I know how to live

Monday was the first day of my week off: ‘The wettest day in fifty years’, according to the headline in the Daily Express. I had expected as much.

I went to see The Mother And The Whore, a nearly four hour long French film in black and white about people talking in cafes. I like a challenge (in no other area than this). As luck would have it, all films shown at the BFI are a fiver on Tuesdays, which this was. As luck would have it, The Mother And The Whore was an exception, because it’s ‘long’. Suppressing a feeling that they should be paying me to see it, I coughed up the asking price.

There was a half hour interval. It didn’t really need one, but probably there’s some EU policy. During the interval I ate a sandwich from Eat. Ham and brie. Eat do good sandwiches. Oh, the movie? Well it wasn’t the defining event of my existence (which I felt it should have been for £12-50 a ticket) but the characters were vivid, and by the end you felt you knew them. Though not to speak to.

Anyway, the important thing is: I survived.