Let me enthuse a minute about the film The Kite Runner. It's fucking brilliant.
I hadn't read Khaled Hasseini's book, so knew little about the story save for what I gleaned from reviews on its cinema release. Based in Afghanistan before, during and after the Russian invasion of 1979, it tells of two boyhood friends torn apart by class differences and an incident in which the poorer child falls afoul of a gang of youths in a dark alley.
There's much, much more and if you want a fuller synopsis head to the iMDB, but it completely destroyed and uplifted me and will likely do the same to you. Films such as this, by Marc Forster (who made Monster's Ball), only highlight the tat we pass as entertainment these days.
Tat such as Wall:E, which I went to see one raining afternoon in Antwerp. It had its moments but, much like The Dark Knight, the realm of fantasy doesn't float this boat and after a while the cutesy humour grated on me.
It was either that or Mamma Mia, though.
Elsewise, I'm coming home this evening. I have liked Belgium, plenty to see and do, but a week is long enough to be here alone. Brussels and Bruges and the lively and lovely Antwerp all made fine homes, but this nascent chest infection of mine will be better served by my own bed in Charleville Road.