Rediscovering normal life / continuing to gorge on cultural life, a lovely film last night. The Guard.

And oh my goodness I'd convinced myself (based on a slim shred of - as it turns out - ill-read evidence) that it was written by my favourite Martin McDonagh.

Wrong wrong wrong.

It had nothing to do with Martin. And everything to do with his brother John who both wrote and directed the beautifully shot finery.

Well Cari, I take back my pompous lectures about how it bore all the hallmarks of Martin's art, accompanied by lengthy descriptions of my favourite of his scripts.

What a hot-air filled to almost (if not) bursting point fool.

Anyway, the film was good.