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Ok ok silence at the back. And no interruptions. I'm to talk of 8 films. And i think i'll do it in reverse order, meaning the ones seen longest ago will be remembered least and barely even mentioned, perhaps. First up is The Painted Bird. Well, this is a festival film and one i was glad to...

I'd prefer to see them walk off of the pitch, but not down tunnel. Instead, steaming into the pile of racists, with the entire backroom staff, and maybe one or two anti-racist Bulgarian players, and having a huge punch-up with the mindless brutes. The brawl would end, a couple of the feebler...

Very much this. I planning to remain in London on my lonesome this Christmas specifically so i can waddle along to this fixture. And then fly to Spain the day after for some Crimboness.

I changed my name by deedpoll one Monday morning in honour of my second place childhood hero, Dogtanian - shortened to Doggy with friends. Apparently, someone had already snatched the name and put copyright on the moniker Liono.

I just remembered that Rebel Wilson is in Jojo Rabbit too. I thought it best mentioned as a warning to those expecting non-stop laughs.

Now, onto the other films of the weekend. Um. What were they!? The fuzz around my brain says there were a few. Ok. Got it. First up was Brazilian western Bacurau. It won best picture at Cannes. I wouldn't go that far, but it was good and impactful. Set a few years in the future, they say to...

I nipped into see it between other films, and i'm a bit perplexed over my feelings for it. Joaquin was amazing, i thought, and that really makes the film, but jesus it's dour, and so like Taxi Driver and King of Comedy that i couldn't clasp it's specific identity. And i felt queasy with its take...

2 films yesterday, of mixed quality. First up was The Cold Case Hammarskjöld, a documentary with moments of mild comedy in its telling - the maker, Mads Brugger, is an intriguing enough chap with an effective and enthralling manner of speech - but then a shocking array of truths coming out...

Looks a beauty. I hope they don't have that awful song on it though. Shut up! Please!

Well, i do that to his mother and say to him is this really what you wanted to happen? He doesn't comprehend it entirely, sometimes chortling at the sight of his breathless and panicking madre, but i feel he gets the gist of my message. Don't, and i repeat, DON'T, MESS, WITH, DADDY MEADE, AND...

There are other weapons to threaten a child with other than the fist. If my 2 year old starts being overly cheeky, or happy, i start running the bath with that you know what's coming sort of face. I wouldn't ACTUALLY drown him, but, you know, he needs to know who is boss.

So it started for me this evening, the London Film Festival, and as with most years, it started well - probably because i am not too tired from it all to take in what i'm watching. This time around it was the Russian film Beanpole. I mean, in the name of all of bleeding heavens it was the usual...

I have a fart accompaniment with that photo, thanks to her pose. A single sharp note, repeated again perhaps 10 seconds later, longer and at a higher pitch, almost like a stern REALLY??!?!

I'll be pleased if March is back and up for it too. Having a loping 6ft 7 wingback is a little uncommon, and for all Burn's nomadic moments of skill as a centre-half, i'd rather have a nippy player to fulfil such a role.

I find that to be a horrid message sent out by Derby. A slap on the wrist and away you go as representatives of this fine and respected club. You've learnt your lesson now lads and 3 points in the bag. The world is right again.

On Saturday i have a film at 11.30am, then 1 at 6 and 1 at 9.30. Film festival time innit. So, i plan to finish the 11.30, hit a pub to watch the second half of the Albion, and then go see The Joker. It might not allow me to appreciate it as much, but i can't wait another week and a bit for it...

I'm a bit tired and grumpy today, and just scrolled down the list on the beeb with a cacophonous oh f*ck off. If i was even the slightest of a tough nut i'd like to punch any youngster from 12 upwards who has either Bieber hair or Marcos Alonso hair.

I try not to think too much really, as all that will appear is imagery of catastrophe, or being the opposite of how i want to think or be - why in blue heavens am i in bed with a glazed moose, for instance, my face semi-pummelled and lashed by two huge glistening nuts (that was the thought i...

I went to see Ad Astra yesterday, and today i remain angry with it. A fulsome segment of that ire is thanks to it all being of Brad Pitt. I watched Moneyball again yesterday, which was a good flick, with Pitt's performance of an unusually higher quality, but it had me thinking of what he is able...

There's a spider in my flat that i have tried to kill on three occasions, and it won't be flattened. I don't know where this little monster is now, but in the depths of night i have a firm sensation that it is out to get me, realising its invulnerability. Albion-wise, i ticked firepower, but...