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Wednesday, February 20, 2008

Anyone who's ever visited my home in Brighton will know that I don't have nearly enough furniture. My flat is like a barren wasteland resembling an empty (though admittedly very small) aircraft hangar, with nothing to fill the space but the sound of cavernous echoes. Although that's mainly because Lisa has to repeat everything she says before I start paying attention. But the fact remains that I barely have two bookcases to rub together.

Pine for you.Well ok, that's not strictly true. To be honest, you can hardly see the floor. But I do have a lot of unused space up there near the ceiling, so I've bought a new chest of drawers. It's pine. Which is a bit of a disappointment because I wanted pine effect, to match all my other furniture. I hope to build a tower in the bedroom out of this one, another chest of drawers and a cupboard, in the hope of one day reaching the moon. Oh, and I apologise for the mouse to the right of the photo. It wasn't me who left it there.

Anyhoo, when there's heavy lifting to be done, I like to get my mother involved, so she made her way down to Brighton yesterday and we spent the afternoon touring the city's furniture showrooms. Needless to say, I don't just get my clothes from charity shops, I get my furniture there too (frankly I'd buy my food from them if I could), so having started at the Martlets Hospice Furniture Warehouse, we moved on to the YMCA Furniture Shop, before ending up at the Emmaus Secondhand Superstore in Portslade, where I threw caution (and someone else's reserved sign) to the wind, and slapped down thirty-five quid for the chest of drawers above.

Interestingly the member of staff who carried it a full ten yards to the car park and lifted it into the boot of my car seemed to expect something for his efforts. He clearly didn't know me at all. The only tip I gave him was to look up the word 'volunteer' in the dictionary.

Just the ticket.So having filled my flat with the fresh scent of pine, I waved goodbye to my mother and headed off to the cinema. On my own. To see Cloverfield. I was supposed to be going with Lisa and a friend, but the friend cancelled at the last minute, and Lisa had already made it clear that she'd rather be eaten by a monster than have to sit through a 90-minute film about one, so I left her with two other friends (Richard & Judy) and went on my own.

As you can see, I arrived for the 17:05 performance at precisely 17:06, which is probably why they printed "Ga-ga" on my ticket, but fortunately they were too busy showing public information films about condoms to actually start the feature on time. I'm not saying Cloverfield's aimed at a teenage audience, but by the time it started I knew more about gonorrhoea and unplanned pregnancy than Claire Rayner.

Anyway, Cloverfield was completely fantastic, and you have to go and see it. Now. Mainly because it won't be on after tomorrow. It's like Godzilla crossed with 9/11. It's also everything The Blair Witch Project should have been. By which I mean that things actually happen in this film, and you don't just spend an hour and a half looking at trees. Anyway, I loved it, and I'm seriously tempted to go back and see it again today. I just can't get enough of New York being destroyed.


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