Lucky stars, vague charms

Last night, after a most awkward game of bowling on a broken lane, we went to see Control at Surrey Quays. Bleak, beautiful and with plenty of stunning moments, it’s a film I won’t soon forget.

There was something overly distancing about the story and character portrayals and so I felt very little for the characters except vague pity. I imagine this is what was mainly intended, unless of course you’re young (in which case inexperience causes you to romanticise and even misgauge tragedy) or, as Stuart intimated, totally into Joy Division.

When I got home, I found a terse email from my mother about her unreliable email service - her sentences cut short as though the perceived fickle nature of the email service itself had somehow infected her composition, preventing her even from typing a proper amount of words into the content field: Things go missing. We shall see. Looking forward to Christmas! My mother specializes in locating conspiracy in the most neutral of circumstances.

(Shhh)

Sometimes the “Don’t look down” maxim can apply widely, as occasionally I’ll see through the fog and think Good lord, am I really heading back to the lift in an office in London where I work? With ham and cheese on a rustic bap? Why do they call buns ‘baps’ here anyway? Oh whatever, whoopee, I’m…going to be sick. And then I snap out of it and go back to being the insensate automaton that I have to be in order to function here.

Straight after work, we’re going for charceuterie and then to some home buying seminar in Covent Garden. We’ve found a few nice prospects in Plumstead Commons and must now determine if we can sell our soul for a mortgage. All things in due course.

We’re going to have to start cinching our belts immediately, especially in the face of an upcoming dentist appointment that is going to clean me out of entertainment funds for a good long while. My toothache isn’t going away but because I’m a private patient, they’re charging me £50 for the initial visit and then additional charges for whatever it is that needs doing. Since it can only be a cavity, and cavities require ex-rays whether you’re going to fill them or not, I’m not sure why they want to break it out into two expensive and time-wasting trips.

Okay, I know exactly why they’re doing it, but must they be so blatant about exploiting migrants? (Yes)

I feel a bit better about socialising since referencing my book on English customs and behaviour, though mostly it just confirmed what I already know/subscribe to. Like men complain about things out in the open whilst women make a special trip to the toilet to complain in private. And the weather – just agree with what everyone says about it, or at the very least acknowledge that a difference in opinion is just a charming quirk of yours. And never tell an acquaintance your name or ask them what they do, even if it seems prudent – people here prefer to guess! I guess.

Oh, here’s some more good news: I’ve moved desks. So I’m no longer the target of obnoxious banter and sexist commentary. All of that happens over yonder now. Lucky stars.