sashinka | observation orientated, with a twist of lime | a blog

Saw Vera Drake last night at Kilburn's very own Tricycle cinema.

Well kept secret of North London: when a new film is sold out in the whole of London, the Tricycle always has seats and they are comfy. I gather it's because they're Arts Council funded rather than commercial, so they don't actually do any marketing. Keep it to yourself.

I ran into 17 people I know. Not including me. It was very nice, very sociable. One person said to me "you can never go to the Tricycle on a Saturday night without your makeup on." I don't know if that was a veiled reference to my flawless skin even in a no-makeup scenario, or what.

As I sat down, the person in front of me whispered to their cinema companion: the place is crawling with Jews. Because she was someone who looked vaguely familiar in a you're-Jewish-too way, I didn't get the sawn-off shotgun out of my handbag.

Vera Drake is a great movie, if a little long. (Here be spoilers, be warned). From 1949 to 1951, North London was just a linked series of cups of tea. Dear. No, really. I think from now on I will refer to a cuppatea in faux rhyming slang as a Vera Drake. I realise that people will probably think I mean a piece of cake or piece of hake, but needs must.

Followed by toffeeappletinis at Brondesage, the loudest local hangout there is. Whodathought I'd be sitting outside on the Kilburn High Road in January. NW6 is where it's at. The Kilburn Rivieria, if you will.