Fight Club - good to see it (or at least the last third) again - possibly the most enjoyable film about self-harm ever
Rugby playing Matt Stevens from the X Factor: Battle of the Stars - a good singer, fair enough, but every night his facial expression - nay his entire stance - has been that of a toddler who's just produced an unexpectedly impressive log, and is quite delighted by the result.
There would be more, but the adverts will no doubt be almost at an end, and there's a drinkey-poo with my name on it. A more sober service will follow shortly.
1.52am update Jesus, I've just watched this week's Dr Who episode (The Impossible Planet) "on demand".
OK, so yesterday I was banging on about the ineffectual nature of The Supremeley Evil Being as an object of horror for the unbeliever, or something, however tonight's Who episode nailed it so firmly I was left in a gibbering mess all over the carpet. Though that might have had to do with the Glenfiddich.
I know I rarely end up finding sufficient time to Whovangelise on VSX, which is a shame as the last two series have in my opinion been the best British television productions since, oh I don't know, Sapphire & Steel (the latter being good in the memory but no doubt shite in reality). Give or take a few less than wonderful episodes, of course (eps 1 of both new series - the other ones I'd originally taken umbridge with - Boom Town and The Girl In The Fireplace - have great replay value). Nope, I tend to end up writing more about Dr Who in response to articles on other blogs rather chronicling my sheer joy on these pages. That is, unless I am drunk, as is the case right now (2.12am as I type).
However, drunk or not (or otherwise), tonight was a masterclass in the televisual control of tension, expectation and fear.