Out of the Mouth of Babes

Well I almost choked on my £4 bottle of wine last night while watching my latest instalment of True Blood.  The very dumb but beautiful Jason Stackhouse came out with this gem:

“It’s funny. I never really thought I was clever enough to get depressed.”

A rather smart comment from such a blonde fellow I think.

Fangtasy Lover

I’m in love. Truly, madly deeply in love. My husband can rest assured that I still love him but he’s also come to accept that sometimes a girl just needs a fantasy guy and boy do I have a fantasy guy. Let me introduce you to Eric Northman:

Eric (Alexander Skarsgard) is a Viking King turned vampire in the True Blood series. Yes that’s right, Northman the Viking and yes he’s a vampire (hey, I never claimed this was sophisticated stuff). You can keep your whining, not to mention celibate, Edward Cullen and the like. I’ve found myself a proper vampire with real bite!

If you haven’t watched True Blood or indeed read the truly appalling Charlaine Harris books, then you’ll have no idea who I’m talking about. I’m sorry for that but seriously, why aren’t you watching? It’s a sexy, gory, very funny show about hot vampires (The books on the other hand, well I’ve already commented on those here)

Of course anyone who knows me well will know that my obsession with the undead started many many years ago. In fact it started long before most of the bloody Twihard fans were even born. When I was just 11 years old I developed the mother of all crushes on this man, Alexander Lucard.

Alexander Lucard ran a global corporation by day and turned into the Prince of Darkness by night. What more could an 11 year old girl want in a crush than international success, billions of pounds, fangs and a cape? Unfortunately this little TV series (rather subtly called ‘Dracula: The Series’) didn’t last too long and I was left to dive into the murky world of vampire literature.

And what murky water it is! There is no lack of reading for anyone interested in vampire tales and mythology but my goodness some of it is truly awful. There are some gems of course but on the whole it’s pretty cringe worthy.

Anyway, back to Eric. Eric didn’t start life as every girls dream. In series 1 of the show he was this tall, gangly drudging fellow. However in series 2 the man positively bloomed and at this stage I’m struggling to watch series 3 without a paramedic standing by. Lets just say the boy got hot!

I would like to able to into a lovely analysis of the appeal of his character but to be fair I’m not that good a writer also, it’s True Blood for goodness sake, how deep can the character be? Instead I’ll leave you with a little taster of the man himself. 

Oh and if vampires aren’t your thing, True Blood has taken that into consideration. It also offers hot shape shifters, wolves and the occasional human.

Where's Welly?

Well I did it.  I told you I would and here's the evidence.  See if you can guess which ones are mine?

How Cute

Moobys

Well it seems Cardiff may be getting a Hooters. For those who aren’t aware ‘Hooters’ is an American chain bar/restaurant where all the waitresses look like playboy bunnies and wear very tight t-shirts over their very large boobies. According to the man behind the bar the orange hot pants and low cut tops are a “wholesome, cheerleader look”. So the scantily clad hostesses aren’t meant to titillate men? Bet you’re disappointed eh? 

To be honest, the bar doesn’t bother me. As an ample bosomed girl I welcome the career opportunity (unfortunately as well as ample bosom I happen to possess ample, arse, thighs & belly so on second though, maybe not for me eh!).

Cardiff as a city already has several strip clubs pole dancing clubs, a topless snooker hall and a club that offers ‘Naked Tuesdays’ for your weeknight entertainment, I don’t think Hooters is going to mean much of a moral decline for the city, it’s just a more commercial venture than most.

There was of course a protest at the prospect of the new bar but as far as I can see it consisted of a couple of ladies and a few men who clearly have never seen boobs in the first place. Harsh of me I know but surely they could see their protest wasn’t going to go too well!

If I don’t object you might be wondering why I’m bothering to blog about it. Well, the reason is simple. During a discussion with some friends about the opening we decided that a female alternative to the bar was in order. If hooters can provide some ‘wholesome’ eye candy for the boys, why can’t we have a ‘wholesome’ bar for the ladies?

The problem is though, what exactly is the female alternative to a titty bar?

Topless men? To be fair, you don’t need to go too far out of your way to see that now do you? I walked past some 17 year old reed this morning with his shirt off despite it being 08.00 in the morning and barely ten degrees.

Tight pants? Well it’s an option but really I think some bloke waltzing around with his bulge on display might put me of my dinner. Besides, Cardiff can be a cold city, have a heart.

