - mainly due to the fact that he had been born in America and had spent the last five years living in America operating the US end of the drug smuggling cartel - he didn't even have an address in the city. Not the best way to get voted in as mayor. The new administration immediately disarmed all the police, called in the special forces and the army. The city exploded in violence.

Two months later, the police are back - armed. But these are the policemen who aren't corrupt - and to prove they aren't corrupt they have been seriously kicking criminal bottoms. Unfortunately this has led to a certain amount of deaths on both sides - the good news is that there have been more deaths on the sides of the baddies! And now I get to the point of this story - you might want to stop reading and let Denham just read this bit!

Last Tuesday was the funeral of six policemen who had been killed in the line of duty. The funeral was happening on the other side of the city to where we live. Thinking that the police would be distracted, six people were kidnapped and brought back to a "safe house". The kidnappers thought it was safe because (a) it was in a quiet residential area and (2) it was exactly, geographically, the furthest place away from the largest gathering of policemen (the funeral). Unfortunately (for them) the government had thought about the lack of police this side of the city and had flooded the area with special forces - these are the guys who roam the city, driving huge trucks, all wearing balaclavas (so they won't be recognised) and carrying enough armaments to start a small confrontation in a middle eastern country.

Cutting a long story short, a three hour gun battle ensued. Three hours of gun firing (and the odd mortar shell and grenade thrown). The street was littered with empty shell casings. The six kidnappees were executed, two of the kidnappers were killed, one policeman was killed. No civilians were injured. The fact that no civilians were injured is the amazing thing! This is because one civilian, on returning to her house, discovered that there were police blockades surrounding the area. Fortunately she knew the back roads, because she was desperate for the toilet, and managed to drive her car into the street where she lived. She didn't notice that the whole street was empty, in fact as she locked her car and ran inside (she was really desperate for the toilet) she didn't really notice all the people shouting at her. She got into the flat, went to the toilet and while there thought she heard gunfire. She stepped out onto the balcony to realise that the street wasn't as empty as she thought. There were policemen hiding behind walls, trees, anything they could find - pouring bullets into a building up the street. At that moment one of the policemen noticed her. She was told to go back inside, lie on the floor, keep out the way. As she went inside, she realised that the walls probably weren't thick enough to stop bullets (she also noticed that there is actually fire that comes out the end of a machine gun when it is firing 60 rounds a second). Worse, she realised that her car was probably in a lot of danger. Without stopping to think much more, she grabbed her car keys, ran out the door, got in the car, was verbally abused by several policemen and drove away to a coffee shop. When she got there she texted me to tell me that: she was safe, the car was safe, the flat had no bullet holes in it when she left. Gotta lurve Maria!

Apart from that, life has been quite quiet!

Tomorrow, on TV, at 8am there is a footy match - Heffield v Man. City. I am assuming that as Sheffield United are playing Manchester City at 4pm (your time) that I will get to see the mighty Blades playing!!

Right, I'll stop there. The last time I tried to send you a long email it wouldn't get through (so that's my excuse for stopping now). I hope your life is less exciting than ours and your earache gets better.

Love,
William

the geek in me

In 2001 there was a census of all the people in the UK. It was a eight page form that had to be filled in carefully and precisely. If you lied in any of the questions there was a threat of fines or imprisonment - whether this was true or not wasn't something I debated. I am a fairly law-abiding citizen and (as a bit of a maths nerd) I also believe in statistics (as much as one believes in "lies, damn lies and statistics").

However, there was one question that was a "freebie". One question that didn't have to be filled out. One question that didn't have to be filled out exactly or left you with a choice of ringing the correct answer. This one question was an open question that you were allowed to fill in the answer without any punishment - you could put what you liked!

What religion are you?

I answered Jedi.

A t'internet campaign had been started (in Australia, New Zealand and Canada) to get Jedi as a recognised religion. To cut a long boring story short, the results of the 2001 census in England placed Jedi as the fourth most popular religion and therefore a fully-fledged, officially sanctioned religion. I am officially recognised as a Jedi.

It has come as a bit of a shock to discover that Maria's kids have never seen a Star Wars film. This came to our realisation as we were sitting watching "Austin Powers" - yep, they have seen Austin Powers but not Star Wars - as one of the characters kept referencing it.

Can you guess what we'll be watching this weekend? Well, NOT Star Wars I, II or III!

Cue - A New Hope, The Empire Strikes Back, Return of the Jedi.

This means that the kids will now be open to all those old, old jokes that will now seem new: Luke, I know what you're getting for Christmas, I've felt your presents! Use the fork Luke! Anything said in a Yoda-type-way.

May the fourth be with you!

my dad was a fiddler of knobs

[and if that title doesn't improve my stats via google hits, nothing will]

I'm getting old (and I don't need Helly to tell me!).

I'm standing in the shower, trying to get the temperature just right. Too much hot, too much cold, just right, just right, oh fuck - it's gone wrong. And I suddenly realise that I am turning into my dad (as opposed to Eddie Izzard [six minutes into this]).

