11 Dec 2012

I'll Die In A Millets

My family like camping. They go quite often, sometimes with friends. They spend quite a lot of time in outdoor shops, looking at walking boots and mmming and ahhing over various types of cheap water proof coats, or using long words to describe tents. 
When they go camping, they go to all the local attractions, and use vouchers in restaurants with scrubbed, pine wood tales. They go walking in large, wet fields, and eat slightly damp sandwiches while sitting on half rotten benches, while nodding about how very pretty that hill in the distance is. 

This weekend, I saw a film called Sightseers.

And, oh God, I am never sleeping again. That film pretty much described almost everyone I am related to, then threw in a nice big glass of murder. And it was awesome. 
It's the two people you would simultaneously both least, and most expect to be murderers, and the charactarisations are just so ridiculously actuate, it's untrue. I know that the image of a desperate, attention seeking elderly mother has cropped up more than a few times in our house. 
The murders were good, old fashioned Monty Python murders. The sort where you can practically smell the plastic tube having fake blood pumped out of it. And for a spot of comical genius, how do you cope wish someone being run over? Put paper towels down on the bloodstains. 

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