A New Hope

Surely by publicly reflecting on one's life one will automatically make it far more fascinating. Unfortunately the capacities of 'Live Journal' were not adequate to expose myself to the proper degree. And to expose myself is most definitely my object.

Today I awoke with a burgeoning sickness that may or may not be related to the 17 bottles of inexplicably chilled red wine I consumed last night. In an effort to alleviate these ills I made the enlightened decision to wander around Brick Lane covered in a film of sweat and surrounded by food I had no currency to exchange for. I spent some time wallowing in the back of an deserted, minimalist café; so minimalist in fact that they served boiling hot lemongrass tea in glasses unencumbered with the frivolity of a handle, reducing the utilitarian value to nought. I did not order anything, but secretly consumed a bagel from a brown paper bag.

The bagel was filled with egg mayonnaise. This is a misleading notion, as all mayonnaise is of course made with egg. I cannot understand or trust people who dislike this essential sandwich filler. It fills me with perturbation akin to that of Haddon's autistic Christopher Boone's mistrust of people who hate dogs, which I of course share. Such people sicken me.

After my long and perturbing day, I was feeling rather perturbed indeed. Feeling fairly ill and highly perturbed, I could only catch the train back to Baker Street and perturb myself home. I walked shakily towards Marylebone, smoking in a perturbed and shaky manner, knowing nothing but my exhaustion and perturbation, and with a few small stops to buy popcorn and to inquire at The Screen about cinema tickets for that evening. I decided, that in my pertubed state, I would like nothing better than to sit in the dark, watching something non-perturbing, for an hour and a half or thereabouts, eating sugary snack food not purchased from the venue, attempting not to perturb the other patrons with my crunching. My brother's friend was sitting at the box office reading a book. I told her I thought she had better get back to work. She did not laugh but rather gave me a silent look. To fill the silence, I asked about SatC tickets. I said I would return at about 8.40pm, or possibly slightly later. I do not believe she was very perturbed by my impromtu visit. After all, it is a place of business, not her home.

I must say the film was much ameliorated by the charming scene where Charlotte inadvertantly shits herself in Mexico.