I thought this might be too much like hard work to read while I was on holiday, so I hadn’t picked it up for nearly a month until this week. I’m not particularly glad I did. More faux future history, this time of the conflict between America and China, that’s as tediously pedagogical as the preceding chapters on Europe. Again, it’s not so much that Stapledon’s not dealing with occasionally interesting ideas; it’s just that it reads like his research notes, rather than a novel.

But I should have been careful what I wished for: this guff abruptly gives way to an excruciating section in which representatives of the two nations meet on a desert island, only for their negotiations to be interrupted by a mysterious naked woman who stiffens their, er, resolve to, um, hold firm rather than truly co-operate. (If you think these innuendoes embarrassingly juvenile, you should try reading the book).

Exactly what Stapledon is playing at here is a mystery to me. The leap from an encyclopedia entry to poor man’s magical realism is jarring to say the least. The Daughter of Man is a clearly mythical (or allegorical) element that sits uneasily with the detailed pseudohistory which both precedes and follows her introduction. Perhaps it will make more sense later …

This review contains spoilers

Cashback, the second film from British writer/director Sean Ellis, was originally released in 2004, but became a hit after being nominated for “Best Short Film” in the 2006 Oscars – and equally importantly, being released as a $1.99 download on iTunes. (You can also watch it for free here.)

Commercially, Cashback has actually done even better than the Oscar-winner, Six Shooter. A cynic might suggest that this success owes much to the central roles played by assorted nekkid babes, but the other Oscar-nominated shorts have also done well. So there seems to be genuine potential for this distribution mechanism to restore the commercial viability of short films. As the LA Timesnotes: “No longer do movies have to be two hours long and nab elusive distribution deals with Hollywood studios to be hits.”

The fact that Cashback is being developed into just such a movie rather belies that point, but nonetheless, there’s still the possibility of a resurgence in the fortunes of short film-making. At the moment, the short film is largely confined to music videos, credit-card-financed portfolio work and arts-council worthiness; paid downloading could create a viable middle ground between YouTube and Hollywood. The prospect of films that are only as long as they need to be, and which don’t have to kowtow to the commercial pressures (from product placement to star power) that rule major productions, is appealing.

The film itself is engaging enough, albeit that its premise is highly reminiscent (presumably coincidentally) of Nicolson Baker’s 1994 novel The Fermata. The protagonist of both is a casual employee who has learnt to deal with tedium by temporarily halting time – and both use that time to reverentially admire the female form. But while Baker’s book achieves a weirdly autistic kind of eroticism, Cashback opts for a confection of amusing skits based around the coping mechanisms developed by a group of supermarket employees to pass the time.

The narrator is clearly presented as an aesthete, rather than a perv, but not altogether convincingly. His motives don’t seem particularly complex, although there’s an underdeveloped hint of greater complexity in his relationship with a checkout girl whom he conspicuously does not disrobe. Where Cashback scores is more in the inventiveness of its ideas, the snappiness of its narration and the stylishness of its direction and photography, particularly its use of music (Ellis’ former careers as a fashion photographer and video-maker clearly pay off).

The result may not be wholly original or especially challenging, but it is entertaining. If Cashback and its fellow nominees do herald a renaissance in short film, it’s off to a pretty good start.

I couldn’t have written this book, but it could have been written for me. I suspect its true genius is that many others would say the same.

On an airplane. Oh dear

Well, the series is ended and I’ve only watched the first episode, though I have the rest recorded. My schedule’s made it hard to follow along. I’d like to at least watch at least the next episode, but it feels as though there may always be something better to do …

Watched it on a plane, a reasonable fusion of romance, rites-of-passage and angst, but I couldn’t get on with the characters and it didn’t really speak to me. Your mileage may vary.

Finished. Not Linehan’s finest, but enjoyable anyway.

Had some in Regents Park after the 5K, at an Italian restaurant in Edgware and at Brent Cross shopping centre. All fair enough, but pretty run-of-the-mill ice cream experiences. I want the full gelateria experience, but it’s still a bit cold out …

This is diverting enough in its way, but I can’t help but feel its major achievement is one of marketing: how did a book that’s essentially an undistinguished sci-fi novel manage somehow to acquire a reputation as daringly innovative in structure, writing and ideas?

Like a number of contemporary fiction novels (Margaret Atwood’s Oryx and Crake being the most obvious), it’s an irritating example of the literary establishment’s enthusiasm for genre fiction, just so long as it self-identifies as something “worthier”.

Apparently cancelled after four episodes. Oh dear. I watched the first two, have the last two recorded, but doubt if I’ll bother watching them now.