We got our first colour television in 1970 - yes! I did emphasise the word colour! [and yes, I realise that you weren't yet two Helly but, to be pedantic, Maria was minus ten!] In 1970 there were only three television channels in England: BBC1; (the fledgling) BBC2; and ITV. Most of the programmes were in black and white. Until we got our new tele I had heard about colour television but didn't really believe it. Once the 1970 World Cup came around my dad decided that we would have a colour tele - I loved my dad!

The problem was that it took the arrival of the new tele to realise that my father never really sat still for longer than 20 minutes. Before we got the tele I now (then) realise(d) that every couple of minutes my father would get out of his chair and do something. Pour another drink, wander round the house switching lights off or fiddle with the thermostat for the central heating. The most overused phrase in our house was: I'm not paying to light/heat the whole of bloody Sheffield. My father could never understand why doors had to be left open, why people couldn't put another jumper on, why people didn't want to sit in the dark. In fact, he was the one person I ever met who would encourage people to read under the bed clothes with a torch - until he worked out that his collection of batteries, that he kept in the garage, had dwindled away to zero. All of this would happen around us and hardly affect our lives - until the colour tele arrived in our lives.

Every Thursday we would get The Radio Times. In those days, the days before anyone could publish television times, this was the bible of the BBC. There was a rival magazine, TV Times, which only published the times of programmes on ITV.We didn't get this (except for the Christmas two-week bumper issue) because we didn't watch ITV - it really wasn't my mother's type of television programmes. Now, you have to realise, that there wasn't much tele in those days. There wasn't 24 hour TV. There would be schools programmes in the morning but the first real television programme was at 12:45 - Watch with Mother. This was followed by the one o'clock news and then the station shut off until 3:45pm. Children's programming until the news at 5:45. Then a news-magazine programme, then actual television as we know it. This all shut down at about 11pm, when they would play the national anthem.

On Thursday night I would go through The Radio Times, reading it from cover to cover, planning what programmes I could watch. Some programmes were banned (and if it was a programme my parents wanted to watch [mainly my dad] we would have to go sit in the study and read) and often my mum would randomly ban television - the tele sat in a wooden case with a sliding door, she would just close the door and that was that, end of argument. Anyhoo, the week we got the colour television I went through The Radio Times picking out the programmes that were in colour (about 10% of the programming). This was going to be brilliant.

Except I hadn't factored in my dad.

The colour was never right for my dad. He'd have the back of the tele off, he'd alter all the twisty knobs on the tele (and it was all twisty knobs in those days). Watching television with my dad was a nightmare. You never got to watch a whole programme all the way through. There was always something wrong. In fact he took to settling down in front of the television with a glass of scotch in one hand and a screwdriver in the other.

I love my dad.

But I am turning into him. I have found myself wandering around the flat, shutting doors and in my mind I am saying: I'm not paying to heat the whole of bloody Tijuana. I can be found prowling around, following Maria (or kids) switching lights off: I'm not paying to light Tijuana. And now I find myself in the shower, playing safe-cracker with the  taps. I am my bloody dad - desperately trying to get the colour to balance on the television. Worse, I have started to wear slippers!!!!

I am old. You don't need to remind me Helly :^)

getting my own back

Work has increased. I'm not complaining, just stating a fact - work has increased. But I like my job. I really do enjoy teaching, it's what I do best. Plus here, in Mexico, I get to teach. I'm left to my own devices, teaching what I want, when I want, how I want. The advantage is that I am good teacher (and you don't know how hard that is for me to say - but, if I can't be honest here, where can I be) and the school recognises this and lets me do my thing. The paper work is minimal. There is still paperwork but it is the stuff I do without thinking, it's the stuff I need to do to do my job. Last week I had to hand in my lesson planner. Colleagues complained about having to write their lesson plans for the month ahead. e, I realise that it is necessary to actually know what you are doing. So I did my planner. I got it back yesterday with a note attached: Thank you for handing your planner in on time but check it yourself. They just leave me alone!

The reason that my work load has increased is that I have taken on a part of the school play - all the acting. I refused to become involved in the singing, dancing, scenery, costumes. Of course, what I refuse to do and what is expected of me have turned out t be two totally different things. Should I complain? Well nope. I enjoy plays. I love the whole thing - working with children in a different situation to a maths lesson, imposing my vision on a play. It is (as it has always been) hard work but it is something I enjoy, so I don't complain.

I feel guilty about the play. When I came here to Mexico it was to be with Maria. I didn't want to do things that took me away from her. The play will do (is doing) this. I already have to work an extra hour after school and this will increase as the play draws nearer. There are moments when I am lost in thought, reviewing another scene in my head. I spend time worrying about rehearsals. I spend waaaay too much time lecturing Maria about how something should be done - and then I realise that I should be talking about our lives and not about the play. I feel guilty.

But this is something I enjoy and Maria knows this. She sits back and lets me rant. She adds her own ideas. She supports me. She is wonderful.

