{ and now I'm overrated, over-dressed and overstated. }

I remembered the other films I saw during my non-posting phase! The Young Victoria which is a lovely, lovely romance-style thing in which Emily Blunt is absolutely delightful; Eastern Promises which I have seen twice before but which never fails to be entertaining (and this time I saw a ZAF omg); the first half of The Queen which I then forgot to finish, oops? Tres funny thus far; Dans La Ville de Sylvie which is an arts piece that I want to watch again but I don't know if I'll have the patience.

There. Don't you feel better knowing all that? Thought as much.

--

So xanitia and I went out to eat last night before heading to see The Taking of Pelham 123 of which I knew nothing - not even the proper title - except that EBL had read a great review for it by a film journalist who usually hates every thing he sees. On that alone we went to see the film (and also because there was nothing else on. Movies are shit, what the fuck).

GUYS. GUYS. SERIOUSLY IT WAS SO GREAT. It's so fast-paced and you're really only working on the chemistry between Travolta and Washington, but it was full of small tv personalities that no-one knows and was shot beautifully for an action-suspense-heist-whatever flick. Travolta is a bit of a powerhouse as the ringleader, but I liked Washington, too, much more than I did in Inside Man which is a similar film but not so high-powered. The story is so straightforward - guys hijack a train and hold it for ransom - but executed really well, and held together by some great performances. I really enjoyed it.

After the film xanitia and I decided to take the long way back home aka via the A1 which turned out to be really interesting when we missed the turning for Stamford. Oops? Yeah. There's a tiny village in the ass-end of nowhere called Exton but it must be really fucking popular because it was sign-posted all over the place. We apparently circled it because that's how Lincolnshire works. There were also a couple of emergency stops - once when we wanted to avoid hitting some rabbits which darted into the road out of nowhere, and once when xanitia decided she would try to go home without dropping me at mine first. Yeah. Didn't get home until after 1am and that was absolutely fine by me. Woke up late this morning (...8am) and found we'd had a powercut. Such is life.

--

Today is babysitting Baby Cousin and tomorrow is enjoying Sunday for what it is because I don't have a driving lesson, huzz huzz. And now: toast.

{ Cyril Wong: Boats. }

Boats
by Cyril Wong

You and your photographs of boats;
that repeated metaphor for departure,

or simply the possibility of a voyage?
What you cannot tell me, you tell me

with a vessel and its single passenger,
eyes fixed on some skylit conclusion.

Set apart and starkly upon a canvas
of tractable waves, brought to still

by the trigger-click of your camera,
like the sound a key makes when it

releases the lock. Your heart became
that lock; these images are how you have

always articulated distance, a withdrawal.
Darling, there are just as many ways

of saying goodbye as there are ways
of letting you go. The boat is narrow

like the width of my heart after
impossible loss, cruel resignation;

this heart you ride in. Love, if this is how
you choose to leave me, let me let you.

{ Maura Dooley: Dulwich Picture Gallery Through a Veil of Tears. }

Dulwich Picture Gallery Through a Veil of Tears
by Maura Dooley

Not a valley exactly, more the morose plains of south London,
the snow masked our way and the tears that coursed your face
       constant,
unstemmed, unremarked through your ache of missing her missing
       her
made everything muted, padded, watery-white, made this life as
       nothing,

which left us art. The lights were necessarily dim, the glass present
       if non-reflective,
so we were unable to see just how it was done, were there pencil
      marks?
Your swimming vision may have added something to the conviction,
and I, too brimful of you and your lack of her, felt grateful just to
       believe in it.

When we stepped from the carefully measured warmth back into
       January air
to find our tracks covered completely, nothing behind us, the road
       ahead a blank,
the engine cold, we shivered together. Then pulling onto the road
       in those moments
before headlights are needed, I lit a cigarette for you, something else
       you’d given up.

{ Maura Dooley: Remark. }

Remark
by Maura Dooley

We had been a long time busy
a little sad maybe,
                                    preoccupied,
then I said something dry
perhaps you’d call it

and you laughed
                               in a way
that made me
                           stop and stare.

Sudden, rich and startling
                                 it turned my head
and such a flood of happiness was there

that here was something I could do.
Something I’d forgotten I could do.

Here, take it from me,
                                              breathe on it
till it shines
                       and on a darker day
we might see the world more kindly
through it                 it might light the way.