The blog formally known as ‘Kieran’s Contemporary Critiques’, is my way of venting at life as I write about my favourite topics of Film, Literature and F1 and you can read a flavour of each below.


We all have our omissions in life, and this is hardly surprising, there just simply isn’t enough time to do, see and listen to everything. Unfortunately this is something which is never remembered: we are all guilty of the over-dramatic gasp, accompanied by the, you haven’t seen..?!

This is particularly true in the world of film. There are classics: greats, epics, must-sees, fabulously watchable and even a catalogue of choices which you know aren’t even that good but you love anyway. All these, and hundreds more, make up the shock-horror omission list. It brings a certain smug satisfaction in that brief five minutes where you get to inform your poor, misguided companion over the error of their ways, and how thanks to your invaluable insight, their life will be forever enriched.

Until recently the most common saaayyyy whhhaaaaat?! blemish upon my record was Titanic. In some ways, as it is one of the highest grossing films of all time, this was an understandable reaction. But I had never been interested; I grew up in a house with 3 older brothers, who were interested in more important things: like riding a Mo-ped around a field while the other was attached to a push-chair.


So many times in life we hear that timing is everything: that the decisions we make and the successes we have are all dependent to a certain extent on this uncontrollable phenomenon. Being in-the-right-place-at-the-right-time is crucial. Frank Lampard is a perfect example of this: he has scored a ludicrous amount of goals, simply because he knows exactly when he should be in the right position. As a result he will go down in the history books. Unfortunately, I have no advice on how to achieve this; but I do know what it’s like to get it wrong.

In the summer I was in London, winding someone up, by pretending to be insufferably ignorant and intolerant about feminism. I should mention I do know this person and wasn’t harassing a stranger. But then she asked whether I had read The Bell Jar, to which I replied, no. She then asked whether I had heard of Sylvia Plath, which, to my increasing embarrassment, I said no, again. Needless to say, this didn’t exactly go down very well, and due to my earlier act I now resembled a phallus similar in size to the Gherkin. So much was clear by the now understandably irritated tone of my companion. So I decided that I was going to have to read this book and it would probably be for the best if I did so relatively soon.

Formula 1

The majority of the F1 world has condemned the double points allocation for the final race, and rightly so. This is about as gimmicky as you can possibly get. Why place greater importance on one race, especially one which isn’t exactly known for its excitement? If there really has to be a grand gimmicky gesture, I suggest looking no further than the pub. In true pub quiz tradition, each team can have one double-point joker, which must be played at the start of the weekend, before first practice. It adds unpredictability, excitement and another level of strategy into the fold. It’s still tacky as a flashing neon-sign outside of a brothel, but arguably better than the current situation.

And as if this wasn’t enough, we also have the new issue of the Pole trophy. I mean honestly, who cares who gets the most Poles? Sorry you didn’t win the World Championship this year, but it’s ok, here’s a trophy to show you probably should have won more races. I mean come on. It’s as if a Head Teacher from one of those schools where everyone’s a winner broke in and altered the rule changes before they were published. Pole is great, yes, but only if you win.




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