So I’m hungover on an epic scale and I can’t sleep. So I decide to watch an old favourite: Peter Jackson’s Bad Taste.

I can’t recall the number of times over the years I’ve watched this, usually in various stages of inebriation. Despite, or maybe because of, the low-fi nature, the gore filled mutilation of Jackson’s home made aliens never fails to charm. It also proves to me that no matter how old and responsible I think I might get I’m still amused by slapstick violence, swearing and exploding sheep.

I might watch Braindead next.