Ready for my close-up, Mr DeMille

I'm not often mistaken for Will Smith. He's a little taller then me, for starters.

One other difference is the way we approach our appearance at movie premieres. The afore-mentioned Mr Smith probably doesn't get taken to his in a 1999 Toyota Previa containing the western hemisphere's collection of Magic Trees.

It's your loss, Fresh Prince.

So there we were last night, being shepherded into the Custard Factory to see the latest fruits to be harvested from the minds of our friends Chris and Steve. Do you harvest fruit? Doesn't matter.

It's worth mentioning to those of you from out of town that the Custard Factory is not actively involved in the production of culinary preparations based on milk and egg yolk. Or at least, it wasn't last night. That would have been weird, although I suppose it would have sorted out those of us intolerant to lactose.

Amongst other things, the Factory has a 100-seater cinema into which we all trooped, each to be handed a glass of bubbly and some 3D glasses.

"Bloody hell, Chris, 3D? You've pushed the boat out a bit this time, haven't you?"
"All will be revealed. Now shut your face and sit down."

How Chris is not an international diplomat by now I'll never know.

This year's film is a collection of shorts, a sort of video version of those trashy magazines with real-life stories about ordinary people. Like failed would-be serial killers, conjoined twins in love triangles, confused vegetarians and slightly camp Liverpudlian spiritualists who are in no way supposed to be likened to real people. Seriously.

No, really.

What's really great about this process is that Chris and Steve take the view that it's necessary to have fun while putting these films together. In many ways, that's more important than the finished article, although over the years the quality has improved. I bought a DVD of the film so I could hoot along like a deranged person at the bloopers.

At a point in the film we were instructed to put on our 3D glasses, so we did. Only to be presented with the on-screen message "The End". Followed by "You All Look Ridiculous".

OK, so it's never going to be mentioned in the same vein as Truffaut. But I don't think Truffaut ever went in for willy gags, to be honest. It's his loss.

After the premiere we decamped to a local pub that, we're told, has been there since 1368, to drink Marstons English Pale Ale and eat Scampi Fries.

And I guess that's another distinction between me and Will Smith. I reckon he's more of a Budweiser man.