a london education

I am currently working on finding all things London-related for an English essay. It makes me wonder how important it is when reading or watching or listening to something to be able to personally relate to it. I don't think it's that important. But here is another video which is completely hilarious to me, for how many people I know I can relate it to, and I do suspect that it is completely boring if you haven't come across this particular species of dickhead?



I keep on having ideas for posts I want to do but no time to do the writing or photos necessary. It's very frustrating.

buy it now

Only two posts ago, I was lavishing praise on the wonder of eBay. That was before I realised that I fail, miserably, at winning anything on that site. All that catches my eye is so desirable that it goes for extortionate prices, or so hideous that I realise I have no idea what possessed me when I clicked 'watch' and thence receive countless notifications that 'the item you have been watching has been relisted'. Hmm, yes, no surprises there.

The other day, though, I finally succeeded when my friend practically forced my hand to click 'Buy it now' on her birthday present. I myself don't smoke and never have, so I certainly don't wish to condone it. But when we saw how awesome they made Julianne Moore and Colin Firth look in A Single Man last month I wondered if even I might succumb to the allure of cigarettes, as long as they were pink.


Don't worry; I haven't. I am not that impressionable. But I get why for someone who does smoke these are like the holy grail of amazingness. And if I can associate myself with someone who has then, then surely some of that amazingness has to rub off on me. So we bought some pink Polish cigarettes, which I highly doubt will ever arrive but if they do, I will have achieved at least one eBay purchase. And thus cigarettes will have provided me with the ultimate success. But only because they're pink.

*Please note that this post was totally tongue-in-cheek, mum.

life-consuming

This week my life has been consumed by another late TV show discovery. I don't feel so bad about this one as I know it's a one-off series and therefore won't be a regular fixture in my already over-flowing life/TV schedule/same thing.

It's Harper's Island. I am actually ridiculously late on this one, as it showed in the US in April and then in the UK in September when all my friends watched it. And it was basically made for me with my insatiable appetite for murder mysteries, be they online and interactive, CSI episodes or Agatha Christie novels. Only last Sunday I noticed that episode 3 was on so caught up on episode 1 and 2 online and subsequently overtook the TV with episodes 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11 and 12 (sleeping and working very little in between).



Now I have just one episode left.

Maybe I'll get my life back?

material difference

Yesterday, bored, I decided to go to the cinema. It was a toss-up between Avatar, which everyone who sees it says it is amazing, but which looks quite dull to me, and Sherlock Holmes, which didn't seem particularly good.

It turned out the rest of the world was bored too as Avatar was sold out, so we went for Sherlock Holmes. I have always had a soft spot for a mystery anyway, especially one featuring the detective Holmes. The cinema was so full that we had to sit so far forward that by the end of the film my neck was feeling rather strange. But I managed to forget all my discomforts as to my complete surprise I found myself thoroughly enjoying it. It's so fun, funny, clever and slick. I would definitely recommend it.

I came away feeling immersed in the world of the Victorians. Since, I've been revisited Conan Doyle's mysteries and even delving into some Poe. I am also really feeling a desire for some velvet or tweed, which Rachel McAdams was dressed in to play Holmes' criminal love interest, Irene Adler.

As per usual, Urban Outfitters has come up trumps (I got some amazing jeans from there a couple of days ago and haven't taken them off since) on a search for both TWEED and VELVET. But again, I have to make a choice. Silence + Noise is a great brand and all their stuff is on sale at UO right now. This includes a gorgeous short biker jacket, which is available in both tweed and velvet! That's fate, right? I've only tried the velvet one on but I have wanted a tweed jacket forever, yet a blazer has always seemed to prissy.

The tweed. The velvet isn't on the site. Just imagine this in black velour with metal shiny zips.

Which would you go for?

BEAUTY I LOVE IT

I barely recognise myself. I don't understand what the hell has come over me.

By standard terms, I have had a weekend from hell. Metaphorical rejection has been rife, even if nobody has said 'no', I have been uninvited to THREE events, not chosen as the winner for a competition which was important to me, and watched my unrequited love drift further and further out of reach into the arms of another girl. I know that all sounds incredibly melodramatic but let me tell you now: it is all completely true and unexaggerated. I can write all this down in plain undisguised facts because, quite simply, I am fine.

