mike[space] dot net

On Saturday, I found myself with a hangover, and an evening with no plans whatsoever. Determined not to let the day go to waste, but without any ability to concentrate on some work, I headed off for a run, listening to the Mark Kermode movie review podcast. On it, a brief but very positive mention is given to Let The Right One In. and it triggers vague memories of a cool looking trailer, and some other positive hype that I had heard. I remember it has something to do with vampires and being a bit creepy, and think hmmm, that sounds like the perfect film to go and see when Claire is not around - she hates horror ...

Rather than risk spoiling the film for myself, I decide not to check out the trailer, or any reviews, and then head off for the cinema. Stupidly, I forget to double check the location of the cinema - how hard can it be to go to the Odeon, Covent Garden? Then the bus decides to take way longer than the advertised time. How do TFL come up with their woefully optimistic time schedules for buses? Do they time the journey once at midnight, with Jenson Button at the wheel? Or do they just exist in a parallel universe where traffic melts out of the way of buses and people teleport instantly from bus stop to bus, oyster cards are fully topped up and no one wants to spend five minutes arguing with the driver about whether they are going to Elephant & Castle?

Anyway, I digress. Having realised I wasn't going to make it in time by bus, I switch to the tube, and arrive in Leicester Square about two minutes before the scheduled start time. This is fine. There will be adverts, there will be trailers. I've got time to get to the cinema. Now, which road is it on? Oh crap, it's not where I thought it was. Oh, and the internet connection on my iPhone is slower than David Beckham reading Encyclopedia Britannica. Oh, and Google Maps is sending me in what I know has to be the wrong direction.

(Quite why I didn't just ask one of the numerous taxi drivers in the area I have no idea ... the presence of technology in my hand seems to render me unable to interact with human beings)

Fifteen minutes later, and quite possibly the longest walk between Leicester Square tube and Odeon Covent Garden ever undertaken, I arrive to find a giant queue for the box office. I ask one of the staff whether the film has started, apparently it is imminent. I wave despairingly at the queue, a vague hope in my mind that she might telepathically understand what a terrible journey I've had and let me in out of sympathy. She doesn't.

But, she does point out the automated ticket machine that no one is using. Triumphant, I rudely squeeze past two designery types (I could tell they were designery because they had artfully styled hair and nice clothing) and buy a ticket in record time. Drink-less, and popcorn-less, I enter the cinema to find the theatre in complete and utter darkness. The opening of the movie is in complete black, and all I can tell is that every seat by me is full. Patiently waiting for light from the screen leaves me feeling idiotic and self-conscious (it doesn't occur to me that if I can't see anybody, then they probably can't see me either)

After what feels like an age (but I am sure was only a few seconds) I head for the sides, and ask a shapeless figure whether there is a seat on the inside of them. They stand, along with their friend, and I shuffle past, hunched and sweaty. As I pass the friend, I realise I have no idea if anyone is in the next seat or not. I freeze again, not sure whether to sit down, or move on. If someone was there, they would have told me to sod off out of the way, but I am extremely frazzled by this point. Gingerly I reach out, and am relieved to make contact with a seat, rather than a startled groin.

Collapsing into my seat, I stare up at the screen, at which point I am blinded by the glorious white light of a starkly snowy scene. I shake my head, and settle down to watch the movie, which I appear to have run out of room to discuss ...