I'm Bill Murray, You're Everybody Else...

Why hello there my little Slights-of-Hand.

Yesteryesterday I went to Manchester. It was a pretty impulsive thing to do. I like doing impulsive things. Indeed, I often feel like I have a duty to do impulsive things when I consider all the people in the world who are stuck with loads of committments and responsibilities and all that lame stuff, surely if I have the ability shake off all my plans and head over to Manchester with little over an hours notice, then I should. Otherwise I'd be like one of those flightless birds, being envied for my possession of wings yet never actually bringing myself to use them.

So off I popped, over to Manchester. I was the honoured guest of a certain Mr Luke McLeod, (whom I had very recently deleted as a friend from Facebook on account of I couldn't remember the last time I spoke/saw/remembered him - which made me feel a peculiarly 21st Century style of guilt). We went to see films, (me, Luke and his other honoured guestette, and loyal commentee of this blog, Sarah), the first film we went to watch was Be Kind Rewind, directed by the super-fun Michel Gondry, and starring the coolly-stagenamed Mos Def and the overrated Jack Black. This was a really good film, especially the scenes showing them reenacting classic films, ('what's this turning thing? huh? what? how is that supposed to be Men in Black? oh-OH! I see... that's clever!). The film was smile-enducing, yet not schmultzy, which equals a win in my books! The viewing was somewhat ruined however by the gaggle of dump-faced shitscapaders right behind us who would just not shut the fuck up - they eventually got thrown out but not before we missed what were probably some very important plot points.

The second film we saw was Jumper, now, I know I have a tendency to be quite lenient in my reviews of things, but Jumper was absolutely terrible and I have no reservations in stressing that point. Firstly, the origins of the powers were never really explained, which they should have been - that's one of the essential rules of the Superhero genre - all it says is that there have been Jumpers around since the Middle Ages, (as you would expect, it was pretty cold back then and people wanted to keep themselves warm! A word of advice, if you see this film, take the piss everytime someone uses the word 'jumper'), and that every since they emerged they had been hunted by rapid Papists... seeing as the Jumpers only weakness, as it happens, is huge amounts of electricity, I do wonder how 14th Century monks managed to kill any of them...

Ultimately, the film suffers from Captain Scarlet-syndrome, i.e. the inability to convince you that any of the characters are actually in any kind of palpable danger. Scarlet was completely industructible, and no matter how many times an episode would cliffhang with someone would point a gun at him, everyone but the most moronic of idiots would know that he would be perfectly fine by next week - the same with this film, the Jumpers always see the Paladins, (that's what the baddies are called... I know, its stupid...), coming, and its always cockiness on their part that stops them from disappearing at the first sign of danger.

Which led to another problem. You want the heroes dead. They're all a bunch of annoying twats, swanning around having all the fun in the world... they're not even antiheroic, they're just annoying. It almost makes me wish that Hollywood's recent vogue for casting Catholics as sinister murderous conspirators were true... as far as I see it, the Papacy is clearly the lesser of two evils here.

So, went back to Luke's flat, watched Ricky Gervais' new stand-up, (its not very good), and I went to sleep on an erotically hard floor. The next day I went to go take the train back home. Alas, my platform at the station was closed, so I had to go ask the Mancunians how to get home - unfortunately, all Mancunians are rude little tosspots and told me in their snarly little nasal voices to go get on the wrong rail replacement bus. So then I was stuck at the Airport, where another gobshite told me to wait for another half hour for another bus.

Anyway, I eventually got onto my train and decided to put my Open Return to good use: by stopping off at every station of interest. So yesterday I had a quick wander-round both Bolton and Chorely, ('Comin' In Your Ears', it alarmed me to learn, is actually the town of Chorley's unofficial motto).

Bolton was alright. There was a gay bar right by the train station, but it was shut. Further into the town they had a working replica of the first steam-driven machine ever run in Bolton, I stopped to look at it for a bit and read the plaques. While I was doing so, a group of 14ish-year old girls accumulated around me and their leader asked me, "Why are you looking at that wheel?"
I replied, (and this is a reply I'm actually quite proud of), "Because I've never seen it before."
The girls then went on to request shaggings. It was at that point when I politely made my exit.

Chorely was also alright. Its actually quite beorgeois, especially by Northern standards. I found a bar that was completely empty - not just slightly empty, but completely empty.

If I had to chose where was best, (which I do), I guess I probably would pick Bolton...