My Sunday was spent grappling with 3 hours and 58 minutes of film history.
As the sun was lost to the horizon and the light disappeared from the room, my tenacity was finally greeted with the line I had been waiting for. Eight of the most iconic words to be written since The Lumière brothers started this crazy craze known as filmmaking.
3 hours and 58 minutes of my Sunday afternoon spent and what did I learn?
Scarlett O’Hara is an imbecile.
Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.
Oxford. The city that saw me trawling museums as a child and drinking holes as a teenager. It is also home to a reprobate character or two…
Five things I learned this weekend.
- A man (that you do not know) will find no qualms in stealing a sheepskin rug from under your bottom on the rooftop of a bar because he is cold and there are no blankets left.
- A man will also find no qualms in standing with his bum pressed up against your shoulder even though there is a shedload of floor space around him and you have spent the last 30 minutes shifting your chair across his toes.
- The Ashmolean Museum is filled with staff members on ‘backpack watch’ (probably because they’ve seen a knuckle-headed tourist wipe out an irreplaceable Ming vase with the oversized load on their back). The dunderheads always ruin it for the rest of us.
- Massage therapists will touch your feet even when you ask them not to (and then look shocked when they narrowly miss a roundhouse to the face when they do lay their paws on yours).
- Waitresses no longer find it necessary to apologise when you inform them that there is a hair in your cucumber sandwich, and they will only replace it once you’ve fully tucked into your scone and hence no longer have the palate for savoury. Of course at this point you have also forced yourself to power through the high tea, forgetting all thoughts of said hair and her return only reminds you of the discovery and makes you want to throw the jammy creamed cake at her phlegmatic face.
Otherwise the city of spires is quite a delightful place to spend your hours.
Thank you to the Daily Post for inspiring my photo-taking for the second time this week.
Thank goodness for that little moment on a Friday afternoon when you realise there are two days of bliss ahead. Here’s a few seconds of literary escapism in celebration…
The Hemingway Day. Crack.
The cracks echoed, fracturing. He froze.
Thank you to The Daily Post for the photo prompt
From two heroes on court to several champions on screen…. today is a day of golden watching that will most definitely style the eyes a tad square. #100happydays #day104
A life sized cabinet of curiosities…
Its heavy air still seizes my nostalgic nose from my very first footstep inside. Its stuffed creatures still monitor me from every corner and kink of the room.
My feet must have contributed to the eroded curves of its stone entrance steps. My instinctive untamed child fingerprints will have joined many along its endless glass cupboards of oddities. My neck still cranes to take in the skeletal giants, as was required when I was two foot nothing.
An archaic collection that repeatedly takes centre stage across my own historical timeline.
The French do cuisine and cocktails very well, but when it comes to friends the English are masters. #100happydays #day86