Of course, writing that last paragraph out, I would be lying if I said I didn't feel little twangs of something which I can't quite put my finger on, but which isn't nice. But the main thing is that I haven't collapsed into tears. Tears which I am not bottling up because I am experiencing the weirdest sensation of not caring. Yes, I did write a wonderfully affirming post on this last Tuesday, but continuing in the spirit of total honesty, it didn't make much difference. Wednesday, Thursday and Friday's shitness were all just self-denyingly so.

Then on Saturday I got a film out from the library, one which had been intriguing me for a while but which I haven't got round to seeing because the blurb always seemed depressing, something I definitely DON'T need. And not depressing in a usefully detached from reality way, either, but real truthful depressing. But I watched it anyway. How wrong was I?????

Again I am going to border on melodramatic histrionics in just a moment, but I don't care. THIS FILM SPOKE TO ME. Everything it said about the ultimate search in life being for meaning and happiness all directly linked to beauty is exactly what I believe. With that in mind, how much more uplifting could the message be that beauty is everywhere? Even in plastic bags floating in the wind?

Even in a girl who is insecure and wants a boob job, even in a girl who has never had sex?

Even in a middle-aged man who has lost everything?

Everywhere. So logic must conclude that my life must be simply bursting with beauty and it doesn't matter that I have been rejected a few times. There is no point putting on a fake front; 'In order to be successful, one must project an image of success at all times' is completely untrue and a lie in itself.

But even if that train of thought is somewhat logical, I still can't explain how I got the essential message which really uplifted me. I'm walking around with a feeling of 'stop thinking; everything is going to be fine in the end' which has come from a film where things really turn out the complete opposite of fine.

That's just what I heard when I watched the film. Does this ever happen to you? Have there been moments when you have been struggling a bit and then something completely unexpected which doesn't make much sense comes and changes things?

I just thought you might like an update, and maybe even a suggestion if you have found yourself feeling as I have described, or experiencing what I have, two categories which I am 100% sure every single person on the planet would fit into both of.

PS: By the way, in this little essay I bashed out instead of my coursework, I forgot to mention the film's name. American Beauty if you hadn't already worked that out.

filmfest

Beautiful

I can't believe I managed to find the time to post for 6 (almost 7) days in a row and then somehow was unable to find the time for the next 5 days. It re-affirms my belief that success in practice is simply a matter of practising as much as you can. It's the same with running, working, blogging, anything.

Because I actually have loads to tell you. A whole backlog of things I want to write! Let's start with one of the things I have been occupied with since I last posted: watching films.

I have had a mini filmfest, which isn't so rare for me in the less eventful lulls of my life, but I normally sadly seem to abandon culture when I am busy with school, as I am right now. Nevertheless, I have somehow managed to fit in three films.

1. Nineteen Eighty Four
Mainly inspired by La Belette Rouge's post about film therapy. An absolutely horrible films in terms of everything: the colours are grey and washed out, there are no handsome hunks, no happy ending, throw in on top of all that a cage of fighting rats, boots stamping on faces and hangings aplenty and you have one beautiful film. Seriously. That's the thing about all-consuming ugliness and tragedy; it makes you appreciate your sometimes mediocre, sometimes terrible world as beautiful.


2. An Education
Hmm. Probably the best film I have seen in the cinema this year. Beautiful, uncomfortable, thought-provoking, sad and funny, not flawless but still fantastic.
3. Little Miss Sunshine
Yes, I know I am totally three years late on this one. And as is always the case with fantastically received films with loads of hype, rewards and general love from every single person you know who's seen it, it can't fail to disappoint. There was good acting and it was cute. So?

It appears that as my films got progressively more uplifting, I enjoyed them less and less. That probably makes me some sort of sadist.

Have you watched any great films lately to recommend? Have you seen any of these? What did you think?

4 for 10

Last weekend I went to Blockbuster.

