The calls are coming from INSIDE the house.

I've had the laziest day of all time today, and tucking into a couple of crispy Magners I felt a blog coming on.

I had an excellent curry at the Hook Tandoori last night with a few good mates, where we ate and talked about past exploits and it was all rater splendid. My colleague's husband is a paramedic practitioner and had some amazing stories, especially as your knife parts pieces of tender spiced lamb. If there's an upshot to working in one of the services is that you get some hilarious things happen to you; remember that time when that man's limbs flew off? Outrageous. I thought I'd die.

As I have only six weeks left in the south east I shall have to go there again, and invite some people, I guess. There's something about the place that tickles our respective giblets, and it would be a shame to pass out of its life without waving to it from the train window, watching as it runs along the platform then coming up short at the end of the station, a spotted hanky waving in the heavy summer air as steam obscures it in the distance. I bite the knuckle of my index finger; was it a mistake to leave? I adjust the tie that completes my zoot-suit. No, it was not the good thing or the bad thing I did, I will think with a tender tear in my eye:

It was the right thing.

Fade to black, roll credits.

As I've slumped in my World of Warcrafting and and Star Warsing I had a swift browse of Steam to see what's what. Dead Space 1 and 2 was on there for a few quid, so I gave it a shot.

Modern horror means that things with spikes instead of hands will leap out of windows at you. When I'm watching horror movies, anyone who has watched one with me will attest to the fact that I am masterful at recognising a potentially scary moment and will perform either of the following:

• Offer anyone a cup of tea and go to the kitchen. "No, don't pause it, it's okay, I don't want you to be interrupted on my part."
• Scratch the back of my head, feigning being tired and slightly bored by what's happening, and rub my eyes theatrically for as long as needed for the scare to pass.

What amazes me most is that I am convinced that no one picks up on the fact that I am a simpering little wuss when it comes to watching anything scary. I'm not sure what the appeal is. Oh, back in a second, a cold bottle of cider in the fridge is reaching critical internal pressure; I'll have to vent it.

Phew, that was close. Obviously, now the cider is exposed to the air it's only a matter of time before it reaches critical mass, so it must be doused in stomach acid to avoid catastrophic combustion. Don't think of me as a hero. Just a man, trying to make a difference.

Anyway.

On lazy Sunday afternoons when I were a lad, my folks would put on the Sunday Film From Blockbuster and being a trendy pre-teen spending time with my parents was just wrong, so they would pick the film and I would look at rental SNES games and wonder why they tried to port DOOM the SNES (I did this every week, because I was (am) quite a sad person). After this we would come home, a Sunday roast would be eaten and the meantime between bread and cheese and the Antiques Roadshow would be Film Time. I would pass through the living room and whilst deliberately not looking at my parents I would assess the situation and wonder whether or not a film would be worth watching. Explosions = definite watch, Courtroom = Potential watch, could be a precursor to someone getting shot, Anything with a gun/sword/angry man getting shot = definite watch. A woman in a huge Victorian dress looking pensive = Defin- would not watch.

If I believed what was on to be worthy of my adolescent attention I would slouch and talk like a moron throughout the rest of it, annoying the hell out of my parents. I bet they were glad. I believe it was during these times my fear of horror movies manifested, as coming in on a film where a women is walking very carefully through a silent, dark house only meant one thing for me. Getting a drink from the kitchen for fifteen minutes, peeping around the door frame.

But playing horror games, well, eh. You have control over what is happening and as with Dead Space, though being very good, just isn't frightening. Ooh, something fell out of a vent at me. Something fell out of a window at me. Something that was lying very still isn't ACTUALLY DEAD AND IT'S COMING RIGHT FOR ME. Again.
 
If you find me and your question is 'Hey jackass, want to watch the latest <insert horror genre film here> with me?' The answer will most likely be yes, but make sure you like drinking tea beforehand.