I don’t know what’s wrong with me at the moment.
I’m in perfectly good health (for me) and life is fairly as per usual (in a good way) but recently it seems the only thing that can sustain my interest for any great length of time involves car chases.
Now, I think I’ve mentioned in the past that I’m not exactly the most highbrow when it comes to artistic taste. Certainly with films, my own personal merit scale is usually measured in explosions. The equation for my perfect film goes something like this:
(Attractive Male Lead + Sword Fighting* x Space Ships) / Explosions = The Best Film Ever
*can be substituted for super powers, martial arts or even gun fights a la ‘Wanted’
So while engaged in conversation with my boss a few months ago, the topic of films came up. He discussed at great length how wonderful The King’s Speech was, while another colleague talked of the brilliance of Black Swan. I had to confess that the last film I went to see was I Am Number Four.
But it seems I’m getting even worse. Now I need high speed car chases above all else.
Finding ourselves with some extra free time, what with all these lovely Bank Holidays, the Boyfriend and I have been watching a lot of films. Sky Anytime had a Fast and Furious marathon which I was eager to watch, however the Boyfriend is a sensitive soul who likes thoughtful dramas. I ended up watching Remember Me with Robert Pattinson and Emile De Ravin. When he had a shout halfway through, the cars were back on.
If you look at our DVD collection it goes something like this:
The Day After Tomorrow
Snakes On A Plane
Little Miss Sunshine
Clash Of The Titans
Pirates Of The Carribean
Star Trek (incidentally this has an attractive male lead, sword fights, explosions, gun fights, martial arts and a very short car chase)
The three in that list you would expect to belong to me are his.
I’m not kidding.
Little Miss Sunshine is one of his favourite films.
Which should be fantastic, but honestly, at the moment if the soundtrack doesn’t have a ground shaking bassline and the sound of revving engines, I’m just not interested.
Which leads me to the frightening conclusion that I, Liberty Gilmore, must be slowly morphing into a chav.