For those of you who don't know, Blockbuster is a film rental shop in the UK, pretty much the only main film rental shop chain that still exists in these times of online film rental, on demand downloads and cheap-as-chips retailers where you can buy the stuff for 99p more than to rent it.

But I still like going to Blockbuster. I like the whole experience of browsing through the boxes, maybe even buying some popcorn or ice-cream from the big fridges. I also love the ridiculous special offers that they love to run (desperate times and all that). Some of them are ridiculous in a bad way, like the loyalty card which expires after 60 days. Others are fabulously ridiculous: the 4 movies for £10 offer being my favourite.

Me: How much is three movies?
Them: £12. You can keep them for one night per film you rent.
Me: So, 3 nights? So, wait, how much would 4 films be?
Them: Um... £10.
Me: For four nights?
Them: yes. Oh, and by the way, your loyalty card has expired.

So although I originally went in for one film, and then the people I was with got distracted by another film, and then my eye was caught by a third film I've wanted to watch for a while, and then we were pretty much done, I simply had to get a fourth film. So I chose one that I'd heard was very good, but never particularly wanted to see.

The first film we watched together. Or rather, I was coerced into watching He's Just Not That Into You despite heavily protesting since its release months ago that this looked like the exact type of film I would never want to watch.

What a pile of misogynistic crap. Just way too long a film filled with normally very good or good or OK actors in an unintentionally, horribly, depressing film. And not even in a high-brow arty way like the next film I watched, the one I picked out last to get the £2 off and the extra night.

Rachel Getting Married turned out to be the best film I watched out of the four.

Still, the main character in He's Just Not That Into You definitely had a better haircut than Anne Hathaway's character. I really want short hair right now.

The other film I wanted to watch, Religulous, turned out to be a disappointment. Personally, hopefully I won't offend anyone here, I loved the idea of a movie which agreed with me even down to the title that religion is ridiculous.

That doesn't mean that I don't find religion also absolutely fascinating, and I love studying and hearing about it. So I was very excited about this film, and also to hear a bit of knowledgeable atheist talking, as most of the interesting and informative religion-related material out there always seems to be written/presented by devout believers.

Instead I was treated to an irritatingly unsubtle and manipulative insulting of all religion for two hours. All the believers were complete freaks and, of course, all the captions and narration and editing was done by smart arse atheists.

On the fourth night, I didn't bother watching the first film I took out.

culture vulture

The moment I was free of work, I stepped on the tube to go see the film Coco avant Chanel.

Even though while I was working, I continued to read - more than normal actually, with the commute providing hours to read; write; watch 'hard-hitting TV drama', such as a rather dreamily shot history of Penicillin and TV series The Street.

But all these things are things which can fit in neatly to a tight timeframe: a lunch hour, a train ride, a couple of hours in the evening.

Now I am free to allow my activities to fill up time, and so I headed off to the cinema, where I was treated to a great film. Although I can see the flaws in the film, with its slightly disjointed ending, it was a pleasure to watch. Today, of course, I am sporting monochrome, and tomorrow probably stripes too.

However today's matinee adventure was much more exciting. On the optimistic off-chance last weekend, I typed in my membership details to the National Theatre to see if any of the sold out dates of sell-out production Phèdre would become available to me. To my intense surprise, I found two seats in the second row, which with my under-25s membership made the tickets cheaper than dinner out. I got them before even finding someone to take the other seat.

Wow. As my friend said to me afterwards: you always wonder why some actors become so famous. It's because they're actually really good.

Of course, there are some exceptions, whose faults are only highlighted onstage (read: Josh Hartnett). But there are also certain things you can only appreciate when you are literally a couple of metres away from them (read: Dominic Cooper's arms).

I noted that this play is touring first to Greece then Washington D.C. If you're lucky enough to be near either of those two locations, I recommend you book yourself a ticket!

week-end

There seems to be a common misconception that week-end means that the week is over. That it is time to relax, stop working, rest (and maybe party a little).

If my week-end has been anything to go by, oh how wrong that is.

After a long tired week at work, made barely sufferable by frequent visits to the coffee machine and lunch-time bouts of retail therapy - more on that later - I was excited for my birthday week-end, and the four day week that would follow as I signed off work for Monday. In some ways, this week-end has warranted excitement.

