Remember me saying a few weeks ago that I won a free Vue cinema pass in a quiz night? On Friday, aware that it had nearly expired, I arranged to go to the cinema with my friends Gillen (who also had a pass) and Paul (who didn’t, but we were going to split the cost between the three of us to make him feel better). We went to the Vue Leicester Square to see Borat: Cultural Learnings Of America For Make Benefit Glorious Nation Of Kazakhstan.
Or at least, we tried.
There was an enormous queue, the film was on three different screens and within minutes of us arriving two of them were already flashing “FULL”. Popular film. Certainly more popular than our free Vue passes, anyway, because when we handed them to the guy in the kiosk he spent ten minutes scrutinising every damn word, then consulting a book under the counter, before informing us they weren’t valid.
Now, we’d READ these passes, small print and all. They contained no terms and conditions that should have tripped us up, but this guy was so desperate to find something I can’t help but wonder if he just plucked the first excuse he could think of from thin air:
“The film’s too new. You can’t see it until it’s been out for two weeks.”
We groaned. Annoyed but philosophical, Gillen enquired: “Okay, we’ll forget the passes. How much does a ticket cost?”
To which the guy replied, “Fifteen pounds.”
“For me and her?” asked Gillen, puzzled.
You could buy the DVD for that! Or, as Paul declared very loudly, “Hang on, we came here to see Borat, not to buy bloody Kazakhstan!”
Just how much dosh does a West End cinema make in one day if they can get away with charging that amount of money per seat? The Vue was heaving with people and nobody else seemed to mind forking out such a sum. And they were all buying food inside, too, which was just as hideously overpriced. I always knew West End cinemas were expensive, but this was the first time it really hit me – and ouch, it hurt!
So we didn’t go to the cinema. We went to a café in Soho, talked about strip joints and something rude there’s not very much of in North London and had an absolutely hysterical evening having cake forced on us by the slightly crazed café owner.
I’ll catch Borat on DVD.
Changing the subject totally: hey, check out the ermine! (Although he’s a stoat really, all wintrified and snow-camouflaged and frosty). He was one of my favourite pictures at this year’s Wildlife Photographer of the Year Exhibition, which I visited yesterday with my friend Stephen because I have to see it every year.
(The exhibition, that is, not Stephen. I see him frequently enough, usually sitting on the floor of my lounge with my computer in pieces around him as he fiddles with its insides and makes it work like it wants to make me happy. He be a very clever man, and my computer does make me happy.)
What I love about the exhibition is the way they always play rainforest noises and animal calls as you’re walking around the hall. You’ll be staring at a picture of an arctic hare and suddenly you’ll hear a wolf howl. Or you’ll be gazing at a walrus and you’ll hear a humpbacked whale… it’s interactive photography! The show is on until April at the Natural History Museum and I can’t recommend it highly enough. Unless you hate nature, obviously, in which case you’ll be bored off your tits.
And finally, because I haven’t mentioned my current obsession, Supernatural, for a while…
In the episode which aired last Thursday in America, Dean Winchester mentioned that he likes “frisky women”.
Biddy texted me soon after with this gem: “It’s my mission in life to feel as frisky as possible at all times from now on.”