No, I mean an actual spoiler. We went to the Wimbledon Odeon to see the tobacco-lobby satire Thank You For Smoking, starring Aaron Eckhart and written and directed by Ivan Reitman's son Jason, and 10 minutes before the end, the projector in Screen 11 broke down and the lights came on (automatically, I assume - it's all automated now, none of your Cinema Paradiso). There were only eight of us in there, and the bloke nearest the front went out to inform a member of staff. After five minutes, during which the genial, apologetic manageress waited with us, in constant contact with the projection room, order was restored, the lights dimmed and the film came back on. Then, three minutes later, it stopped again. I went out this time, and called her back in. More consultation by walkie-talkie with the projectionist until he finally admitted defeat ("It's a right mess up here," we heard him say). She offered us all a refund and we were also given vouchers for another film. It was disappointing, as all eight of us were really enjoying the film, but you couldn't fault the reaction time, the attitude or the official response of the Odeon staff. It's not as if it was a cliffhanger in the action-movie sense - this was a smart but talky film about liberty, lies and big business - but it was a shame nonetheless to be robbed of the climax. It's clearly not worth going back just to see the last 10 minutes of Thank You For Smoking. So I actually don't know how it turned out. (Actually I do, as Sight & Sound print full synopses and I looked it up.)

Our trip to Wimbledon was made interesting by two other things: one, in parking underneath Ely's, I drove over a sharp piece of metal and got a flat tyre. (We heard hissing, like a snake, when we got out of the car. It went down in a matter of seconds.) So I had to prove my masculinity by changing it after the film. Despite not having done this on the Toyota in all the years we've had it, this proved remarkably easy, so I can't really take any credit for my achievement. What a wonderful invention the jack is though! That tiny thing with a little crank handle and it lifts a car! Anyway, it's good when you're basically a media ponce by trade to get your hands really dirty and do something physical.

The other point of interest was seeing yet another speed camera burnt out on the A217.



Who does this? I mean, who gets sufficiently angry to go out by the dead of night with a can of petrol and set fire to an inanimate object? In Surrey? This is the second time this one has been burned and replaced. There's another one near Banstead (Banstead!) which has been torched, and the latest replacement on Reigate Hill is surely living on borrowed time. Is it the same man? (It has to be a man.) Are they not worried about being caught by the police? On camera? (Oh yes.) And how do you actually set fire to a metal box on a long pole without a flamethrower? I must admit, I see no revolutionary heroism in burning speed cameras. It's not quite throwing yourself in front of the King's horse in the name of universal suffrage is it? The sort of person who gets uptight about speed cameras obviously likes to defy the speed limit, and the phantom camera-arsonist must have been caught out. Hence: the reckless revenge. It's obvious what the limit it on the 217. It's not as if they've been caught out by poor signage. And the cameras are not exactly concealed in the bushes. They're bloody yellow, and signs warn of them all the way into London. Surely there are better targets for this kind of Daily Mail rage? I'm perplexed by the whole thing. I know Ken Bruce hates speed cameras. I'm not saying it's him. I'm just saying he hates them and moans about them on Radio 2. Perhaps he and his disciples would prefer cars to bomb down the A217 at 60mph. No wonder there are always dead foxes on that road. What chance do they have? I blame Top Gear - that's always a safe bet.