In some ways Maria is in an unenviable situation. She has no job and is stuck at home. I know she feels guilty about this and, therefore, will sit patiently and listen to me rant about my life because she thinks I deserve to rant. I know she feels guilty about sitting at home while I work. This, though, is not something that bugs me. Oh, I'd rather sit at home with her but I realise that one of us has to work and why not let it be me? I'm doing something I enjoy, she isn't forced to something she doesn't enjoy, everyone wins.

While I'm at work Maria does stuff around the house - well, that was the plan. There are days I come home and she looks at me, smiles and then apologises because: "somehow I followed this link, to this link, to this link and then I looked at the time and the whole day had passed. I did post though." Again this doesn't worry me. Although she thinks I expect a clean house, everything in its place, a meal on the table etc. I don't. What I want is her. I want to come home to her, to be with her. The rest is mere details.

And then she got a job.

She picked up a kid to tutor. A kid that I actually teach We decided that the best thing possible is that I stay out the way. Leave her and the kid on their own. So, I grabbed my laptop and disappeared into the tele room. My plan was to post. My plan was to write emails. My plan to do something.

I did nothing!

neil h. pointed me in the direction of a new version of desktop tower defender and suddenly two hours disappeared. No post written, no emails sent, nothing achieved. I feel guilty, she feels wonderful. Suddenly all is right with the world.

As I type this I can hear Maria and the child discussing addition of mixed numbers in the background. But in the foreground I can hear the call of desktop defender flash 2. Bye.

it took 19 people

We watch a lot of films - on average ten a week. Not all of these films are seen at the cinema, we really only go out twice a month to the pictures. No, these are films watched on DVD. We rent some and we download and burn the rest. Because we watch many films there are moments that we are stunned that we hadn't heard of them before, why hadn't other people told us how excellent they were? Many times we are stunned at how incredibly bad some films are when they have been recommended by others. Reign Over Me being in the former bracket, History of Violence in the latter.

I enjoy watching films with Maria, especially on DVD. When we go to the cinema we sit (although she tends to leap about), watch and absorb. The minute we leave the cinema we go to the toilet start discussing what we have seen. It's brilliant to immediately get another point of view, to discuss what we liked and disliked. I suppose this is normal for people who go to the cinema in pairs but, as I didn't go to the cinema much before, it is novel for me. However, when we watch DVDs we get to hit the pause button, rewind, stop. In the middle of the film we can point out things that have struck us, we can ask the other questions, sometimes we have been known to step out for a cigarette in the middle and try and work out the ending, before going back to see if we get our wish.

The films I watch on DVD I tend not to review on here - I stick to mentioning the ones we see at the cinema. I also don't really review films. I think that it is all personal taste and I hate spoiling films for others. I will tell you if I think a film is good or bad and why-ish but, on the whole, I know you will ignore my input and it won't be the main reason whether you go and see it or not...it's just another opinion.

Of course, if I was to mention a film that I'd seen on DVD it would be because I thought it was excellent and I didn't want you to miss out. So, I'm going to mention a film, 88 minutes. You have to see this film. Fifteen minutes after it had stopped we were all for putting it back into the player and watching it again. The only thing that stopped us was, we just aren't that stupid.

There are some films which are ok. There are some films which are bad. There are some films that are just plain awful. And then there are the films that manage to plummet the depths so far that they manage to come out the other side. 88 minutes is awful. It isn't so much that there are a few holes in the plot, more like there is too few plot in the hole. What is stunning about the whole debacle is that it is well acted. Al Pacino  turns in a very good performance and he is well supported by the rest of the cast. To tell the truth, the general story isn't that bad, the idea behind the story is good. But the script stinks, everything about the film is wrong. Fact: in the first four minutes Pacino parks his car in a slot numbered 51. As he gets out of the car it is suddenly in slot 43. This was the first time we stopped the film to look at each other to go eh? Ten minutes later we decided to stop stopping the film to go eh?

This is a film called 88 minutes (ironically it lasts 104 minutes, although according to IMDB its run time is 90 minutes) because, fifteen minutes into the film Pacino is given 88 minutes to live. However, there is a desire to actually sit through the film with a spreadsheet and follow not Pacino's time-line but the protagonist's time-line. What this person manages to achieve - including three complete wardrobe changes, five different sets of make-up and three hairstyles - is totally unbelievable. And I know what you are thinking - come on Will, suspend belief, it's a film. No, this isn't a suspension of belief you are asking for, they manage to cram activities into 88 minutes that would take trained SAS/Marine squad of eight four hours to complete. It is fantastic.

But the most amazing thing about 88 minutes is how many producers worked on the film. I have started to become stunned about producer credits. If you watch the television series Heroes you are still getting credits on screen fifteen minutes into a 45 minute programme. In the case of 88 minutes there were 19 producers - NINETEEN!!! Did not one of them watch the damn thing? Didn't one of them notice anything?

Anyhoo, if you get really bored at any time this month, nip round to Blockbusters and pick up a copy - it went straight to DVD. Watch the end first, so you know "who did it" and then watch the film in its entirety. Follow the time-line. It is really good fun. Then argue with your partner about it! A jolly good time can be had by one and all.