Bought vodka because I liked the shape of the bottle (that Polish twisty one), but then gave it to my host later in the evening. Now they've moved the booze corner in Selfridge's it's even closer to the Orchard Street door and I hardly have to see any shopping taking place at all!
Yesterday, freezing, dandruff in the air. Today, eh?
The fire station, with its rescue practice tower, adjacent to the north side of the Barbican, has gone. Gone. Awww, bollocks!
At the cinema, 'The Reader'. Fiennes his usual wooden self (he makes Rickman look expressive), but fair do this time around as he was playing someone stilted by regret. Winslet does middle-aged fine, but someone should tell the make-up artists when to stop: in rendering an actress elderly, think day-for-night. David Kross, what a sweet lad, you can see why she's alle aufsteigen and taking him back to the depot.
At the Photographer's Gallery's new home, so many stairs, that'll put a stop to the traditional pushchair jams in the cafe. On the walls, teenagers handjiving. Morris dancers. I forget the rest.
Words, from a mostly metrocentric perspective. See Metrocentricity for pictures.
11 January 2009
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