Generally good looking men? I’d be up for that but as a general rule; women tend not to eat when attractive men are around so as a business venture it’s probably not the best move. Also as my many previous posts on my flurry of crushes suggests, good looking is a very subjective thing.

I do have a solution in my mind however, how about a bar full of men in suits? I have a weakness for sharply dressed men and if their wearing the right aftershave I might well pay good money to have them wait on me. My friend vetoed this idea so I’m guessing it’s not one for all the ladies.

My husband rather gleefully pointed out that technically the female alternative to Hooters would be men with big moobs in tight t-shirts. Somehow that substitution just doesn’t seem fair! I would like to add that during this discussion my husband also decided that to add to the ‘friendly’ atmosphere of the Hooters brand the ladies should rub your tummy for you once you’ve finished your meal. How sweet!

Well it seems I’m at a loss. The men have their Hooters and us poor women can carry on being served by Joe Blogs in his jeans and scruffy shirt. It’s ok though, Joe’s jeans will undoubtedly show of his cute arse and then there’s that little smile of his. Hmm maybe us girlies aren't as hard done by as it first seems.

Please Sir Can I Have Some Mores

Sometimes you can take etiquette a little too far as this (very funny & very out of context) line from the ‘Thirty Nine Steps’ shows:

"When he came back we dined together, and in com­mon decency I had to let him pump me."

Well as long as it's decent eh?

"Working" 9 - 5

I currently work 2 different jobs for 2 different organisations in 2 different places. There is however 1 big similarity in both these roles which is currently trying my patience. Both of these jobs actually have very little work for me to do!

Some people may think this is a dream situation. To be paid for doing nothing? Surely that’s not something you can complain about? Believe me though; it’s far from ideal.

In 1 of the roles I work particularly long hours and it’s a horrible feeling, to sit down at your desk knowing you have 10more hours to go and approx 1 hours work to occupy you.

I don’t mind a moment’s downtime every so often but the effort required to make yourself ‘look busy’ all day is staggering. The less you have to do the longer the hours last and I arrive home from work feeling completely wiped out and, ironically enough, over worked!

I know in these financially strained times I’m very fortunate to have either job, but really, is it too much to expect a bit of work from my job?

The Great Big Welly Hunt

Well you'll never guess what?  I'm actually going on holiday.  Ok it may only be 2 days in a cottage in the Brecon Beacons but hey, it's a bloody holiday and one that is long overdue.

In case you are wondering why I'm so excited about 2 days away, I have to put it in context.  Apart from long weekends to see my family I haven't had an actual holiday in over 6 years.  Yes that's right . . . SIX YEARS.  Even then that last holiday was with my Hubby (then boyfriend), Mum, Dad, Sister, soon to be brother in law, Granny, Aunt & Cousin.  Now as much as I enjoyed myself and love my family that is not exactly a relaxing romantic retreat.  

This time my husband and I are going away with friends.  So while the romantic retreat idea is off the cards at least there will be wine, food and good company.  I am going to be one happy camper.  Well it might be more accurate to say I am going to be one happy, muddy camper.  You see I'm having a bit of an outdoor dilemma.  It appears that as a *cough* curvaceous *cough* lady I'm not supposed to wear wellington boots. 

While the world is currently awash with funky wellies, wedge wellies, sexy lace up wellies and God knows what else, I can't seem to get a single pair that fit my calves!  My problem is simple.  I have fat legs.  Not freakishly large but certainly dainty calves is not something that my family suffers from so finding wellies is proving impossible.  Surely I'm not the only person in the world to have this problem?  Others must suffer too?  I feel let down by the Outdoor shopping world.  How am I supposed to get active and venture forth if I can't get the footwear to do so?  

The truth of the matter is wellies are only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to activity based clothing.  How are fat people meant to lose weight if we can't get the correct exercise clothing.  I still have nightmarish recollections of trying to find a sports bra to fit my rather ample bosom.  Many shops and £40 later I did manage to find one that wouldn't look out of place on Mrs Doubtfire.  Swimsuits cause a similar problem.  While I can walk into almost any high street shop and find a swimsuit to suit my body, the second my boobs enter the equation, you can forget it!   If I want a swimming costume that will stay on my boobs (which oddly enough, I do) then I have to go to the Bravissimo's and Leia's of the world and give £50 to a manufacturer who has caught on to the fact that women have breasts.  It's shocking how many retailers seem to have forgotten that fact.

