Once upon a time, when shirt collars were impressively long and men wore platform shoes fo' real, my folks would head out for Sunday lunch to the local cricket and bowling club. I'd beg to be left at home. Not because I didn't like my parents (the best), but because if they were out, I'd have the house to myself and could indulge in my guilty pleasure. As soon as the door closed behind them, I'd draw the curtains, and settle down to give myself the near-orgasmic prepubescent thrill of watching black and white films, alone, in a darkened room.
Nothing has changed. I still like to watch lovely old films alone, but on occasion, I hook up with pals to share the pleasure. When Miss P recently forwarded an e-flyer for a cinema night showing Eighties classic 'Rita, Sue and Bob Too', I couldn't resist. It's a brilliant piece of observational film-making, set not far from my home town, and riotously funny to boot. So, it seemed natural to think that an evening spent watching a film I know very well and love dearly, in the beautiful surroundings of the Town Hall Hotel in Bethnal Green, would be a joy.
They can't muck this stuff up, can they?
Well, just shows how wrong a girl can be. The best part about the evening was the short introduction by designer Peter Jensen, who'd been invited by Test (it's Fashion, darling) to select his favourite film. He was very charming and I found it funny to think that this Danish creative type had seen it back in his teens and found it so hilarious too. A great shame, then, that the Test fashion pack were clearly too busy thinking about their outfits to get the viewing basics right (I saw some sartorial crimes against humanity in that room - surprised I got any sleep at all that night). Choosing to project a bog-standard DVD in the wrong aspect ratio was a shocking mistake - it made Rita, Sue and poor bloody Bob's Rover SD1 look weird and squashed. The sound was terrible. And those surroundings, lovely though they may be, don't lend themselves to film viewing at all. Massive disappointment.
Fast-forward this picture - and what a difference a week makes. I'd almost passed up on the chance to go to yet another film night, but the cinema gods must have given me a subliminal nudge. Lucky stars to be thanked, I popped along with the Boss, Nat, Horton and Lucie Love to Ciné-Real. A small industrial space in East London, made comfy with ramshackle seating and soft-lit standard lamps (managed to corner myself a high-backed Chesterfield wing chair - fuck, yeah!), old swing tunes played on a scratchy turntable, small bar with reasonably priced drinks, and the pièce de résistance - an original 16mm print of Alfred Hitchcock's 'Notorious', projected lovingly by Umit, a gentleman who knows his celluloid from his Betamax. Gold standard for the silver-screen - that's what I call a film night.
The Master would approve.
Ciné-Real was conceived by Liam St Pierre, cinéphile and all-round good egg (he's the top physiotherapist who's had a clever hand getting our Mr Rogers back on his feet - and got The Boss's manky arm on the move too). Lovely things like this are to be encouraged - so here's a link to the next night - but beware and I'm asking you nicely - by all means, come along to my celluloid heaven, but don't sit in my Chesterfield throne or there'll be murders.
(Postscript: I've done myself a small mischief. In an effort to be less of a slouch, I made my first trip to the lido at London Fields. Good place, that. Swimming outside is very enjoyable. Cleverly, I chose the coldest day for weeks, making the place empty enough to enjoy a lane almost to myself. Almost, except for some big pillock thinking he was The Man From Atlantis, who decided to have a stab at butterfly stroke right next to me, causing a tidal wave to batter its way into my ear drum causing 3-day-deafness. I managed to swim 20 lengths of an Olympic size pool despite him (that's a frickin' KILOMETRE!). Was very pleased. Until I woke up with a crick in my neck. Some painkillers later, I asked The Boss to ask lovely Liam (see Ciné-Real above) what I should do. I should have sniffed the bullshit immediately, as she proceeded to tell me, completely deadpan, that Liam had said "because Dawn is now a certain age, her bottom will have become much heavier and sagged, causing the nerves in her neck to get dragged violently downwards, causing this severe pain." Full marks for trying, Boss. Laughed my head off. The cow.)
The true cause of my pain. Not my heavy, saggy arse.
