I finally relented, and saw Love, Actually this evening. I hated it. Despised it. Loathed it with every element of my being.

Because even though it stars Hugh Grant, even though it’s basically exactly the same as every film Richard “Should have quit after Blackadder Goes Forth” Curtis has ever made, even though it’s got one of the most gratuitously all-star casts ever, even though it’s completely predicatable, derivative, cloying, sickly, emotionally manipulative and ultimately utterly unrealistic ending, I still couldn’t help laughing out loud at Bill Nighy singing the worst cover of Love Is All Around ever, crying at the sad bits and feeling all warm and fuzzy inside at the inevitable and totally predictable ending.

And worst of all, there was this little voice in the back of my head which kept saying “You know, Hugh Grant wouldn’t make a bad Prime Minister, actually”.

Curse you, Richard Curtis, and curse your movie too. Gah. Right, I’m going to bed now.

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