Back to wellies though.  I've decided that if they don't make boots to fit me then I'm going to have to do it myself.  I am going to buy the cutest pair I can find and cut them down to ankle wellies.  A stylish choice I think.  Who wants to wear big rubber boots anyway?  I know I'll be happy frolicking around in my rubber booties.  Besides I don't think I can face the humiliation of trying on any more pairs!  

Look out people, rubber booties will be all the rage next year.  You heard it here first!  In the meantime get a look at these . . . .

 

  
Rubber jelly shoes with a heel.  Really?  What occasion could ever warrant these monstrosities.  I'm at a loss!

Rocket Man

I’m over the moon at the moment. Today tickets went on sale for the second round of the 30 Seconds to Mars Into the Wild Tour. I saw the band (and the gorgeous lead singer Jared Leto) earlier on in the year and come November they are returning to Cardiff for part 2.

The concert in February was fantastic. Without doubt it was one of the best concerts I’ve ever been to and it caught me by surprise as I honestly wasn’t expecting it.

I’ve been not so quietly crushing on Jared Leto since he first appeared in ‘My So called Life’ many years ago. Any girl my age worth their salt will remember sighing deeply at the telly as the beautiful but dumb outsider Jordan Catalano wooed Claire Danes by performing with his band.

My So Called Life

As beautiful as the boy is however I always held a belief that he was probably a bit of an arse. As it turns he may well be an arse. In fact there is tale of him wandering through an award show party simply approaching every women in the place with the classy chat up line ‘Wanna fuck?’. Not exactly suave now is it? To be fair though men, if you looked like him, you probably wouldn’t need much chatter to get by. Girls are a sucker or a blue eyed boy. 

Arse or not though, the boy can perform.  The concert was spectacular. Jared Leto launched himself into the crowd on many occasions and they relocated the stage all over the place so no one was ever too far from the band for too long. The band also nattered with the audience between almost every song and had tonnes of people onstage for the finale. So a fab night all round.

I’m hoping November will be just as spectacular. Also, as Jared stared directly at me in Feb, let’s see if he’ll remember me . . .
 

The moment our eyes met ;-)

Getting To Know You

Recently in work I had the ordeal of a 6 hour Team Building Meeting. The objective of this meeting was to get to know our colleagues better. *Shudder*

It seems that as an office worker I have no choice but to endure these gargantuan wastes of time periodically, so I resigned myself to a few boring hours of team huddles. Then I looked at the agenda:

Agenda Point 1: Icebreaker games 

Two words have surely never roused my heckles more than ‘Icebreaker Games’. For those of you that don’t work in an office & have never had to endure such a thing, ‘Icebreaker Games’ normally consist of some sort of group humiliation under the guise of getting to know each other better. 

Why why why does the corporate world feel the need for such bullshit? Believe it or not I’m a grownup. I am able to introduce myself to my colleagues and I somehow even manage to function in society without the need for group activities that serve only to humiliate us all.

The business world’s obsession with ‘organised fun’ is one that has haunted me ever since moving to Cardiff. From trust tests to beach days I’ve had just about enough of this trend. 

 

Why can’t I just come to work and, well, you know, WORK?! I’m all for interacting with my colleagues and even occasionally going out for lunch together but do we honestly all need to be strong-armed into becoming bosom buddies for the sake of the team?

At this point I would like to say I do have many wonderful colleagues/ex-colleagues that are friends of mine. However please believe me when I say that it wasn’t team building that made that happen. 
 

I feel I spend enough of my short life in work without it muscling in on my downtime as well and pray tell me why I much socialise with those colleagues that I haven’t chosen to befriend or know I’m not going to form a relationship with?

Surely I am not alone in this?  It's not a case of not wanting to know my colleagues it's more the fact that I don't want to be forced to be friends with people just because we work in the same office.    

As Im mentioned, I count some of my previous work colleagues amongst my greatest friends and I believe some of my current colleagues will be the same but I know there are also some that I have no interest in getting to know in any capacity other than work.  Is that really such a problem? 

