all things come to those who queue…
Or at least they certainly did to me, after a scant five hours patiently waiting in a bright and not-too-grubby corner of Soho last Saturday morning for the clock to strike ten am and this years’ FrightFest weekend passes to go on sale, whereupon I scooped up a top drawer seat in the centre of the main screen before returning triumphantly but in need of a nap to my temporary digs in Vauxhall which thankfully turned out to be not half bad despite Vauxhall itself having little to offer anybody who is not a gay man; the previous evening’s food and entertainment was eventually found in Kennington (by way of Brixton thanks to a text fail – my fault, definitely not Charlotte’s).
Having since found out that the Vue West End’s online booking system went into meltdown again (and see also here) two hours later when those not turning up in person got a crack at them, I’m extremely glad I made the effort (and many thanks to the night bus driver who patiently waited for me to finish staggering up to his stop on Westminster Bridge rather than making me run for it). Plus a few new friends were made, and plenty of fun had in the meantime – yay! FrightFest itself runs – as always – from the preceding Thursday (this year the 21st) over the August Bank Holiday weekend, and I will be thus about in at least one of my usual haunts from Sunday 17th until that morning. It’s definitely fair to say I’m far better company before five days of sitting watching horror films in a dark cinema than after, but anybody reading who finds themselves sharing my plans for the weekend and fancies debating the relative artistic merits of Zombeavers vs Wolf Cop (or sacking out and watching The Shining in gigantically glorious 35mm on Retro Sunday), get in touch!
Fast forward to the time of posting and I arrived back in Victoria yesterday evening after a couple of days over in Jersey for the first time in a couple of years – the marked and definite change of pace a fairly terrifying experience for a dedicated city lover in a way that the Isle of Man somehow isn’t, although I have no idea why. General oddness aside, the Entitled Wanker contingent which eventually put a stop to my previously-regular Channel Island visits seems thankfully to have reduced to a mere trickle; a fairly determined trickle admittedly, but nothing that the Holy Trinity of Call Blocker Pro, SMS Blocker and the – you guessed it – Block button on Adultwork couldn’t cope with. I will take this opportunity to thank all the lovely punters who managed the breathtaking feat of reading my ad properly, booking and turning up, paying/enjoying themselves and then leaving for a delightful time if for no reason other than to demonstrate to those who fell at the first hurdle how it’s done, at least by anybody who actually wants to wind up in the same room as I am. And even special-er thanks to those who brought pressies!
I will be back, and to those who asked, I’ll be popping over to Guernsey too next time – promise. I made my escape just as the temperature was hitting arm-pinking levels and after a whizz through Gatwick airport and a long overdue restaurant expedition last night (OK it was Nando’s, but still the first actual hot food which involved a plate and some cutlery since Friday) I am firmly ensconced with the air conditioning on and taking bookings here near Victoria station until Saturday lunchtime, Friday evening football aside. Anybody who has seen any of the knockout matches, but most especially those of Brazil and Colombia (the latter sending the rest of the Uruguayans home to join everybody’s favourite buck-toothed little madman after his unceremonious exit shortly beforehand) will have no trouble understanding why. Best. World Cup. Ever.
Back in Scarborough for R, more R, and also T and midget gems at my new favourite stop off, the Francis Tea Rooms (pic above) next week after some very scary yoga, more beautiful sunshine and a predicted (by East Coast trains, who even emailed me about it) dogfight through York station on Saturday afternoon thanks to the Tour de France. Never a dull moment.
More soon! 
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