Joe Queenan is absolutely right to moan about the Apatowisation of Hollywood.

Joe Queenan is right that Knocked Up is an astonishingly mediocre movie, written and made by the biggest wish-fulfilment merchants since John Huston and Arthur Miller put together The Misfits.

But what else does Joe Queenan suggest the Minister and his wife should see when the remaining fare at the multiplex in their God-forsaken “Northern Home Counties” townlet last week was Harry Potter 28, Rush Hour 3, Bourne 3, Shrek 3, Hairspray (which we saw out of desperation a couple of weeks ago) and the Transfuckingformers movie?

I guess we could have sought out something more leftfield by travelling to London.  But it costs a minimum of £32 and takes at least 60 minutes each way to do that (plus Tube fares and journeys – assuming the Tube is running, natch), even before you buy the tickets, the gallon of watered down syrup and the box of three-day-old popcorn.

So, Joe, much as I’m with you every step of the way – any movie about unplanned pregnancy that cannot even bring itself to say the word ‘abortion’; the closest Knocked Up achieves is “it rhymes with ‘schmaschmortion’” – is bobbins of the highest order.

Knocked Up is this summer’s overlauded ‘surprise’ hit movie because (a) it’s the only movie of the summer that’s not a sequel, threequel or fourquel (to the list above you can add Spider-Man 3, Pirates 3, Ocean’s 3, Fantastic Four 2, Hostel 2, Die Hard 4, Evan Bloody Almighty, Rush Hour 3 and Fulham 3 Tottenham 3) and (b) the way films are distributed in the UK means that it’s the best of a bunch of psispoor options presented to those semi-intelligent, semi-literate thirtysomethings who still occasionally like to go to the movies but don’t live in the Royal Borough of Kensington & Chelsea.

And breathe…