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I rarely tell the truth to anyone about anything. Right now my flatmate thinks that I think his shitty film-school film is 'excellent' which, if I meant it, would put it on par with Taxi Driver in my mind (under the category of ‘excellent films’).
I suppose its just judging things relatively, i.e., last Christmas my grandma knitted me this purple cardigan and I was impressed that a nearly-blind woman, working on her own, could knit something so accomplished-looking (no holes, loosely fitted). It seemed great but implicitly I was actually thinking it was great-for-her - there are probably better cardigans that cost a couple of quid from the market. I think it’s all about the implicit 'for-them'. That film-school film is genuinely shit though, I’m going to tell him to his face, the wanker (he stole some of my bread).
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