I watched Snatch last Saturday. First time I saw it, four years ago, I was totally off me tits somewhere between Peckham and Camberwell (I fucking hate South London, if that eases the judgement), smoking shitloads of bad weed mixed with even worse cocaine. Accompanied by a friendly well-intended bar manager I used to work for, someone whose mum chose his Calvin Klein undies personally, the type of English guy who for some weird cultural reason thinks it's ok to pick his nose in public, and concluded that education is for clever posh twats. For people like him, you know, the "real" people, all is left is a lot of "real" hard work, a pub management career, raves and drugs.

This time around, I watched it with a Christian friend (I am still unaware of how "Christian" and "friend" became a meaningful sentence in my life) who's in the middle of a Sports Science Ph.D., in the center of a cute university town in Italy, in a apartment in which the windows control themselves electronically, after getting stuffed on vegetables and eating condensed milk for pudding.

Conclusion is, drugs are bad even though they're good, and violence is good, even though it's bad. Relish that with sugar, and there you have it, the sober Saturday night.

(Postscript: Academic titles and religion say nothing about a person. I am just using them as means of comparison for an insignificant occasion.)