Sat making vomiting, belching and other gutteral noises between two of my friends at the Empire cinema at the Gate Newcastle this week, we sat and watched Parry Hotter.
I was choking on the bottle of water I happened to be drinking. Isn’t it funny how when I have a super-size Pepsi I don’t choke but make an attempt at being healthy with a bottle of “Council Pop” and you start showering the Chavs in the row immediately in front ensues.
It’s a sign that I’m an overweight guy trapped inside of the body of an overweight guy.
To be honest they were in the poor people’s seats and would have saved themselves from the whole ordeal.
The movie. Well apparently none of them are as good at the books, but to be honest I don’ think the DVD of this one would do half as good a job at stabilising my mahogany bureau as the book does.
The movie was pretty good, like all of them it was full of clever special effects. My favourite effect was how they cleverly transported you in to a world where a hefty ginger lad can get a girlfriend.
Simon Cowel hang up your dentures – it’s G’s Got Talent. The national casino chain is on a mission to find some talent and have asked some professionals to act as judges.
So I acted as if I had talent and sat down at the judging table with the equally untalented Simon Robertson of One Voice Productions (a well established and respected compere), Kellyanne who is a radio presenter from Real Radio who we propped up from crying about a relationship break up. A relationship of a whole month. The poor dear. And Miranda an artist manager from LA who had a face and stuff.
The acts have ranged from corny to horny. The highlight for me was ‘The Man In The Dress’. After 4 and a half hours, they said it was minutes, of this 50 year-old catwalking back and forth like a Kugar, dressed as a woman and miming to something like Madonna the microphone was passed to me for ‘comments’.
The only thing I could think of came flying out of the hole in the front of my face, “I don’t get it.”
The room was quieter than what you can expect at Kerry Katona’s funeral.
“What is your talent? Anyone can put on a dress and mime badly to a bad 80s song” I got less boos than I’d thought. I took that as agreement.
The contest isn’t over yet so I don’t want to say much about the good people, but there’s some real talent around too, and if some of them decide they want to bribe a judge with their bodies, it would be rude not to.
Ones to watch include a dance act who do body popping and beat-boxing stuff, a bunch of badly dressed but fantastically talented dance music producers/artists and a pair of lads who could easily be the love children of Paulo Nutini and James Morrison.