If In Doubt Just Make It Up

When faced with the spelling of a difficult word you basically have 2 options:  

1. Look it up in a dictionary.
2. Just go ahead and misspell it while trying to get it as accurate as possible.

However after spotting this lovely flyer in a bus stop late one night I have found that there is indeed a 3rd option . . . Make the spelling up in a dramatic and enhancing way:

  

Step right up ladies and gentlemen and prepare to be amazed by my ‘Demontrashon’ of psychic ability.

Now I truly love this misspelling. It sounds accented, atmospheric and, ‘Demons-Trash-On’ seems oddly apt for this particular service.

However as much as I would enjoy a ‘Demontrashon’ in Clairvoyance I feel my limited money might be better spent elsewhere. Besides, how good a psychic can they be if didn’t foresee my post insulting their poster?

Weaslaphobia

My hair needs cut. Currently it resembles a lions arse. It’s in desperately in need of some sweet lovin however; I just cannot bring myself to go get it sorted.

Why you may ask? Well the answer is simple, I HATE going to the hairdresser. It seriously bores me rigid. Two hours of sitting still while trying to make conversation with an overly tanned Barbie doll is my idea of hell. Honestly I would rather eat a wasp than exchange awkward niceties with the average hairdresser.

I don’t think I’m an anti social person by any stretch of the imagination but there is only so much idle chitchat I can take in one session. A visit to the hairdressers normally involves the following thoroughly dreary conversation for me:

HD – So you going out tonight to show of your new hair do?
Me – No.
HD – OMG did you see last night’s big brother?
Me – No.
HD – Have you been watching Eastenders?
Me – No.
HD – So you going on holiday this year?
Me – No.

So you see, not exactly thrilling entertainment now is it? Don’t get me wrong, I HAVE tried to enter into conversation but it always falls flat on its face.

The way I see it I have 3 options here:

1. Suck it up, and endure the 2 hours of awkward silence
2. Cut my hair myself or better yet, cut it off saving me any return visits to the salon.
3. Lie

I think I’m going to have to swallow my pride and go for option 3. I’ll lie through my teeth. I imagine I don’t actually have to watch Eastenders or Big Brother to know what’s going on, now, do I?

Not Perfect

This year I’m turning 30 and while I’m not sure I’m there yet, I may someday in the future want one of those baby things as well. I’m getting on a bit now, so these things do need to be considered. Taking all this into consideration I decided a physical overhaul was in order. Tired of looking & feeling like a beached whale every time I enter a clothes shop, I’m seizing the opportunity to find my inner healthy & svelt self.

So over the past few weeks I’ve been slowly changing some things in my life. Nothing too drastic, just subtle easy changes.

First to go was my evening glass of wine. Now I love wine, and having a glass or 2 in the evening set the mood perfectly, however, when you consider 2 glasses of wine has a calorific equivalent of a bag of chips you soon realise it’s not worth it. I wouldn’t sit and eat a bag of chips every night now would I?

Food wise, I’ve eliminated my evening snacking, cutting down portion sizes & limited myself to one takeaway / meal out per week. As well as eating a tonne more fruit & veg I’ve transformed my eating habits.

I’ve also been doing a lot more exercise. Between my burlesque, squash & walking 1.6 miles each way to work every day I’m doing very well on the exercise front thank you very much.

So the other night, feeling, healthy, happy & positive I stepped on the scales only to discover that after all this work I’ve lost . . . 2 pounds. Deflated emotionally (though obviously not physically) I slunk back to the sofa with a glass of wine.

Feely fat, ugly and seriously in need of another bottle I pondered my miniscule weight loss. How? No really, how? I feel better, some of my clothes are bigger on me, I’m doing a lot of good work so why only 2 measly pounds? Now as my very beautiful yet somehow body conscious sister knows, I am the first person to say: “Feck weight, weight means nothing. It’s all about how you feel” but to be honest, if anyone had said that to me at that particular moment, I would have sat on them & shown them just damaging weight is.

The pressure to slim down these days is immense. And while I’m not one to normally bow to peer pressure I do feel it’s time to get myself in order. The big question is how?

There are several women in my work currently who have been championing a new diet. This diet involves not eating AT ALL for several months. While under the guidance of your Dr you are instead given sachets of minerals & supplements that your body requires. Now I don’t know about you but I see not eating as a rather radical option & it doesn’t even bear to think of the flaps of flesh that would be left as a result of such rapid weight loss without exercise. But to these women it’s simply an obvious weight loss option. Sorry, but I draw the line at tricking my body into believing it’s dying!

