"Claire," my housemate said, turning to me to impart a truth which was clearly as self-evident to her as all men are created equal had been to the Founding Fathers, "you are a contradiction."

It's true. I am. Cynical yet sentimental. Totally lacking a sense of balance, yet a keen cyclist. Able to tell you in some detail about Earl Warren's time as Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, yet unable to adjust the height of an office chair without causing serious personal injury.

My housemate was never more right than when it comes to my tastes in pop culture. Make no mistake - amongst my favourites, I do have many which are widely regarded as worthy. Pop culture is, indeed, the only field in which I consider myself to be In The Know. I can talk for some time about TV, film, and music, and not look like a complete idiot. For me, that's somewhat of a novelty.

Unfortunately, for every yin, there is a yang. And so it is that there is a dark pop culture side to me. It's what I call the Should Know Better side.

The Should Know Better side has dire consequences when it comes to listing what I enjoy. The Should Know Better side means that for every Larry David, there is a Dawson's Creek. For every Memento, there is a Mighty Ducks and a Mr Holland's Opus. For every Teitur, there is a weird enjoyment of Britney Spears' Toxic. I know that, in each instance, the latter is the vastly inferior example of the genre. But - God help me - deep down inside of me, there's something which means I just can't help but sort of enjoy them.

It's a strange phenomenon, I know - I blame a childhood school holiday diet of made for TV real-life movies, and Saved By The Bell reruns. Also, my mother liked Dallas. Maybe there's some nature aspect to this condition, as well as a nurture aspect.

Knowing this about me, it should come as no surprise to hear that, on preview weekend, I found myself at the cinema to watch the Steve Martin/Bonnie Hunt vehicle Cheaper by the Dozen. It should also come as no surprise to hear that my previous visit to the cinema had been to watch the critically lauded Lost in Translation. Sofia Coppola's mighty movie had satisfied my respectable side and I loved every minute of it. But the Should Know Better side needed nourishment too, and in Cheaper by the Dozen, it was going to enjoy a twelve course feast.

As I plonked myself down in my seat with my popcorn and my candy floss, cursing the child next to me who had managed to tread (heavily) on my ingrown toenail and was now causing a ruckus, I knew exactly what to expect. This was going to be a Film-Making-By-Numbers family comedy, and I was prepared to tick each box. I wasn't disappointed.