My my, how could I resist you? Er, quite easily.

Sarah has been pestering me for months to watch Mamma Mia! She went to the cinema with her friends, one at a time, in order to see it multiple times. She even took Adam. She bought the soundtrack the day it was released. She bought the DVD the day it was released. And finally at the weekend Daniel requested it as our family film time film - brainwashing taken to an extreme.

I should say at this point that I loved the stage show and not just because it was at the Prince Edward Theatre, which is by far my favourite West End venue. I also like some Abba songs and have enjoyed the soundtrack - or at least those sections repeated for singalongs in the car. But I didn't really get the film.

Part of the problem is that it tried to be real and yet wasn't. Perhaps that's my lack of familiarity with musical film tradition showing through, perhaps it's because I can remember what it looked like on stage. In the theatre you willingly play along with the conceit that this few hundred square feet of wood is really somewhere exotic and because it's all make-believe it doesn't seem so ridiculous that the characters should suddenly burst into song. Transport the action to a real Greek island with bona fide trees, genuine sunshine and stonework that would hurt if it fell on your toe, and it's more difficult to explain the uneasy transition between speech and what passes for singing. I think Chicago, which was much closer to a straight filming of the stage show (and which I also haven't seen live), made the transition more smoothly despite some unlikely casting.

And that brings me to the inhabitants, permanent and temporary, of the island. I rather liked Stellan Skarsgard and Colin Firth played his archetypal bumbling Englishman with the usual charm and an unexpected campness. The young lovebirds were fine - although we noted in the DVD extras that off screen Amanda Sayfried's skin is considerably less flawless than the Greek sun made it appear. Julie Walters was great and I didn't like Christine Baranski's Tanya, which I think was supposed to be the point.

Then there was Pierce Brosnan. He wasn't a terrible Bond, and might have been better if the scripts had been up to much. But the only films I've liked him in were The Fourth Protocol (over 20 years ago) and the Thomas Crown remake. In Mamma Mia! his singing has come in for criticism - and rightly so. It's better than mine, but not by much. Yet it was Pavarottiesque compared to his accent. He couldn't remember from one scene to the next whether his character was English, Irish or American.

And then there was Meryl Streep, last seen by me turning out a mesmerising performance in The Devil Wears Prada. This time though I just didn't understand the casting. At no point was she convincing as the mother of a 20-year-old - even less so as the mother of a 20-year-old conceived as the result of a summer of love. Irrespective of the timeline - which seems rather confused - surely Donna should be in her mid-4os. Dear Meryl is about 15 years too old and looks it. I'm full of admiration for her rendition of "The Winner Takes It All", probably my favourite Abba song, but her character is supposed to be tired because of worldweariness, not plain old age. 

And the ending, although true to the stage show (as I remember it), was too sickly for words. Even Dame Julie couldn't redeem that one.

Now, where's that classic work of cinematic genius, Torque?

A mystery solved

I have often wondered why people drove such rubbish cars in the late 80s and early 90s. The obvious answer is that all cars of that era were rubbish. It surely can't be true. One of these days Mssrs Clarkson, May and Hammond will do a Top Gear episode in which they find some classics from that era, as opposed to comedically decrepit Alfas or (recently) 1970s British and Soviet-Bloc junkheaps. Thinking back to the teachers' car park at my secondary school - which may not be the best benchmark for motoring taste but was the closest I came to a representative sample - I remember a black Lancia and an MG Midget. The latter purported to be a sports car but had the gearbox from a Morris Marina. Whatever the other teachers drove, made no impression on me.

A neighbour of ours had three Austin Maxis and I can remember pushing a friend's Allegro up their drive. My mum was driven to comment on the non-existent ride quality after a lift in a 2CV - the only time I've ever heard her voice an opinion on a car. In the early 80s my dad did up a Triumph 2000 (with overdrive - it was the future) and when he topped 100mph on the M6 it was the equivalent for us boys of a journey into space. I also remember a borrowed Peugeot 604 so huge and thirsty it needed a police escort in front and a petrol tanker close behind; and a Rover SD1 which looked great and had comfortable seats but exhibited typical British build quality for the time (i.e. none). He eventually progressed up the ladder of mediocrity to a couple of Vauxhall Carltons, which had central locking that actually worked most of the time.

Among all the cars listed above I don't think there's a single one whose departure from the roads was mourned. Worst of all, a university friend of mine owned a Lada Riva. Its "solid" construction was a useful asset given his erratic driving skills and that's the only good thing I could ever say about it. I once attempted a three-point turn and discovered it had no recognisable gears. His was last heard of parked in a field, which is its proper home - preferably squarely in the gunsight of a nearby tank. You may recall one was sliced in half by Bond's laser wheels in "The Living Daylights" and even if he'd cut it into a thousand pieces it would still have been too few.

But today I believe I found a clue as to why slow-moving rust buckets such as these were so popular. I decided to enliven yet another tedious journey to life-sapping Ikea with some classic rock and it so happened that Sarah had crammed The Joshua Tree into the glove box. I hadn't listened to its entirety for years although I have the big hits on my iPod. Part-way home, into the unfamiliar later tracks, I started to hear weird noises. Just for a moment I thought the car was breaking down. Then I realised it was U2 doing experimental things with their instruments. Therein lies the explanation.

From about 1988 onwards everyone was listening to this album in their cars and couldn't tell that the bearings were shot, the fan belt about to break and the wheelarches audibly rusting away, because "Bullet the Blue Sky" and "Exit" hid the noise. Indeed they thought Bono and his cronies were geniuses to produce such an exciting range of sounds. The tingle up the spine wasn't because the music was great, but attributable to the draughtiness of cars at anything over 20mph. And when the vehicle burst into flames or expired in a cloud of acrid smoke, the idea for U2's stadium shows was born.

I am delighted to have been of assistance in solving such a long-standing mystery. I shall revel in the warm glow of success as I attempt to erase from memory my experiences as a passenger in a first-generation Fiat Panda.

Happy New Year...

...to my reader. If you're out there, please post a comment so I know I have an audience other than myself.

Christmas was so hectic that I haven't given much thought to writing. But Adam came out with two classics over the holiday which it's worth recounting.

Sarah's dad and stepmum, David and Alex, were with us for a couple of days and the levels of noise, excitement and activity were quite a shock to them, I think. But they seemed to enjoy themselves and over Christmas dinner Alex embarked upon a joke.

"Do you know why the fairy sits on top of the tree? One year Santa was overworked in the run-up to Christmas. The elves were flat out but it didn't look like the presents would be finished and by Christmas Eve, Santa was getting snappy. There had been too many interruptions already. Then the Christmas fairy put her head around the door. 'I've got the tree here. What do you want me to do with it?'"

There was abundant laughter among the adults. Adam looked puzzled, then enquired, "What did Santa tell her to do with it?"

And a couple of days ago, Sarah was contemplating taking the boys to the cinema but was concerned that Adam was too tired. "I won't take you if you're going to fall asleep." Adam replied: "It's in the future Mummy. I don't know if I'm going to fall asleep!"

Who'd have thought it - my son pointing out the obvious.