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After several earnest conversations with irritating middle class graduate girls pestering on behalf of - what was it now? Save the Children? - I worked on a handy response for future use, which ended up as "get a proper job." Unfortunately then the credit crunch happened and that was no longer a realistic option, so I just went back to ignoring them, and my witty riposte remained unused.

Something I used to do was produce a copy of what eventually became a rather ragged donation form for a charity I was actively involved with. Any chugger who accosted me would have me suggest we make a deal. I'll donate to whatever charity you're pimping for if you do the same to mine.

Only ever had one person agree to it. Annoyingly by that time the form I'd been carrying in my wallet had segmented into quarters so no deal was struck. I'm thinking a blood oath might do the trick, next time; at the very least, I'll suggest a handspitandshake.

Still kick myself to this day I never bought a Doomlord mask one time on Brighton pier. Supposedly though they had a habit of disintegrating if you even thought about wearing 'em.

Well, clearly I didn't learn that calling out the Chief on a stealth change to the posting guidelines gets you banned, that's fer damn sure!

Count yourself lucky. That charge would've been double if you'd been a Marble character.

Does this film descend into being about the dangers of global warning?

It doesn't even bother explaining the supposed significance of the film's bastard title. There's some guff (I think) about the sun emitting 'nuclearized neutrinos'(!) or somesuch and Graham Hancock gets a name-check right at the end of the final credits. And, uh . . .

Well, that's it.

Am I the only one . . .

Oh, Jim. Didn't you learn anything over at the JBF?

He also hates the bit in Wall-E where our hero leaves his cockroach  friend behind on Earth . . .

Y'know, there's just no way of putting it without sounding like I wanna be in Gary's Gang but . . .

Given how that scene's shot, I'm hardly surprised. At three, even I hadn't yet discovered the joy of self-abuse.

The inclusion of versions of other characters is well handled and there are endless little references and details to keep the inner geek amused (such as a tiny stuffed Krypto in the background of one panel) but without being too heavy handed or groan-inducing.

Enjoyed it mostly, except when it decides to ignore its own rules and have characters such as Pytor Roslov and Lana Lazarenko make an appearance. Of particular annoyance is [the] Batmanski (albeit a non-definite article in the Slavic).

Once a team is in your blood there is nothing you can do about it.
During the 90's, for about 2 years, I stopped going to Spurs and followed Enfield instead. Much cheaper but I still cared for my team regardless.
You just can't shake it. It's like a (very expensive) drug.

So you're a Gooner, I take it.

This is a remake of HALLOWEEN III, yes?

Fuck ME, 2012 is quite possibly THE most BORING disaster movie EVER. Okay, so it's something shy of thirty years since I fell asleep during METEOR on ITV one Sunday night; that, at least, had James Bond with a big gay tash.

But crikey, that really was a chore at times. Best line: 'DONUT!', worst line: 'We're gonna need a bigger plane'.

Roy Keane's fabulously unsympathetic take on the affair.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport1/hi/football/internationals/8370327.stm

At 2.39, he even chides one of the journalists for not switching off his mobile. Roy Keane, it should be you doing the otherwise-of-no-use-Orange ads.

Origins made it canon.

Wowsers. That's almost thirty years.

Those Cumberland sausage rings Morrison's sells.

Hey, just copying what Belardinelli came up with!

Quite. That's Massimo's manhood in your hands, that is.

The Souster woman isn't around so I can say without my usual reproach I secretly very much like Ikea. In particular pretending I've been invited over to some '70s sci fi pad.

The delivery charges are a fucking rip-off, though.