Fast Cars and Late Shifts

P1070595‘Oh look, they’ve rolled out the red carpet T’ I commented as we crossed Piccadilly on a rainy Saturday night to get to BAFTA.  I’d spied some velvet ropes and given this was after all the UK premiere of the ‘World’s first cinematic interactive movie’ – Late Shift, it seemed logical.
‘Ah, I see they’ve got a super car at the entrance’ was T’s response.

So far, so unexpected.  But then in a world where one can choose a date to suit one’s location, deciding where you want your movie to go is simply another option on an ever extending smörgåsbord of perambulations and possibilities in life.

Past the super BMW, through the red-carpetless maze we went, entering the auditorium to a screen which gave us the app downloading instructions. As options flashed up during the movie – enabling us to decide which turn it would take – we would vote on our phones. It was simple:  ‘Getting in control is easy’ read the text above our heads.

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For Sir Terry Wogan

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Snorkers chomping; tennis balls popping; cones stopping; poisoned dwarf on windswept patio; Abba’s arrival, nurtured my thriving.

A chemist in Great Portland Street, a ‘Hello Terry’ from me,

a glance upwards from where you sought something on a shelf below,

‘Hello’ back with a warm smile.

To now.

Pips on time.

Missing is your grace, and a wit that celebrated our foibles in so many elegant and kindly ways.

Rectuma

IMG_0652 2“Ah, the crystal of Belarus; unsurpassed” said a man leaning against one of the many bars at this elegant townhouse club in Soho, holding his whiskey glass up to examine it.
“What?  More crystal than Waterford?!” I exclaimed.
“Oh yes” he said.  “I remember being in Soho House in L.A. once, picking up the water jug and the handle just fell off in my hand. It happened straight after I noticed that the bottoms of the glasses were all different depths.”

Special indeed.  P and I forged on ahead.  “We need to find James, P” I said. “I want to find out more about this crystal.” Someone heard me:  “I know him!” called out a passing waiter.
“Brilliant – can you page him?” I enquired.
“Jeez S, What decade are you in?!” came P’s retort.

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Violetta

FullSizeRender 4I have to say I empathised with her dilemma – certainly at the beginning of the evening.

The Royal Opera House was last night, and is, a picture.  A picture of elevated sumptuousness, where people dress for the occasion and actually put their mobile phones away (albeit only until the interval). After all, what’s wrong with a bit of respect for artistry on the kind of levels that surpass the ordinary, with attention to detail rarely experienced.

I waited, orchestra stall seated, for my companion who was running very late and got chatting to the couple next to me. Ted told me “We’ve seen it already this year, we loved it so much we just had to come back.”

I looked around at a rapidly swelling auditorium.  Plush red velvet seats complimented a predominantly glamorous audience. My opera partner arrived just in time. The conductor’s baton was raised and we were off.

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Where there is light

Musical accompaniment: http://bit.ly/1UK3TUT

P1070332Cold glittering pavements met my snow boot shod feet as I left the house.  This was a night for adventurers, curious people, resilient Londoners. With a temperature of – 2 degrees layers were required to brave weather so freezing that it hurt ears, numbed hands and nipped consistently at already chilled faces.  But oh, the reward.

In one of the darkest months of the year when light is fleeting, sunlight even more so, one craves brightness, forgetting for moments how wonderful and happy it can make you feel – until a reminder comes.

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