Hot Baby Roy called round plastered last night. He brought a DVD of Angus, Thongs and Perfect Snogging.
"If you like Hermione Granger you'll love this!" he foamed at the mouth as he reached for the DVD player with big greedy hands and greedy eyes.
"Is there magic girls in it?" I asked him.
"Not that kind of magic," he said, "but magic all the same."
As it turned out, it was a film about teenage girls learning about growing up. I didn't like it in the way he thought I would but it seemed a touching wee film anyway, in the end it just bored the fuck out of me. The girl was a grumpy teen who talked like a bucket of melted ice cream. I fell asleep at the part where she goes to get snogging lessons and woke up at the end as the band in the movie (The Stiff Dylans), play a pish song.
There were some bits Hot Baby Roy wanted us to watch twice but we politely (but firmly) said no. After it finished he asked if we fancied seeing Bratz. We told him that we were tired and it could wait til another day but he said one of the girls had a deaf friend. We told him he should bring it another time.
He also kept making hints that he's about to get kicked out of his flat, oh dear.
