Remembering when Alcopop Lane was Gin Lane

I'm reading a book illustrating yesterday's conclusion – people ain't and ain't never been no good - England in the Age of Hogarth. England in the age of Hogarth was a shithole, and Derek Jarett explores why extremely engagingly and with the ghoulish, obscure primary-sourcing I'm a pig for, illustrating along the way why those people should not be allowed to purchase alcohol 24/7.

It's reminded me that Victorians were Victorian for good reasons, after seeing their parents and grandparents rot to death of syphilis or gin, and it's reminded me that 'women's liberation' wasn't a misnomer. Also convinced me that the adjective 'beshit' must be resurrected. 'Shitty' is great but it's interchangeable with 'bad' and doesn't express that something looks like it's been covered in literal or figurative shit. In the book, beshit came up in the context of Hogarth not liking the appearance of upper-crust French houses – 'all gilt and beshit'. I'm not fond of the French, but a blast of francophobia from a raving limey is enough to make me want us to all get along. Hogarth was as francophobic as they come.

Also, watched Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown and liked it full as much as the F-word thought I would. What a nonsense story, like all his movies, but what great characters again, and what a fantastic female lead - Carmen Maura, who Almodovar used again as the mum in Volver. Actresses must cue up to work with him, although it's a true truism that European cinema has better roles for women with agelines than American cinema does. Angela Molina as Clara in Carne Tremula was great as well, as the battered flamenco dancer – forgot to mention that – she's got some damn good lines, and delivery too. He's using her again in Broken Hugs, it seems.

Funny in Women to see Antonio Banderas playing a stuttering nerd with charming subtlety. All the evidence points to him being a good actor, which is amazing after years of seeing him ham it up in execrable American movies. But while Almodovar is famous for the great way he films women, and while his films are littered with simple bad men who get real hurt if they hurt women, he's damn good at filming men too. The cutie who played Victor Plaza in Carne Tremula, Liberto Rabal - that scene while he was in jail staring at Bardem and Neri hugging on television with his chubby suckable lower lip glistening and his eyes smouldering to 'Sufre como yo' . . . oh, convinced tingle. And it would have been so easy to have Bardem's character movie-of-the-week it, what with the paraplegia, and instead we get cunnilingus and 'great, I'll just keep exploiting your guilt complex.'

But in Talk to Her, Marco (Dario Grandetti), the male lead who wasn't fucking the comatose girl, is probably my favourite male movie character ever. In fact, Talk to Her might be my favourite movie ever. It was just perfect. Women wasn't perfect, but it was lots of fun and I became very fond of most of the characters. And the bad simple man, Ivan, was a laugh - look out for the scene towards the beginning where he walks down a street being charming. But Marco is the absolute winner. So sad.