Oh well, that was Christmas. I sent Offsprog One off to Dick Whittington at Wilton's Music Hall with a friend, because I was too poorly to go. Dammit, panto only happens at Christmas and I missed it!
It's been a holed-up-with-films and Lemsip time. Lots of James Stewart (including a birthday trip to the BFI which was sweet and survivable to see The Shop On The Corner. Kaurismaki's Leningrad Cowboys and more, so that I dreamt a delirious dream that I was in one of his films.
The documentary on penguins with the little runt baby penguin hiding behind it's Dadda when the guillemot came to gobble it up, metamorphosed into a computer game in my mind; penguins heads, penguins heads, all lined up and ready to... well, whatever happens in computer games, I don't know.
I have a copy of 8 Women to watch, having missed the showing at Viktor Wynd, and also a copy of Les Demoiselles de Rochefort; tomorrow may be French films and paracetamol, to ring the changes.
Instead of watching Vertigo on TV, I'm writing this. Poor attention span.
I'll go back to reading Sunday's newspaper.