So, that leaves me with a slow, meandering alternative. Good old diet and exercise. I’m trying to keep positive and most importantly I have vowed NOT to weigh myself during this process. I have also realised that I need to be realistic. My body is what it is and that’s far from perfect. I’m never going to be a size 8 and my body isn’t going to miraculously transform overnight into that of a Pussycat Doll. I will however keep feeling healthier, more energetic and lead a happier, fuller life for, hopefully, longer. Surely to God that’s good enough?

‘This is my body

And it’s fine

It’s where I spend the vast majority of my time

It’s not perfect

But it’s mine’

 

Problems In The Bedroom?

Apparently, you're not alone.  One American company has come to the rescue of all the couples out there suffering in silence.  In fact apparently not only can they help you but 'you owe it to your marriage' to try their product. 

Yes ladies and gentlemen, the people at Better Marriage Blanket have created a fart eliminating blanket that "Contains the same type of fabric used by the military to protect against chemical weapons"

Don't believe me? Watch the advert: 

Is this really a problem for people? I mean really? My suggestion to anyone having problems in the bedroom and debating buying this product is simple. Don't. Take your $39.95 and spend it at Bedtime Flirt instead.  I assure you, flatulence will be the last thing on your mind.
 

A Battle of Giants

I never thought the day would come when I would be writing a blog about sport! Me and sport don’t mix too well usually but like a lot of people come June I’m dusting of my old racket and heading to the court inspired by the goings on at SW19.

For anyone that doesn’t watch Wimbledon, an epic battle has been occurring on court 18 between Mahut & Isner. And I mean, epic . . .

Having played for 3 hours on Tuesday evening the match resumed yesterday for the final set. Over 7 hours of fabulous tennis later and the match was once again suspended with 59 games a piece, due to darkness. 7 hours of tennis!

To say this is a record breaking match is an understatement. The match has smashed a tonne of records and at 10hours of play it’s still not over!

As they discussed whether or not to halt the match last night the crown chanted ‘We want more, we want more’. Now I’m sorry but this isn’t some Gladiatorial battle to the death (although looking at the players, Isner especially, you could be forgiven for thinking that). I understand the reaction of the crowd, they were watching an astonishing event but a bit of understanding for God sake. It was quite clear by anyone’s reckoning that these guys had had enough.

The 5th set continues late this afternoon. I would suspect it might be over fairly quickly as both men are surely suffering unimaginably at this point. So tune in and watch the finale of a historic event.

There's Something About Hay

Please enjoy some very unusual signage spotted in Hay on Wye during my visit earlier this month.

Top left sign – ‘Stirfrieds’.  Not a major mistake by any means but it's not often I get the opportunity to correct someone else's writing abilities *cough*. 

Also, I would like to add that I would never be remotely tempted to eat somewhere called 'Circus Sauce'.  That sounds unhygienic in so many ways.

The next photo is better, I promise:

‘Farmerish’ foods. What exactly would ‘farmerish’ food be? Not quite from a farm but it did drive past a few on the way to the café perhaps?

Finally and definitely the best is the below. I will hold my hands up though and say that I didn’t spot this sign.  I have pilfered it from my friends blog to post on here. Sorry Jon. I will post a link to his blog though so I think that’s fair enough. This is the link.

Anyway here's the pic:

‘Phil The Fruit’. Finally a greengrocer with the personal touch. No one can weigh your kiwis with the expertise of our Phil. Please note, there’s a strict no melon policy.

Please Allow Me To Introduce Myself

Well ladies and gentlemen. After much debate I’ve finally settled on an identity for my new alter ego. And the winner is (drum roll please) . . . . .

Ophelia Nightly.

I love it. It’s cute, naughty and manages to avoid all S&M connotations. Phew. Also, it works quite well with my Irish accent and means that I can stock up on midnight blue corsetry.  Hurrah! It’s a win win.

As for its origin, well, in a rather intriguing turn of events, one of my colleagues produced the name from his head after about 2 seconds of consideration. I’m very grateful but also a little concerned as to how long, and why, this name has been drifting around in there. Still, ahem, lets not dwell on that!

I’d like to thank you for all the suggestions I received, some welcome, some umm well libellous! Mostly though, they made me laugh and who could ask for more than that?

You’ll be happy to know that the Vaudeville in my mind has gone into overdrive and I’m ready to take to the stage. Mentally that is, physically I still have quite a bit of work to do. Drat.

