I am very bad at being ill. Or rather, I was very good at being ill when I was at school because after I'd passed my mother's stringent lying-tests I'd get to lie in bed with the black and white portable telly and eat soup and sleep and feel safe and cossetted.
Now of course I'm in the arse end of East London, my mother's in Hampshire and I'm not at school in any case. My head feels like a foetus is fast-forwarding through pregnancy and breaking out of the sides. I've got a bona fide temperature and chills. I had to make my own soup for Christ's sakes. If Helen hadn't sent me home from our Gentlemen Prefer Blondes viewing last night armed with enough books and films to educate a school, I'd probably have started smoking again just for something to do.
I don't do ill. I don't have the time or the inclination. Hangover, certainly, sleepy or cold, absolutely, but genuinely illness doesn't enter my dictionary very often. I spent too long in hospitals and dentists as a teenager to waste my time with it now, and as a result, today is probably the most boring day of my life because I can't even go and do my evening plans because I am dripping with sweat and aching like an old tree.
BORING! Fucking boring. And yes, I know I'm boring for being bored, but I'm ill so shut up.
Anyway, before my body decided to keep me away from human company, I watched an awful lot of trailers this weekend. Watch them too, then tell me about them. Seriously. My housemate won't be home til it's dark and I might have fainted of boredom and fever by then. Do you know any good jokes? Are they over an hour long? Brilliant! Bring them on.
The Ten - 10 stories inspired by the commandments. I heart Paul Rudd.
Talk To Me - Don Cheadle and his hair get parole and end up wowing the nation on 60s radio.
Arctic Tale - the greatest thing you will ever see. I cried. Twice. And screamed. More.
The Golden Compass - CGI is rubbish (the bear is almost as bad as post-BBC Aslan) but the books are stunning.
King of Kong - housemate's choice. I didn't believe him. I am a stupid girl. Documentary about two obsessive Kong players battling for the Guinness world record.
The Jane Austen Book Club - reassuringly lovely girl flick. Not for boys. It has Hugh Dancy in it. I once cornered him at a premiere to get his autograph for my old flatmate. He was not best pleased. I think this might have had something to do with the fact I towered over him by a good foot.
December Boys - Daniel Radcliffe's breakway from Potter role. Four orphan boys, the seaside, precocious girls, men with motorcycles. I cried in this as well. It's probably that time of the month or something. Looks utterly ravishing.
August Rush - Lovely lovely Freddie Highmore plays an orphan who becomes a musical genius guided by Robin Williams in an assortment of odd hats. Jonathan Rhys Meyers turns up to be Irish, Keri Russell turns up to play cello and be divine. Obviously I shed a tear in the trailer to this too. Definitely that time.
...and not so much
Margot at the Wedding
Yawn. How much more sub-Wes Anderson po-faced indies about bored American families do we have to sit through? They're not funny anymore. Squid in the Whale was a warning to us all. Bloody Baumbach. The casts are great though, so maybe ones for DVD and a bottle of gin next time round.
30 Days of Night
Reading this at the moment thanks to Helen's educational Kew bag. It's still vampires though, isn't it, and there's a bit of a dearth of imagination going on with vampires at the moment so it had better try hard otherwise it's just going to be Insomnia with teeth. On that note, I heard a fantastic vampire story on BBC7 last night: Schalken The Painter. Listen to that instead. Never have I been so transfixed while cooking lasagne.
Lions For Lambs
Just actually the worst-looking thing ever. Robert Redford should have his directing hand cut off.
Right, that's about it really. I'm going to go back to being bored and ill now. Never have I wished I were at work more.