THOUGHTS ON A TRIP TO FREMANTLE

Playstation Console, $299. Foxtel, $72 per month. DVDs, anywhere up to $50 a pop.

Eating fresh bananas, chasing seagulls, and playing roly-polies with your daughter? Priceless.

A DEEP EXISTENTIAL QUESTION TO WHICH I HUMBLY REQUEST AN OPINION

So who is the most crap: Godzookie or Scrappy Doo?

DOCTORIN'

I haven't been this excited about watching a television program since I discovered The Prisoner last year. I haven't been unable to wait a week to watch the next episode of something since I can't tell you when. I have to know. I have to know how it all turns out. It was over two hours after last night's episode before we finally stopped discussing who Bad Wolf might be, and who owned the voice we heard in the preview of next week's episode. Luscious, myself, and the Triffkids: we couldn't think of anything else for ages, and even today, L and I still find ourselves going "What if it's...." at odd moments.

And let's be honest, the sight of thousands of Daleks screaming "Exterminate" in unison as they rise into the air and exit their motherships into the vacuum of space had my interior child sitting on the edge of his seat whispering "Oh. My. Goddddd...."

For the record, these are our predictions, after having decided to eliminate thge Dalek from Dalek, as we all would have chosen it if allowed... (Those who already know: feel free to laugh, but if you spoil the surprise I'll fucking kill you)

Lee: The voice is Adam, and Bad Wolf is the Doctor.
Luscious: The voice is either Davros or Adam, and Sarah Jane Smith is Bad Wolf.
Cassie: The voice belongs to either Davros or The Master, and she has no idea who bad Wolf is.
Aiden: Despite getting us really excited with a very well-worked out theory about how the Doctor's grand-daughter Susan could be Bad Wolf (we spent about 20 minutes working through the repercussions of this one), eventually the A-Boy decided that Sarah Jane Smith or the black journalist from The Long Game was the voice, and the TARDIS was Bad Wolf.
Blake: Davros or the Master for the voice, and the TARDIS or the Doctor for Bad Wolf.

I just can't wait a bloody week to find out!

YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!

Lee: What do you want to this evening?
Cassie: We could play Samurai Greg?

After several minutes of not knowing what the heck she's talking about.

Lee: Do you mean Safari Jack?
Cassie: That's it!

Close enough...

DON'T LET IT HIT YOU IN THE ARSE ON THE WAY OUT

Sean Connery has been quoted in the press this week as saying he doesn't care if he never makes another movie again, as he's sick of the stupidity of movie studios and the crud that comes out of the Hollywood system.

If it means I never have to sit through The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, The Rock, A Good Man in Africa, Finding Forrester or Entrapment again, I wouldn't care either. The Hill and The Man Who Would Be King were a long time ago, Sean. A long, long time.....

JUST LET THE BARBIE DREAM DIE, OKAY?

When your daughter starts singing the "Hey Ho, let's go" refrain from Blitzkreig Bop when you tell her you're going out for a car trip, you start to realise that all the things you've done to circumvent the grandparents' desire to see her evolve into some Disneybarbie domestic princess are proving successful.

WHAT'S IT ALL ABOUT, ALFIE?

I had the most disgusting dream I've ever had last night. One of those really vivid dreams, where everything is in bright colour, complete with full-strength smells, sounds, and (as shall prove important to this post), tastes.

Analyse this, my little friends:

A doctor leads me into a room containing a chair and a metal table. Everything is very friendly and cordial, as he gives me some anaesthetic and I sit in the chair. He takes a knife and cuts open the front of my skull. Then he removes my brain, places it on the table, and separates out a few pieces, cutting the whole brain into several large lumps in the process.

That done, he stuffs my head with the dismembered grey matter, and sews me back up. I thank him, and stand. Which is when my brain starts to slither out of the hole at the back of my cranium, down into my mouth, and I have to vomit my own brains out of my mouth so I can breathe.

Told you.

Song of the moment: Blood Makes Noise, Suzanne Vega