Today I ran Race for Life in a time so short that I am seriously doubting whether the big timer at the finish line had a fault. Seriously, I am not being self-deprecating. I have never run 5k in less than 30 minutes, let alone 20. Even my i-Pod playlist throws doubt upon this good news.

Bursting with a two and three-year old's excitement about a surprise birthday present, my parents convinced me to open my surprise birthday present two days before my birthday. I struggled to conceal my shock, disappointment, guilt and finally did a total u-turn. The battery for my new digital camera is charging as I type.

'It's hard being your age, isn't it?' my mum said, in a rare moment of tenderness, or maybe sarcasm. 'Well; I'm not going to suffer for much longer then, am I?'. Although I don't think weeks, week-ends or days off will ever let you glide through life too easily.

Or maybe that's just the depressing films and books talking. Gleeful at the prospect of three whole days without work, I took a film out of the library, snuggled into bed with a book, and had the luxury of time allowing me to finish both. Unfortunate, then, that my book and film choices were Beloved and Wendy & Lucy respectively.

Michelle Williams starring in feel-good flick of the year Wendy & Lucy

There's nothing like slavery and homelessness to cheer you right up.

beautiful people

There is a woman I have seen, only in pictures - still or moving. She is the actress Marion Cotillard.

Beautiful, she has a fabulous figure, impeccable style, Oscar-winning talent and that French accent. Although Hollywood doesn't exactly have room for ugly women, when Marion Cotillard is on screen, I never seem to be able to tear my eyes away from her face.

I have never met her, but something about her smile, her eyes, makes her beautiful in the way that normally only people you know and care for are.


There is a man who has sat next to or opposite me on the tube several times. I do not know his name; only the stations he lives and works near, the books he reads, that he smells neither like alcohol, B.O. or overpowering perfume but wonderfully clean (I have to assume that I don't smell too bad either, which is why he opts to sit next to a confirmed hygienic).

Beautiful, he is tall and stunningly well dressed; he wears gladiator sandals, checked trousers, glsases, a trench coat, and a fabulous quiff (oh my god, he's a better version of me!). When I'm not absorbed by my book and when no-one standing in between the rows of seats is blocking my 'view', I just can't help stealing stares.

Before I discovered the manifold benefits of sitting in the last carriage, before I began my daily commute, I had never seen him before. We have not exchanged a word. Yet this man has a face which I am attracted to for I feel like I've seen before.

I have a feeling that I may have seen his photo either in a photo from a London blog like Sarah Edwina Rose's. Or maybe even on the Sartorialist.

Yes, he is that beautiful.

Recently I have watched two films which seemed similar to me in style, that kind of dramady small-budget indie film with big names (actors) and charm. A big similarity which struck me was how ridiculous both of their plots sound written down.

In order to raise the tuition to send her young son to private school, a mom starts an unusual business -- a biohazard removal/crime scene clean-up service -- with her unreliable sister. |

This first synopsis is from Sunshine Cleaning which I saw at the cinema a couple of weeks ago. Produced by the same company as Little Miss Sunshine, I have heard that it is a lesser version of the same film, but not having seen Little Miss Sunshine I can't comment on that. I can only say that it was a sweet, charming film which had you leaving the cinema with a feeling of positivity.

I was slightly later on the bandwagon with the DVD of Lars and the Real Girl, whose synopsis is probably even more wacky-sounding.

A delusional young guy strikes up an unconventional relationship with a doll he finds on the Internet.

Despite their different plots, the films were so strikingly similar to me. Essentially, both share the same messages about retaining your individuality, family love and relationships, and fully entering and living life. I wondered if this was a co-incidence, or because these themes and messages are so prevalent, that they were shared by two films which are also similar in all the more superficial stylistic ways too.

I think possibly it's because when making these 'dramadies', you need the basic ingedients of humour and warmth. As is so potently demonstrated when I watched the special feature on the Lars DVD entitled 'A Real Leading Lady':



My favourite part, which had me totally in love with Ryan Gosling (along with the great body which was so sadly hidden in the frumpy outfits of the film):

Off-screen Interviewer: I really wanna know from Bianca why this film, why this project...

