I have a mortal enemy. I’ve never spoken to him, and he’s never even acknowledged that he’s part of my life. At best, he’s noticed me bowling past in my car a couple of times. He’s never actually done anything to me, he just exists. But that’s enough. God, that’s more than enough.

He is Bike Man, and he is a twat.

Bike Man isn’t his real name. It isn’t even his full nickname. His full nickname is Recumbent Bike Man. This is because he has bought one of these bikes:

Just chilling out on my bike, like the cool guy I am.

Which is apparently called a Recumbent Bike. A shit name for a shit idea. A reclining bike.

He’s decided that bikes, with their 150 years of refined design and engineering aren’t right for him. No, he needs to be laying down, chilling out while he goes to work. He’s not chilling out at all, for at least nine months he’s contending with dark and rain, and constantly having to work his legs first thing in the morning. If he wants a rest, get a car. You can sit down and listen to music.

There is literally no way in which it is better than having an actual bike, and you look like a massive tosser at the same time. Every morning when I see him, I hope he wobbles and falls into the ditch like the bespectacled wannabe Tour De France riding cockhole that he is.

There’s no justification for this, it’s completely my fault. Riding around in his pro-cycling gear as though he’s Lance Armstrong and not just a commuter. He annoys me, okay? Is that so wrong? Just ride the fucking bike like a proper fucking person. God it makes me so mad.

The Human Centipede (First Sequence), then. The “First Sequence” appendage does mean that like the Matrix or a dodgy curry, this movie will definitely be back for more. Yes, it’s the first of a trilogy. Excited?

The film centres around a mental German doctor that is bored of splitting up Siamese twins, and decides to stick people together. He takes three people – two vaguely hot American girls that break down improbably right outside his house – and a Japanese guy, and sort of stitches them together. How? I hear you not asking at all. Mouth to anus.

Who said the movies aren’t all about glamour? Yes, it’s riotously disgusting, and the entire thing is shot with no charm or anything but the grimiest, gloomiest attention to detail. It’s dark, rank and there’s barely any dialogue. Especially from the two girls at the back of the centipede.

The kidnapees are drugged in the mad doctor’s portable hospital, which he handily keeps knocking about in the basement of his house. He cuts away at their mouths and bums, sewing everything back together to make one long person; that is, if people crawled on all fours and gave out muffled screams constantly.

If you’re comfortable with the goriness (and most of it is hidden under bandages, there’s no cheeky shots of the Japanese guy’s winking brown eye), then the film itself is actually pretty boring. Everything just happens co-incidentally, from the girls breaking down in the wrong place, to the inevitable Police arrival. It’s relying on the grossness to carry the film.

And is it gross? God yes. Unnecessarily, unerringly, unstoppably bleak from start to finish. A lot of the time, you see the consequence of the horror, rather than the acts being performed, and somehow that’s worse. But it’s not a great film. There’s no point to the gore, it exists for its own sake, just to disturb and shock.

Should you watch it? Of course, if only to say “I saw the film with a crazy guy that sewed three people together for absolutely no reason.” You’ll love it, sicko.