Last Night...
No, I haven't just woken up. Had a great curry at Geeta's on Willesden Lane, with M and S, although it pales into insignificance compared to the late, lamented Crescent Tandoori on Cricklewood Broadway. Though being South Indian, they had masala dosai, which when I lived in Singapore was my staple lunch. M regaled us with more bus stories, S and I got through a bottle of St Emellion, which doesn't really go with Indian food, but fortified for the drama ahead.
I was itching to see Punch Drunk Love, because it was billed as romantic comedy with a difference and that sold it to me. Wandered down to the Tricycle Cinema, and have never been so disappointed with a movie in... a longish time. Twenty minutes in, I couldn't give a toss about what happened to either Adam (Sandler) or Emily (Watson), and their whole kooky-persona thing just pissed me off. Sandler delivers a fine performance, sure, but the characters and plot were so flawed that I was almost prepared to leave. It's neither romantic nor funny (there are two funny lines; one I've already forgotten, and the other - (spoiler, sorry) is "why are you asking me for a psychaitrist? I'm a dentist.").
Coming from the same director as Magnolia (I've not seen, but dead rated) and Boogie Nights (kinda liked, but not in love) you'd expect more. I wouldn't even wait for the video, frankly.
Afterwards, S and I went to A and D's party in Maida Vale (the whole evening was courtesy of London Transport, and it was strangely refreshing to not have to worry about your car or whether you could have another glass of wine), and spent a few hours salsa-ing, talking inconsequential crap with a bundle of people who nearly all charge by the hour (therapists, alternative health practitioners, trapeze artists and the like), and got home twoish having had one two many tequilas and probably said slightly too much to A. He probably had too much to drink, too.
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