A few years back, a friend of mine sent me a DVD of the most appalling dubbed Kung Fu film I’ve ever seen in my life.

It was hilarious.

The storyline, if there was one, was impossible to follow. It was slightly crammed in to the moments when the actors mouths were moving. Which, given that they were fighting most of the time, was not that often.

Sometimes the words came without any movement at all. Like an inner monologue, or the voice of God, but the image had clearly been paused and stretched, dragged out for a scatter of seconds while the plot was rammed in.

At other times, the mouths kept moving, but no sound issued forth. It seemed that the script was being improvised from start to finish by enthusiastic actors, who had yet to view the final edit of the film.

All the while, watching from my sofa, I was practically crying.

It was a great, terrible film and, if she ever reads this, thank you, Toots.