Jaws
A few weeks ago, I noticed to my extreme excitement that Jaws was being re-released at the cinema. Jaws is my favourite film of all time. Sharks are cool and any film which involves a child being eaten alive in a brutal, gory death is always worth watching at least 50 times. Jaws was originally released in 1975, meaning I was born too late to see it at the cinema. Sadly, I also missed out on Manchester United being relegated the year before, not to mention the invention of the food processor.

I managed to persuade John to accompany me to the Showcase, bribing him with pre-movie visit to Nandos. After eating chicken, we went to the cinema, where tickets were purchased along with Ice Blasts. £3.60 each. Three pounds AND sixty pissing pence! It was only a few years ago, John and I would visit Showcase and be able to buy TWO Ice Blasts for a fiver. How things have changed. Bring back Tony Blair and affordable ice drinks.

Despite Jaws being by far the best film being shown in the entire multiplex, it was shamefully relegated to the crap screen at the end of the corridor. The floor was sticky, the room smelt of toilets and everything I moved on my chair, it squeaked. The screen was also very small. I could have just watched the DVD at home and sat close to my telly. I am sure a crap film written by Katie Price, featuring Miley Cyrus and a talking egg was being shown on the bigger, premier screen. Sigh.

So the movie. Without wanting to spoil it for you, it’s about shark. It eats a naked drunk woman. Then it eats a skinny child on a waterbed. Still hungry, Jaws, as I have named the shark, eats a man, but spits out his leg. A policeman, scientist and drunk sailor then go out to sea on small boat to kill the big shark. The drunken sailor gets eaten, no doubt saving on a future liver transplant, before the policeman shoots Jaws, who explodes while munching on an oversized tin of deodorant. You can see why it’s my favourite film ever?

There was a very scary bit in the middle where a head appears from a sinking boat. Having seem Jaws about five thousand times, I knew to the frame that the head as about to appear, yet still jumped out my skin, almost soiling myself in the process. The whole cinema knew I jumped too, as the squeaky chair I was sat on made an extra loud squeak as I bolted upright in fear. Apologies to my fellow cinema-goers for the noise…. and the smell.

England
I was planning on writing this blog on Sunday afternoon, before the quarter final against Italy. In the blog I would praise the effort, commitment and passion shown by the England team. A sharp contrast to the 2010 World Cup, where England players performed so poorly, they made me vomit with rage. The fact Italy dominated the entire match, apart from the first 10 minutes, and eventually won in the most typical of fashions – on a penalty shootout – means this blog is a little irrelevant now. Even so, my feelings towards the national side are a lot more positive and optimistic than they were two years ago.

I think John, who can’t stand football, summed up last night with his text message to me at full time. It read simply “Lolz”.

Crazy Italian
No, this isn’t a racial slur following England’s defeat to the vastly superior Italians last night. This is to celebrate the fact John, Simon and I returned to Bath’s finest pizza takeaway outlet on Saturday night. I say “returned”, I went there last week with Claire. In past weeks, the need was felt, not by myself, but by friends, to visit a nearby competitor. A vastly inferior pizza takeaway restaurant.

So why the “Crazy Italian” heading? Anyone who needs to ask that question clearly has not visited Pizzerella when it’s owner has been present – which is all the time. He’s a great man and a fantastic chef, but his staff must fear him. One piece of pepperoni out of place and he explodes. Passionate, but crazy. A great recipe for a good pizza.

A new member of staff was working in the takeaway. A woman behind the till. She didn’t know how to use the till and had to keep asking for help. My pizza cost £7.10.  I will have to check my bank statement to ensure I wasn’t charge £710. I also asked for chilli on my pizza. She didn’t know what chilli was. I pointed to a notice board with the word “Chilli”. She said I would get chilli on my pizza. When I got home and opened the box, there was no chilli.