Ryan Gosling: (chewing gum)

(nodding, looking at Bianca) Oh (laughs) that's funny.

She says that, um, working with me really was what drew her to the project and that she can't really describe it, something like that, working with me is sort of so undescribable, it's only she could liken it maybe to what it would be like to watch a unicorn being born or something like that

a real character

A few days ago I came across some photographs released by Disney of some of the characters in the upcoming Tim Burton adaptation of Alice in Wonderland. From what I saw, I was pretty excited. Fabulous costumes, great actors and most importantly, it was clear that this adaptation will do justice to the larger-than-life characters who fill Carroll's fantastical story.



That's also the reason I adore my hardback copy of the book illustrated by Helen Oxenbury.

Her colours are so vivid


Some of the pictures so large they span the entire double spread

Others fit around the writing like a perfectly-fitted glove.

Attention to detail down to the ending of each chapter.

And always, always, the wonderful characters are brought to life.

Because that's the charm of a fantasy like Alice in Wonderland, isn't it? Imagination... being transported to another world with the senses: things like the touch of a page, the smell of the book, the sound of dialogue, the visual appeal of illustrations or film. Thus films like Tim Burton's imaginative re-imagining are the perfect setting for this first fantasty of Alice, who said it best:

"and what is the use of a book," thought Alice, "without pictures or conversations?"

pretty little things

It's no surprise that I have been a tensed up nerveball recently. I have had beauty deprivation.

You see, these past few weeks I have been so cooped up in my study room, surrounded by only as much beauty as you can find in a colourful textbook. Occasional binges in the form of a mad, guilty shopping trip resulted in little pleasure and few spoils. Then, this Friday, came freedom.

But instead of the expected sense of relief, and the tensions relaxed this unwinding nerve ball exploded. I am trying to explain this with analogies and similes but am finding it very hard. It seemed momentously important to make up for all the missed freedom and fun and beauty. Everything was suddenly ten times bigger, more tantalising, more beautiful. Still unattainable.

What I am trying (and as I said, finding very difficult) to express, is that in my beauty deprivation I forgot something very important: good things come in small packages. How could I forget that the best most beautiful things are often so small you don't notice them unless you look, and so powerful that they don't need to be any bigger?

So, slowly slowly, I have begun to recover. I have been helped by

Beautiful food

I have had the pleasure of eating out multiple times over the weekend, starting off with a celebrity sighting I eavesdropped on a celebrated male comedian's conversation over lunch on Friday. However it was yesterday which yielded the most delightful meal: a spinach crepe charmingly called La Popeye. I have had a craving for a crepe for months now, and sweet ones always seem overly indulgent so it was a wonderful meal choice as I could also fool myself into feeling a little healthy, what with the iron-rich spinach and the buckwheat flour. Yum.

Beautiful films


Instead of worrying that I am not maximising the two hours break I can afford with life-changing cinema, I can now happily watch frivolous films. I finally got round to watching Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day this weekend. Spanning, as the title suggests, only one day, Amy Adams' frequent costume changes, and the sumptuous set made it a light on the brain feast for the eyes.







Beautiful fashion

Although I have not yet fully regained my fashion mojo (um... wearing the same jeans for three days in a row... oops) I have had a lovely time browsing the rails. After last week's mad, bad shopping trip which resulted in a couple of work shirts (more on those later) and a couple of blisters, I have been taking it easy with gentle strolls along posh high streets. I have almost bought some gorgeous dresses, necklaces, earrings and shoes.

I believe that it doesn't matter that I didn't buy these items. Trying them on was enough; surrounding myself in their beauty was enough.

history and queens

Right now, I should really be revising the history of some very important leaders.

But.

I did all that last night, while Mary Queen of Charity Shops was on. I have loved Mary for a long time, and could watch her programmes just for her fabulous ensembles, even if her makeover plans can be somewhat dubious.

And today, I can no longer resist the temptation to leave the Kaisers and Tsars and revolutionary leaders. Queen Mary of fashion is a far more attractive prospect.