Keep watching this space though. Who knows what might lie ahead for Ophelia and I.

Last night in burlesque we tried our hand at bra peeling. It was a really fun but exhausting evening as we learnt to present and remove our bras in a routine that featured a shocking amount of smacking! Not my usual Tuesday night fare I assure you. Still, standing in a mirrored room of women wearing bras over their gym kit while smacking their arses, doesn’t seem too strange to me these days.

I’m loving life right now!

A Trip To Florence

Thursday the 10th June saw me, my husband and some friends standing in Coopers field, Cardiff waiting for Florence & The Machine to come on stage.  As excited as a kitten, I'd been looking forward to this concert for quite a while.  

Since listening to the album 'Lungs' at the end of 2009 I've been rapidly falling in love with Florence Welch.  I'm afraid as well as a wonderful ethereal voice and legs that don't seem to end, Florence also has a wardrobe I would give my right eye for.  

The concert was held in a large, open circus tent and it was a little claustrophobic as around 30,000 fans tried to inch towards the stage.  Thankfully we'd claimed our spot reasonably early and had a relatively good view. 

I freely admit to being a bit of an odd concert go-er.  While a view is wonderful, I seem to spend most of my time with my eyes closed just letting the music wash over me.  The sound at Coopers field was, as expected for such a large gig, pretty shite.  However, we were close enough to be able to feel the music and hear it reasonably well.  Anytime poor Florence spoke however, I don't think any of us heard a word.  Still, lets be honest, I wasn't there to hear how she'd spent her day. I was there to hear her sing and sing she did!

The concert kicked of with 'Howl' which is one of my favorites from the album.  A savage song, about carnal lust which I just can't get enough of: 

"The saints can't help me now, the ropes have been unbound
I hunt for you with bloodied feet across the hallowed ground"

This raw, animalistic sentiment is in a lot of her songs and when you consider her porcelain appearance, you'd be forgiven for thinking the concert would be a rather tame affair but far from it, the girl performed with a wild fury that really befits her lyrics.

Florence also performed a new track which sounded fantastic. I think it was called 'Strageness', although to be fair, with the poor sound I could be completely wrong. 

Other personal highlights included, Girl With One Eye, Cosmic Love, Dog Days Are Over and Rabbit Heart.  All of which built to a rather orgasmic climax.

The only negatives of the night were the crappy sound and the claustrophobic heat.  I left craving a bottle of water, longer set list, 2nd album & another concert!

Nothing Like a Bit of Affirmation In The Morning

As I sat on the bus this morning I noticed an oddly life affirming piece of graffiti scored into the back of the seat in front of me.

‘Live my life. Live life - love life’

It brightened my morning to think of some ‘yoof’ in hooded top and low riding jeans carving secretly into the back of the seat while others looked on shaking their heads and muttering "bloody kids" under their breath.

I was tempted to take a photograph of it but alas someone sat on the seat in front and I didn’t want them to think I was taking a photo of their arse.

Cover Version

Just watched last week’s episode of The Blame Game (Norn Ire’s version of Have I Got News You) and it had a classic line in it.

While discussing Ronan Keating’s much publicised affair with a model that looks just like his wife one member of the panel piped in with:

“Only a member of Boyzone would end up doing a cover of his wife”

I'm sure Ronan's wife didn't find it particularly funny.  Still, made me laugh.

Prince of Where?

Yesterday my hubby and I decided we were long overdue a trip to the cinema. To be honest, it was slim picking with regards to movies but we settled on ‘The Prince of Persia’ or as it’s better known among my circle of friends ‘The Shirtless Jake Gyllenhaal Movie’.

I have to admit it wasn’t too bad at all. Enough action and one liners to keep my interest perked without overdoing it and it looked rather impressive as well.

One thing that was a little distracting however was Jake Gyllenhaal’s accent. In the movie his character seems to have an English accent. Which is lovely and to my ears, not a bad effort, but, every so often it veered into Russell Brand! My Persian history is limited, granted, but I’m not sure that Russell Brand is the best person to base your Persian Prince on.

Still, the movie gets a thumb up because Jake Gyllenhaal looked superb and it wasn’t overly long like most bloody films these days!

If you happen to be scared of snakes by the way I would give this film a wide wide birth. It does have some truly horrendous snake moments!