My kittens went to their new home on Friday night and were promptly renamed Vince and Howard after the stars of The Mighty Boosh, so their new owners are people of discerning taste in both pets and TV shows. I have to say, it’s really odd having no felines about the place any more. I miss the purring but blimey, I don’t miss the sneezing! Cats with cat flu? Messy. My sofa covers were in the washing machine before the little tykes were even in the car…
I’m not getting any more foster cats until the New Year, so I’m trying to get used to life as a singleton again. I’ve spent most of the weekend cleaning and I fear I overdid it a little; every part of me aches as much as my flat shines. Still, it was worth it. I even managed to wrap 95% of my Christmas presents (I’m unable to wrap the remaining 5%, mainly because I don’t have them yet) as well as sort out my photo collection, which has been taking up five large albums and a two huge boxes for several years. Now it takes up one small plastic container and a lot of wall space in my kitchen. Earlier I walked in there naked (I’d just had a shower – I wasn’t being kinky or anything, honest) and realised all my friends and family were staring at me, so I ran away to get a towel pretty sharpish. Um, which you probably didn’t need to know. Sorry…
Over the last few days I’ve managed to fit in a lot of films, mostly documentaries. The Bridge was a thoughtful, sombre and occasionally terrifying study of the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, the most popular suicide spot in the world. I thought it would consist of interviews with relatives and the odd person who’d failed in their attempt to end their life, and mostly it did – including one guy who said he knew “the minute his hands left the handrail” that he wanted to live. He survived his fall off the bridge thanks to luck, the way he hit the water and a friendly seal who swam over to investigate before hanging around to keep him afloat. The fortunate chap observed that the seal was proof of the existence of God, and it’s hard disagree with him there.
Disturbingly, however, there was footage in The Bridge of people jumping: lost souls committing their final act, often prefaced by their families and acquaintances discussing events leading up to their deaths. The final victim’s leap, slowly built up to during the course of the film, was so spectacular – and chilling – it may very well stay with me forever.
Not a film to watch if you’re feeling down, but amazing. And oh, so sad.
I also watched the Metallica documentary Some Kind Of Monster, which was a bit of a gamble on my part because before spinning it in my DVD player I couldn’t have named a single song by the band or any one of its members. That didn’t matter, though, because it was a fascinating study of a group of men self-destructing while recording an album which, thankfully, had a happy ending. I’m not one for watching a film straight through; I usually turn it off a few times to make coffee or pop to the loo. Some Kind Of Monster had the honour of being watched straight through with no breaks at all – a rare beast. Great stuff, although I’m still not sure about the music. All their songs sound the same! And LOUD!
(Ducks as all the metal-heads reading this pelt me with eggs. Or whatever the hell metal-heads throw. Anyone know?)
Right, enough of the rambling film criticism… Top Gear is about to start. Sunday nights are priceless at the moment: Jeremy Clarkson and the gang making me howl with laughter at 8pm followed by Ewan McGregor and Charley Boorman making me wish I was in their gang in Long Way Down at 9pm. Go BBC!
Tomorrow I’m heading off to have a coffee with a lovely artist I met at Neil Gaiman’s party the other week, before going clothes shopping in Camden. Have I mentioned recently how wonderful it is to walk again? No? Well, it bloody well is. So there.