I can't have done very much last week. Except the washing up.

However, last night I watched Revelation which contained all the Ususal Suspects - the Templars, Rennes-le-Chateau, the NSA, sacred geometry, cryptography, and...er...the Trellick Tower. Except it was pants. Not just normal pants but outsize sweaty Bernard Manning pants. It was like Raiders of the Lost Ark with no action or suspense. Oh wait, there was some action, but it was some bloke noncing about in the dark waiting for clown school to finish. And Terence Stamp hamming it up some. Shame, cos I wanted it to be a good film, and it should have been, given all the material they had.

So after that we watched The Mothman Prophecies which scared the bejesus out of me until it turned into a disaster movie in the last 15 minutes and I was suddenly reminded of Quinquireme's Mothman/Transformers theory. Still, based on a true story, eh...and some nice David Lynch touches like telephones in motel rooms, roads at night...and trees. You don't see enough trees in films (apart from in the godawful Blair Witch Project where there are too many).

At least there's the promise of the Slough Bonfire Spectaculavaganza tonight, where Slough burns to the ground after reaching critical mass of 16-year-old single mothers with be-earringed kids.

Daniel Bedingfield is a scary man.