28 Weeks Later does not star Sandra Bullock

Which can come as a bit of a surprise when you're expecting a romcom. Anyway, so yes, I scooted along to Shepherds Bush this evening after work to catch the sequel to 28 Days Later, which I seem to remember liking when I caught that at the cinema a few years back.

And I liked this too. It had all the prerequisite features of a zombie film - lots of gore, lots of things going wrong, and lots of zombies. And those buggers can move, let me tell you. Rawr!

Just like its predecessor, this film was full of shots of an empty London, and it's every bit as disturbing to see it here as it was to see it in the first film. There's something inherently creepy about seeing the normally bustling streets of the capital devoid of life, and to be quite honest it was nice to leave the cinema at the end of the film and find the streets packed full of people; the vast majority of them pikeys and weirdos, but at least they weren't zombies.

So yes, I definitely liked this movie. Perhaps my only quibble was that it fell foul of that typical Hollywood thing of having to show EVERY landmark in London as if they're all conveniently lined up on one road. At one point the two kids in it steal a moped and leave the safety zone on the Isle of Dogs to go back to their house. And they seemed to do it by zigzaging across the Thames whenever they reached a bridge. Later on they run from the Isle of Dogs to Regents Park in what seems to be a matter of minutes, only to find that it's been transformed into some immense country park with rolling hillsides and an ice cream van. Then it's only a short walk down the Piccadilly Line to Wembley Stadium (consult your tube map people) - hurrah!

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I've been in an inexplicably chipper mood today. If my life was an episode of Ally McBeal chances are I would've burst into song at some point. Even walking down the Goldhawk Road I felt a bizarre burst of enthusiasm and joy, as if I could take whatever life threw at me, dispatch it with a swift gut-punch, then headbutt life into submission. I don't know why this is the case, but I was certainly enjoying it - at least until I was stirred from my reverie when I was approached by the guy who *always* stops me on the Goldhawk Road to ask for change. God knows why - it's not like he's homeless; in fact, he looks pretty respectable, but he must be on to something good to keep doing it. Maybe he's raking it in?

Anyway, I scowled "no," resisting the temptation to say "dude, seriously, you ask me every time I walk down this road - bugger off!"

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Marcosy emailed me today. He was amused by my post yesterday where I revealed my new habit of quoting Prince lyrics. He sent me a snatch of lyrics from 'Gett Off' in an uncomfortably large font, after which I told him that I'd liked that song since I first heard it when I got the 'Diamonds and Pearls' album years ago.

And now he's doubly amused by my recollection of the young and innocent me sitting in the back of Dad's car singing along to:

"Gett off - 23 positions in a 1 night stand
Gett off - I'll only call u after if u say I can
Gett off - let a woman be a woman and a man be a man
Gett off - I u want 2 baby here I am (Here I am)"

How the hell was I supposed to know what it meant? I mean, really?