I don’t care what the weatherman says…
The heat and humidity has been back and with it my nemesis, the London mosquito. Thankfully I spotted the vicious little bastard before it could do as much damage as last time (when an onlooker could be forgiven for thinking I had a dose of the chicken pox), but I have still been well and truly chewed. If anything the worst part was having to keep the bloody windows shut.
It’s been an eventful couple of weeks again, and I have still not seen Oppenheimer. I have seen Blue Beetle in the 4DX screen (which always seems like a fun idea; unfortunately my dodgy back means I come out feeling like I got a working over from Anthony Joshua, and not in a good way), Theater Camp (their spelling) and Barbie again, plus a couple of classic repeats in The French Connection and In The Mood For Love, one of my all time favourites and one which thankfully pops up a couple of times a year in the ping pong between the BFI, the Genesis and the Prince Charles cinemas. Plus FrightFest! Twaddle as always, but still an unmissable weekend (plus a good way to keep the rain off and eat nothing but peanut butter sandwiches, Greggs sausage rolls and Baskin Robbins three days in a row).
After all that, this next couple of weeks will be peaceful! The nights are drawing in, the very early signs of Autumn are showing and it can’t come soon enough for me – the London Film Festival tickets going on sale is an unofficial marker, and I will be online at ten on Wednesday morning hoping that we don’t have a repeat of the BFI website disintegration from last year. If we do, I will also be online at ten on Thursday morning.
The next few months activities are now pretty much fully organised (such is life for the gainfully self employed with astromomical rent); I have the film festival, a ballet and an opera, gigs, daytime raving at Fabric with Clockwork Orange and baking a pork pie (amongst other things) at the Bread Ahead bakery school’s Christmas Workshop in December. I’ve been trying to get on a (any!) Bread Ahead workshop for months, so the 50% off 10th birthday code was an ideal kick up the arse to sit and wait when they went on sale rather than just cross my fingers while all the places filled up.
In eyebrow news, mine are settling down nicely after my top up and the subsequent sprint down Whitechapel High Street with a pirate hat made hurriedly from the Evening Standard on my head to keep the rain off – is there a single day it hasn’t rained? So anybody who visited early last week will be glad to know I no longer look like Angry Birds.
And in the spirit of Clockwork Orange, middle aged clubbing and an attempt to forget the weather, Song Of The Week is an Ibiza classic – yay! The kitchen disco beckons once again, or at least it will once I’ve put the recycling out.
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More soon. I’m here all week!
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