Business as usual:

Dave, Gill, Ash and I met up at the Car Wash (yes, I have lived here for that long) on Saturday and got utterly plastered. The next morning I felt very bad indeed. The end.

On Saturday night, afraid to go near a pub for fear of an allergic reaction, Ash and I patronised the cinema again, this time to see Right At Your Door. If you haven't seen anything about it (and I'm not giving anything away here), it's about a dirty bomb attack on L.A. and one guy's attempt to seal up his house against the airborne toxins.

I was underwhelmed. It should have been excellent. It should have been claustrophobic, but ruined that by moving the point of view outside the house for no real reason. It should have been tense, but squandered what little tension it had created by some melodramatic, unconvincing character building. The denouement should have been unexpected and shocking, but was mundane (in the context of the film) and fleeting.

Basically, as far as films costing less than a million bucks to make, Hard Candy owns Right At Your Door very hard indeed. Try that instead.