Have you ever seen Queen Mary's programmes? What do you think?

Teevee

As I would have predicted, I have been spending a lot more time that usual watching TV.

In between badly made 'documentaries' about identical triplets, more of that fabulously formulaic detective drama and morning re-runs of Will & Grace, I have actually caught some good TV.

First up yesterday was an attempt to bring together revision and relaxation when I picked up a French DVD without even looking at the synopsis. You will notice that this is a technique I have employed in the past before. With that post in mind, you can imagine my delight to discover that Gaspard Ulliel in fact has a central role in yesterday's random pick: A Very Long Engagement.

The warped and inaccurate subtitles did annoy me; a central motif of the letters MMM were explained with the false translation of 'Manech Marries Mathilde'; as if we foreign viewers were too unintelligent to realise that the middle M in some way or another comes from 'Manech loves Mathilde' (FYI, 'love' in French is 'aime' which is pronounced like the letter 'M'). Nevertheless, it was cute touches like that which made Me 'M' the Movie.

Sorry, how incredibly cheesy was that last sentence?!?

Moving swiftly onwards was a snippet of satirical news commentary show Have I Got News For You. It is not to my usual TV taste, but I do appreciate BBC for its lack of ads and so I flicked over during a break. Again, I was met with advertisements but this time of a very different kind, as a series of sexist vintage ads flashed across the screen.

With an all-male panel, this could have veered onto the side of tasteless, but Have I Got News For You is basically charming in its tastelessness, and British TV is so liberal anyway that I was able to just laugh.

A quick Google search dug up a pretty amazing flickr account filled with vintage advertisements, where I found two of the ones featured on TV (actually - they were probably sourced from the flickr site). Hopefully you'll find them amusing too, so that I can justify my excessive TV watching just a little bit more.

not dead, just feel it

I felt I should probably let you know that I am not dead (yet).

Although I do feel like it.

I said it all in the post title really, didn't I?

Yesterday I didn't step outside the door for the entire day. I blame my non-attendance to real and blog life on a severely puffed up eye and several exams.

On a positive note, excess TV watching has finally led me - yes, I know, I am horrendously late on the bandwagon here - to Patrick Jane of The Mentalist.

Hot protagonist in a detective programme. Maybe I really have passed out of this life and gone to heaven...

summer sleeping

It is always fun dressing up as a glamorous character in a film, but that is not often the most practical of ideas.

Sometimes, on the other hand, you come across something which would be completely perfect on you, in your life.

I've always found it difficult to sleep late in the mornings, which is incredibly frustrating when I have a rare bank holiday to catch up on some sleep and the sun is still waking me at 8ish.

It's always been one of my dreams to have a glam little sleep mask to hide the puffy eyes and keep the sun out.

Holly Golightly of Breakfast at Tiffany's has always been my favourite film style icon.

So how perfect is this??



Buy it here.

'stranger than fiction'

I seem to be getting into a habit of making my post titles a little misleading. But I'm sure you appreciate that thinking up a blog title is surprisingly difficult; I should have just subscribed to the idea of making all your titles a song lyric or simply a number, but I'm way not cool enough. Anyway, although it's not that relevant, for those who haven't seen it, Stranger Than Fiction is a film about a man who starts to hear an author narrating his life in his head. The author is a woman who is suffering from writer's block and is trying to decide how to kill the protagonist of the story: the man whom we watch hearing his own life being narrated. Clear as mud? Good. Actually, I was surprised to find that I really liked the film. I suppose my strong dislike for Will Ferrell and romantic comedies was balanced out by my girl crush on Maggie Gyllenhaal (and the cool plot about writing). So, maybe you should just go see it.

ANYWAY. Last month I posted about this book I had almost bought, and then a couple of weeks ago I bought it. And then this week I started reading it, and now today I am rapidly reaching the end and I don't want it to stop!

This is definitely not Nobel Prize winning stuff, but it's charming and readable and it has an interesting context (which I wrote about in my past post). Plus, I think it deserves a prize for its wonderful ability to relax a stressed and tired me.

