"Underworld Colon Evolution"

is how Underworld: Evolution is correctly read aloud. Dave and I went to see this on Monday and while it wasn't bad per se, it was more or less completely identical to the first. Not so much evolution as treading water. Harmless (apart from the gore, gratuitous sex and swearing), mindless (apart from the intestinally tortuous plot) fun (apart from the boring middle section), more or less.

Oh, and I decided to officially recognise Valentine's Day this year. In previous years I've mostly ignored it (or wished that I'd had the option to ignore it), because my feelings about the day itself usually lay somewhere between "meh" and "this blows goats". This time round everything was marvellous, and did not blow goats. We (oh, how I taunt you) did absolutely nothing special, just had a few drinks in sundry nice little bars and talked about the usual stuff. Excellent!

TM have really pulled the collective finger out of late, turning in at least three good practices in a row. Pestering the staff at Banana Row for the bigger room is paying off: we can all fit in the room without danger of stuffing guitars and drumsticks into each other and Mart can sing without feedback pulverising our eardrums. This, along with the increasing urgency lent by the approaching gig is making us actually pay attention and Saturday's session at Berkeley 2 was one of the best yet. We don't sound perfect, but mostly we sound right.

Before I forget to plug it (ha! I'll spam everyone I've ever said more that three words to), the gig is going to be on the 23^rd of March at the Bongo Club. We're not on the programme yet (and given the reluctance of the booking chap to stick his head above his desk, are unlikely to be for a while), but Proxy assure me that it's all in hand. It's going to be worth coming along - if TM's vaunted new elecroclash/ska direction doesn't float your boat, then you're dead inside. 100% fact.

I've had a bit of a filmic week in general; after getting back from the practice in Glasgow, I went to see Good Night, And Good Luck on Saturday night with Ashley, Austen and Maria because Walk The Line was sold out. I enjoyed it in spite of slightly plodding pacing: great acting and excellent period detail. Splicing in archive footage of McCarthy's borderline paranoid rants was a stroke of genius; David Strathairn's twitchy calm came across as that much more rational and believable. Good stuff!

We ended up going to see Walk The Line on Sunday instead. I feel a bit guilty about not enjoying it quite so much: Joaquin Phoenix is good, but he's not as method as David Strathairn, yo. If nothing else, it was enjoyable in a far less vapid manner than Underworld, and I didn't feel like I'd just eaten my entire daily intake of calories in the form of fizzy cola bottles.

And now, dear diary, I wish to fuck off home given that I'm still in the office and working on a non-feature to combat a non-bug that will serve only to exacerbate the imagined problem. O happy day!