The English Patient

The night has been a long one. It's been spent in conversation with lilka and purplerainbow. We spoke of many things, of cabbages and kings, of the various things we'd do to each other if the world were ending in the afternoon, the music we like, the questions Hannah should put in her poll, and most of all, we seemed to keep coming back to The English Patient, because I was watching it and couldn't resist delivering commentary on it. I didn't think I'd watch it, and I didn't watch with the kind of concentration I should have, but I saw enough to see it's a beautiful, beautiful film.

As I said at the time, the cinematography of the film is completely out of this world. Desert panoramas, evocative shots of the bazaars of Cairo, and the haunting blue skies of rural Italy in 1945. It was those scenes I liked the most; beautiful is the only word for them. They dance in a rainstorm - I didn't think it rained like that in Europe. I've only ever seen a storm like that in a monsoon.

My windows have been open all night, and it's so rare that the night stays warm with the sun gone, but tonight it did, and draughts of warm air have been drifting into my room. Warm air has a very distinct smell - of dry grass and spices and summer - and it makes me feel like I'm in India. I complain so much when I am in India, but I like to be reminded of it, I do. I like warm nights and crickets chirping and the scent of jasmine, which you can only smell at night because it only flowers at night. I think everyone likes these things; pretty, homely things that never change no matter what.

Listening to myself, I find myself getting mawkish. I don't want that to happen, so I'm going to change the subject.

Perhaps to my mother's latest culinary misadventure. She's such a good cook that even her disasters are edible, and tonight's tasted good, it just looked odd. It was supposed to be tandoori chicken with stir-fried onions and peppers. Something happened to the peppers. Something; I don't know what. I don't anyone knows precisely what.

Pedar would have watched the film with me, I think, only he was reading about genetics again. He wanted to know my honest opinion of the film, and was characteristically amused (and unforthcoming) when I gave it to him. He's asked me to get some information about the New Orleans Mardi Gras next year. Wonder why?

Meme

( Meme )

"Never trust anything that can bleed for five days and not die" - or, retail therapy.

In the good news, yesterday's chicken 'n' pepper culinary disaster seems to have an unexpected good point. It makes an excellent sandwich filling. So, having eaten two of these sandwiches, I am considerably less hungry than I was. In the not-so-good news, the weather is back to windy-wintry. I went out into the garden for a few moments and was almost blown off my feet by the wind. Not that it's not a nice wind - it's clean and refreshing and cold - but it's rather a culture shock after last week's mini-heatwave.

I have to babysit tonight, again, and I really, really, don't want to. I want to stay safe at home and preferably, stay in bed. The weather is having that effect on me. I'm feeling slightly lonely but the cold air is improving my mood no end; it's true I have seasonal depression but it happens the wrong way round. I coast along in hot weather, feeling aimless and frustrated, but cold weather makes everything all right again. So I guess the wind-change is a good thing, after all.

But yes - the babysitting job. I think after tonight I will just politely decline all these jobs; I did appreciate the money, but I don't really need it. It just sits in my purse and I never spend it. I would like to buy a few things - that Grin slogan top - "Never trust anything that can bleed for five days and not die" - and I still want a nice, black, leather, spiky, dogcollar, but the possible repercussions and reverberations and hungama make me tired. I haven't undergone anything resembling retail therapy for quite some time now; I'm not sure why that is. I like shopping and I like clothes; who doesn't? The problem nowadays is I never see anything and think I want that. Or the problem is, I'm always seeing stuff and thinking I want that but buying it would mean argument with mother that would spiral into the Inevitable Discussion and I'm too tired for that so let's forget the whole thing.

My mother once asked me what I would wear if she weren't there to stop me. The answer is, somewhat pathetically, not much different to the clothes I wear now. Just that dogcollar, and more beads, and more profane slogan tops, and a pair of really nice, heavy, chunky gothic boots. I'd wear more crazy-looking-stuff, and more red stuff. That's all.

In the meantime, I have nowhere to go and no-one to go with. I think perhaps I'll go for a walk, out into the cold, and maybe everything will be all right.