In a scene reminiscent of the alien communication set piece in Spielberg's Close Encounters Of The Third Kind, the sky lights up, repeating the tolling of the bells used to gain entry to Columbia. It's absolutely breathtaking - my heart hitched in my throat with anticipation as the clouds above me throbbed in a kaleidoscope of lights and colours. It was time to take the first step on my journey.

Apple unveiled the iPhone 5 (yup - that's what they're calling it) last night, with much pomp and ceremony. You may have noticed us idly tweeting during the event. But, when it all comes down to it, is there really anything to get really, really excited about? All the rumours were pretty much true, and instead of a game changing product, we've been once again left with a phone that's "a bit like the last one, but better." Is this good enough? Were people disappointed? Does it really matter in the long run? No.

People are always going to buy Apple products, in spite of what the nay sayers say - and while there seems to be more and more of them every year, the company are still posting record sales with every update (7 million people downloaded the Mountain Lion upgrade), be it software or otherwise.

I’ll never forget the first time I saw π, Aronofsky‘s brilliant debut. A friend of mine sat me down, told me to shut up, watch, and listen, then switched the movie on without another word. It was the most intense audio-visual experience I’d ever had, and I desperately wished I could go back in time to experience it all over again, fresh, with no preconceptions.

Aronofsky has since then added to his impressive body of work – some well received, others not so much (I don’t care what you think, I thought The Fountain was a great film). All of them, without exception, feature a protagonist consumed by an internal quest: in π it’s Max‘s (Sean Gullette) search for the perfect number system, ,emRequiem For A Dream sees Harry (Jared Leto) lose himself in the pursuit of heroin, The Fountain has Tom (Hugh Jackman) desperately trying to develop a cure for his wife’s terminal brain tumour and The Wrestler, by far Aronofsky‘s most intimate and naturalistic creation, shows Randy (Mickey Rourke) trying to piece his life together after a heart attack forces him to retire from professional wrestling.

The perfect robot should make your life easier (as opposed to those evil robots who just want to hurt things) and the Rovio WiFi Robot fits the bill perfectly. Rovio allows you to be in two places at once without having resorting to the inconvenience of time travel, so when you're away on business you can still keep up with the kids. His base is equipped with 3 omni-directional wheels, so he's easy to manoeuvre around the house (though he does share the Dalek's weakness for stairs) and the head-mounted moveable camera can be adjusted remotely to sit in 3 different positions. If that isn't enough, he also has an inbuilt speaker and microphone, so you can watch, listen and speak to your family or friends from half way across the world controlling your robot alter ego on your laptop, PDA, phone or Wii.

I’ve sat through some truly awful serial killer biopics in my time, so I was initially reluctant to cast my eye over The Last Victim. Sure, John Wayne Gacy’s an interesting subject, but it’s all too easy to go TV MOVIE on films like these. Then I found out that William Forsythe would be playing the “killer clown”, and I just couldn’t resist. No matter how bad the movie is, I always find his performance strangely hypnotic, like he could reach out of the screen at any point to grab me by the throat and make me stare into those dead eyes. In short, he scares the living bejeezus out of me.

This film isn’t to be approached lightly – those of you expecting a gore-fest, exploitation film should look elsewhere. This isn’t a Rob Zombie movie, so you’re not expected to root for the bad guy (no matter how many families are left butchered and sexually abused in their wake). The Last Victim is set while Gacy is safely incarcerated in death row, and acts as an adaptation of Jason Moss’ infamous memoirs. In reality, Moss befriended a number of incarcerated serial killers as a means of researching his Honors Thesis (Charles Manson, Jeffrey Dahmer, Henry Lee Lucas and Richard Ramirez make the list), but this film focuses purely on the strongest, and some could argue the most affecting, relationship he was able to develop.

There’s nothing quite like the toilets at a comedy club to fill you with abject disgust. While the urine soaked floor laps at my trainers I realise I don’t care; I’ve been a big fan of Stewart Lee’s since the days of Fist of Fun, so I would happily wade crotch deep through a WWI latrine just to catch him on stage.

As I look at the audience, it amazes me how much tweed there is on display, and I formulate a theory about Lee speaking to a generation that desperately wanted to rebel, but were pampered into submission by a sycophantic media and resigned to accept the path of mediocrity and suburban ennui set in stone for them since birth. Then somebody tells me it’s press night, and I feel like a bit of a dick. I’d be lying if I told you the guitar stand and rickety stool on stage didn’t fill me with a sense of dread. Surely he won’t have cause to use either of them? The front of house makes the two-minute call, and there’s still a queue at the bar. Bloody journalists.

Anyone who followed Ex Libras' exploits making "The Shed" on their [sadly, now defunct] blog, Guerilla Movements, must have been impressed by their determination. Using their 3 meagre salaries they've assembled a creative space they can use whenever they want at no extra cost. It's there that I had agreed to meet them.

Making the long journey across London, I have another chance to listen to their debut album, Suite(s) and it strikes me just how well suited it is to commuting. As I walk through the hectic crowds then sit among the faceless passengers on the tube it reminds me of how lonely life in London can be surrounded by thousands of people. Ex Libras' blend of guitar/synth electronica somehow captures this perfectly. After listening, you're left with a feeling of emptiness, but that's no criticism. It's like looking out over a desert plain as it disappears into the horizon. The album can be hard to dip into, but when taken in one sitting the experience can be quite euphoric, albeit tinged with a heavy dose of melancholy.

Directed by Rob Lemkin and Thet Sambath

The word “evil” is bandied around too readily these days. When someone resorts to using it, as abhorrent as the actions or behaviours they’re describing are, I think it’s all too neat a summary. When you dismiss something as “evil”, you stop all analysis. You don’t need to think about it anymore, it is what it is and there’s no need to try and understand it. I don’t think this is a healthy habit for a society to get into. If you don’t analyse the circumstances that lead to the so-called act or acts of evil, how do you expect to avoid them re-occurring?