The thing which really surprised me about this book, and which prompted the post title 'stranger than fiction' is the way in which the character Mary seems to mirror how I feel. Yes, I am a teenage girl from London like her, but she went through teenagedom around 70 years before me. And yet she, too, goes through all the same motions and feelings that I do. To name a few: wanting to cut your hair really short, dabbling in the 'arts', falling in love with Paris... I could go on.

Now I am really sorry that these days all of my posts seem to end in the same way: with a 'now this led me to wondering if' and then a smattering of question marks and then opening the question up to the readers. It would be better if I could actually come to some sort of conclusion about my ponderings. But reading 'Mariana' really has led me to wondering: despite the difference in facts and statistics - I have never owned a country house, I do not have a dead father, nor an acting uncle and I did not grow up in the 1930s - are all our experiences of growing up fundamentally the same?

That could be quite a depressing thought to the struggling non-conformist, who wishes to soak in their angsty solitude. Maybe I shouldn't mention to them that I've felt that exact same angst too, and so have many others, and so has Mary of 'Mariana'.

Monica Dickens, author of 'Mariana', probably went through it all too.

PS this post was pre-scheduled (please appreciate the willpower it took not to put it up straight away!) so I apologise for not responding immediately to your philosophical and wise responses to the questions I have put forward.

moody

About a month ago, I noticed a couple of posters in tube stations for something called the 'Red Riding Trilogy' - a trilogy of films shown on Channel 4. The first thing which caught my attention was the impressive cast; it seemed like a game of spot-the-respected-British-actor (David Morrissey, Rebecca Hall, Sean Bean, Maxine Peak, even Michelle Dockery who was in the play I mentioned in my last post).

I never watched them on TV, but today I finally saw that they'd made their way onto 4oD so decided to watch the first one: Red Riding 1974. The dialogue was also spoken in a thick Yorkshire murmer, the cinematography was arty and abstract and often hard to make out, and the plot was moving and sufficiently impossible to understand. In other words, it was very high-brow.

The whole storyline of murder and child abductions is never going to be pleasant, but the murky colour scheme, slow pace, haunting acting and images all contributed to a wholly depressing experience. Still, I am definitely going to see the next one. Despite, or maybe because, of all the doom and gloom, I did feel that there was a lot of beauty in the first film, and I want to see the others. Plus, there is that part of me which thinks that watching all three will provide the answer to the complete mystery of what was going on in the first one (although if past experience of this sort of film is anything to go by... that's not going to happen). If any of you lovely readers are feeling a little too cheery, if you feel that the spring in your step is starting to annoy your friends, I highly recommend it.

However, once you're done with that, you'll need something to lift your spirits. For that, I'd recommend a heart-warming dose of Orangutan Diaries (on the BBC). A few friends had been raving about this programme, and then I saw a separate article about an orangutan hospital. As this Daily Mail article claims that it is the only orangutan hospital in the world, I have to assume that the TV programme and article are referring to the same thing. Either way, how cute???

Crushes you just shouldn't have

We all have crushes we shouldn't have; maybe you've fallen for their charms but they're really quite nasty, or maybe it simply will never happen. As with most normal people, I find it quite easy to accept that any hot celebrity crush I have is merely a fantasy. This probably has something to do with the slightly ridiculous level of their beauty (you'll find plenty of examples of beautiful boys if you look under the slightly misleading tag of 'my cultural education'), which elevates them to a shelf of unattainability which is just way too far out of reach and gets dusty and old pretty fast.

Maybe it's for this reason that real-life crushes are so much harder to let go of. However right he absolutely is for me, James Franco and I will never be together but however wrong that real guy is for me, we might maybe just possibly have a chance.

But that still doesn't explain the reason for some other seriously long-term celebrity loves I've had, the ones which my friends ridicule me for and should probably fall squarely under the category 'crushes you just shouldn't have'. I'm sure you all have people like this too, and I'd love it if you shared.

These men all have children who are approximately my own age, and although I obviously disagree, their looks have definitely been called into question. The only way I can explain this otherwise inexplicable infatuation must be their talent. And so, in Oscar speech style perfectly befitting these talented actors, I dedicate this post to those crushes I just shouldn't have.