A Lad Called Incontinence

Hello. It's me again. I'm in a restaurant. Chiquitos, to be precise. And I'm having a good time. The food is nice, I'm with friends who I haven't seen in a while, and the atmosphere is great. General warm-hearted hubbub is just audible under energetic Spanish music pouring out from loudspeakers throughout the restaurant, accompanied in turn by the gentle sound of giggle gurgle gurgle thud giggle.

I looked up to investigate at this point. As it turned out, it was not an epileptic absorbing fifty hits of LSD and then staring into a strobe light, as I had first anticipated, but rather it was a toddler who was unsteady on his feet, exploring the restaurant with his mummy never more than a foot away, which is astoundingly more pedestrian and boring in comparison with my first assumption. Uninterested, I turned back to the table, wondering how long the main course was going to take to arrive. And that's when I saw it.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I can see the toddler get up from its fall behind a set of steps; arising much like the kraken, except smaller, with less tentacles and without the general stench of rotting plankton. However, looks can be deceiving, and no matter how different its appearance is from that of the kraken, its soul is every bit as black and its intentions are the same. And now it had locked its gaze on me. You could practically see the crosshairs forming on its corneas. A half-gummy, half-toothy smile spread slowly across its head, and the beast began its journey forward.

Eventually, it arrived over at our table, still staring at me, still grinning at me. And that's when the panic set in. I have no idea how to react to children that age. There's no definable purpose behind what it's doing. And there's no way to communicate with it. You can't talk to it, because it doesn't understand anything except for disjointed single words, such as 'food', 'eat', 'cry', 'potty' and 'kill'. And you certainly couldn't drop-kick it off the face of the planet, because its mother was standing there, smiling away, and she'd probably get quite upset and defensive, because Leviathan Jr has her brainwashed into not realising that if I did indeed boot it beyond orbit and into the sun, I'd be doing her a massive favour. So what do I do? Do I smile back? Children are unpredictable at best, and if it doesn't like my smile, it'll start crying, and then it'll look as if I'm the monster. Pseudo-kraken is sneaky like that.

I also started to wonder if it could read my thoughts, and I realised that if it could, it would discover that I knew what its true motive was, and it was at that point that it stopped grinning and finally lowered its guard, allowing me to look it straight in its now-glaring eyes and catch a glimpse of the true cold-hearted darkness that forever resides at its very core, alongside all of the poor unfortunates it has devoured over its lifetime. So I finally decided to follow through with the only sane course of action, and I played dead until it lost interest and giggle-gurgle-thumped its way across to the other side of the restaurant in search of fresher meat. And so endeth this overly-dramatised cautionary tale.

Now, you may be wondering what the point of this all is. Well, basically, in this day and age, people are eating out far less often (a statistic wholly backed up by the fact that this entire encounter occurred in a fairly packed restaurant). Nonetheless, I have deduced that this has nothing to do with inflation or, indeed, the general state of the economy at all. Even if I could purchase a grand sixty-course feast for five pennies and a couple of pebbles, I still wouldn't eat out, largely due to the fact that I'd only feel safe eating out if I was carrying a fishing spear, an RPG launcher and a necklace fashioned out of live remote mines. I can't see it being much fun for other diners either, especially if they're about to tuck into their chimichangas only to discover that an aforementioned notsogiant squid has alarmed me into detonating my own brains up the wall. On the scale of 'Things Which Would Probably Damage Sales Levels In A Food Outlet', it's on par with an ice cream parlour hiring a lad called Incontinence who puts on a coy smile and winks every time he hands someone their chocolate milkshake.

In short, restaurants should ban children. More people would eat out if they knew that there was no chance of A) a small, semi-humanoid creature crying into their pizza and burping milky sick over the waiter, or B) being swallowed by said creature and then digested in its stomach for several millenia, before their main course has even arrived.

Man the harpoons, men, and let's finish this once and for all.

