Mind you, prior to last Wednesday, I was perfectly happy thinking that Michael Jackson deserved no sympathy. After all he had, in his own words to Brit scribe Martin Bashir, said that he was like "Peter Pan" to the children who visited the Neverland ranch, who he was also seen discussing "sleeping arrangements" with. Jackson was exonerated of all future charges of child sexual abuse but there's no denying that for me, the King of Pop had fallen from grace and landed awkwardly on his prosthetic nose.

I dragged myself last Wednesday for the late night show of This Is It viewed by several critics as the last gasp attempt of greedy moochers to squeeze out every last drop from the deceased superstar's cash cow legacy. My expectations were low. I ate heavily, expecting to fall asleep during the docudrama and ensuring that it didn't happen on an empty stomach. I also filled up on lots of cola, assuming that I wouldn't be missing anything if I snuck out for a loo break whilst the movie was still on.