whatcha need is boo ray yeah

Went to see Alice In Wonderland last night.

First observations:
1) Holy fuckballs, that thing hurtling towards me from the screen is going to smash into my face.

2) These Buddy Holly glasses are cool. Totally wearing them to the beach/in Parkhurst, at Espressos.

3) Alice is hot. She's meant to be the ultimate girlie protagonist, and yet she's wearing Oscar De La Renta, has great hair and I'm pretty sure the dude next to me was getting a semi. Gross?

4) Lewis Carroll did a lot of acid.

5) 3D movies - or any movies thereof - are the tits, until you get a farking popcorn kernal stuck in your gnashers that you spend about 40 minutes trying to dig out with the back of your straw, and then get called a minger, because it's driving you perpetually insane.

6) Helena Bonham Carter is always the crazy witch-like wierdo. Always. And Johnny Depp is always the off-the-wall freak sporting the best in make-up artistry. In any films they star in.

Generally 3D movies? Forking insane. It's changed the way I've viewed everything. Except sex (it's always good - especially when your normal dosage is very sporadic), and the term 'clam diggers.' (I'd buy the pants...if they weren't called clam diggers. Whatever happened to good old fashioned 'capri's?' Or 'three quarter's?')

Then there's the class system here. If you could bottle 'Stereotype,' and sell it, just stand in a queue at the shops.

Overheard in a Dixon's Store on the weekend. I have since been
1) laughing like a hyena
2) on hearing this, almost urinated in my doondies

Dixon's is your average electronics franchise here.

A dude walked in, an old boy, wearing a tweed jacket, Kitchener moustache, pressed slacks, posh accent.
Probably has a manor in Cheshire and smokes a pipe next to a raging fireplace while the butler in white gloves serves him tea and crumpets.

Wanders in, inquiring of the assistant:
Er, rah rah. How do you do. I'd like to buy a DVD player, what's this 'high-definition riff raff everyone speaks of, what what what what?

To which, the assistant, who thinks he's Naughty Rascal Dizzee Rascal, says - it's poetry - in all honesty:

Oy yeah, so you want a hi-def? That's way old skool mate, watcha want is BOO-RAY. Booyah, you want BOO-RAY, yeah, BOO-RAY. When you're chillin' in your yard, you want it to be BLU-RAY yeah, when you're watching your HD!.

Hold the phone, before I empty my bladder because I was tickled pink. The old boy in his tweed jacket just kind of stared at him open mouthed.

Clearly not understanding what he'd just said. He was doing a Vicky Pollard basically, and thought that a stiff upper-lipped 70 year would actually know what 'When. You're. Chillin'. In. Yer. Yard.' means.

Could you imagine for even 5 seconds? Why would he be chilling in his yard watching his HD?

I went home, Skyped The Dove - because I knew she'd get this - and both of us spent the next 30 minutes doubled over in hysterics.