No Post On Sundays

I am not an attentive man. Mentally, I'm like a goldfish with ADHD. Sit me down in front of a kriss-kross puzzle and within the minute, I'll be wondering if those words really like being put into little boxes against their will, especially when you put them in the wrong place, but carry on regardless, cramming as many letters as you so desire in a desperate attempt to make everything fit. And then I'll wonder if cats get jet lag after flying, or if koala bears taste minty, and so on, and so forth.

So it was much to my chagrin, after watching Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy last night, to find that the entire movie seems to have been composed to vex people with my mental condition. On one hand, absolutely nobody in the cinema had no idea what was going on halfway through, but on the other hand, it appears to be one of those high-brow movies which makes you feel like a cretin for not understanding what's going on. Or maybe that's just me.

Anyway, the first method they deploy to distract you from what's happening is the 'Ooohh, what have I seen them in before?' syndrome, which appears here many, many times over. They have the bloke who plays Ollivander in Harry Potter, the man who played Sherlock Holmes in the new movie, that bloke who... well, you get the idea. This continues ad nauseum until your brain gives in and you start noticing other characters who you don't recognise, but hey! They look like other people! One of the chief baddies looks like Brain from Pinky and the Brain. One of the main protagonists looks like Chris Evans mixed with a disappointed tortoise. Heck, that bloke over there? Bet he's the next Doctor Who.

Along the lines of people-who-look like other people, my personal favourite was a kid who looked like Dudley Dursley and Harry Potter rolled into one person. He appears gazing out of a schoolroom window whilst his classmates play the flute in the background, but my brain filtered out their racket and replaced it with the Harry Potter theme tune. The illusion is maintained as the schoolmaster literally snaps an owl's neck in front of them, and somewhere in the back of your mind's ear, you hear Uncle Vernon gleefully spluttering, 'No post on Sundays!' Magical.

The next ploy they use to make the audience wonder if they shouldn't have stayed at home silently weeping in a corner instead of coming to the movies is the time shifts. Things flit between the present and the past with absolutely no warning or even an indication that it's happened, and the end result is confusing to say the least. I'm not even sure how far in the past it was supposed to be, or even if the time kept changing with each flashback. I managed to follow the latest series of Doctor Who down to the most minute details, which is a miracle, given my attention span, but I was at a loss here. If I was the Doctor, I might have been able to follow the movie. But I'm not, so I couldn't. Although, if I was the Doctor, I'd also go back in time and leave myself a note to go and see The Lion King 3D instead.

It ends with a prolonged artsy sequence which shows what happens to everybody who appeared in the film, accompanied by some French ragtime music warbling along in the background. I'm not sure exactly what he was singing about, but I'm pretty sure the words 'Je ne comprend pas cette film' made an appearance. Although that may or may not have been my subconcious crying directly into my ear.

Overall, I'm not quite sure what to make of it. On one hand, it was entertaining, if only because you can sit and pick out all the people you know, and it ends up feeling like Crimewatch meets Little Britain meets Harry Potter meets Shutter Island meets Shelock Holmes meets The Polar Express meets Everything Else Which Has Ever Existed (incidentally, The Polar Express is only in there because of a gentlemanly guard with a glorious moustache). On the other hand, it's confusing, badly shot in parts, and I can't help but think that repeatedly slamming a stapler into my face would have been a more productive use of my time. But I also feel like an idiot for not understanding it. That's what it boils down to, really. Three hours of 'Wait, so what's happening now?'

Which isn't to say that it was entirely unenjoyable. My favourite scene in the entire movie was one where they're talking with a man to enquire some money. Said man is buttering a piece of toast. He talks for a while and takes a bite, and BAM! That is one marvellously crunchy piece of toast. You'd hear that for miles. Bet the resulting shockwaves reduced buildings in Australia to smouldering piles of rubble. It has to be heard to be believed. But it's a telling sign that I'd rather watch that crunchy toast looped for two and a half hours than watch the entire movie for the same length of time.

And if that last paragraph made it sound like maybe the movie isn't too high-brow, and maybe I'm just simple, well, you may be onto something. But if you find yourself sitting, earnestly paying attention to the movie, and your mind suddenly perks up and says 'Wow, that is one crunchy piece of toast', you can't say I didn't warn you.