Richard Ayoade

What is this weird feeling? Am I enjoying myself? Is this what joy is? It's been so long since I've last felt this intense unmistakable, unpolluted pure delight in what I'm doing and what im doing is reading a long ass review of a movie I haven't even seen and haven't planned on seeing. I could be doing something important with my time and the book promptly warns me that yes, I could and should be doing something else but then again everything else is so very unpleasantly entangled with nervousness, risks and dissapointments when this book is devoid of all that (as well as anything important really).
Ayoade is like a cab driver that drives you to a cinema, watches the movie with you commenting on everything happening on the screen and putting it in context of other things he knows or heard about. Then after the movie he drives you to his house, sits you cozily on a huge sofa and tells you about his childhood. You respectfully listen, have a few laughs here and there, he offers you some nice red nonalcoholic wine from a small fridge built into the sofa. While you are busy with the wine he shows you pictures of planes and his favorite plane model that he got at that place and you nod and feel that it's all good. You notice that Ayoade is actually pretty handsome and that you'd like to perhaps touch his hair a bit. He lets you and you enjoy fingering his fluffy hair while he continues his exotic tale gesticulating profusely (now it's about politics and how he once saw a bar fight). Then it's getting late, he politely offers you to stay the night in the guest room but you can't really stay because your wife is waiting at home. You exchange pleasantries for half an hour more for good measure and in the end he drives you home, tucks you in bed, tucks your wife, kisses you both on the forehead all while smiling so warmly, then kisses your children as well for good luck, throws away your garbage and leaves you at peace. Next day you feel as fresh and reinvigorated as never before.… (mer)