It’s on Netflix. Called “Death Cap: The Mushroom Murders”.

There’s some pretty egregious use of AI early on, which annoyed me a bit, but they course-correct pretty quickly. It’s a wild story about a horrible person.

God, I feel so terrible for her ex-husband. I hope he knows he didn’t do this, SHE did. Awful that he never got to speak the full truth at the trial, but it’s better that she was convicted, so again, not his fault.

If someone in your life is too into True Crime stuff, keep them at arm’s length.

To be fair, it does get better, with good access.

I mean, were I the newly sentient universe, I’d send a gamma-ray burst this way and just embrace nothingness again until something better comes along.

There’s no feeling quite like a Eureka moment and this game is full of them.

I actually think my calling in life is to be in a high concept band.

A postscript, as if anyone will see it. The film ends with “I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve. Jesus, does anyone?”

I do. Many of my friends are exactly the same as then, and even well before. I went to a massive school. We all got forged together.

It’s class.

What a talent Rob Reiner had. This film, so full of heart, so relatable, has me remembering all the good times in my childhood, with the same bittersweet feeling the film gives you. More sweet than bitter.

Might take my boy out for a game of chappy tomorrow.

I think I’ll always feel a bit guilty that I’ll never be able to afford my son the kind of childhood I got. I broke some bones, but the world has changed, too. And I simply will never earn G44 money. Back then, a tradesman could afford a house in the best area in Glasgow for childhood adventuring.