pimlico's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- it's raining on prom night In an attempt to get some respite from moving-stress, I want to the cinema this evening. I saw Private Fears in Public Places, a sweet and witty French film about lonely people with beautiful apartments. The film's set in a fairytale-ish snow-covered version of Paris. And it features a woman who seems to be into both the Bible and homemade rude videos, thus making her a Belle and Sebastian lyric personified. It's based on an Alan Acckbourn place, which explain why all the characters have fairly English sounding names (Dan, Lionel, Charlotte). Anyway, it was good stuff. Unfortunately, the film has also made me think about Stuff which isn't necessarily a bad thing. I'm just hoping that the decision to move was the correct one and I won't end up pondering my lot like the people in the film. They do all have lovely places to live, though. It's pissing down with rain tonight which doesn't help. And I'm also attempting to finish re-reading London Fields by Martin Amis, a novel so misanthropic in places that it wears me down. I first read London Fields when I was 15 and promptly decided it was great, thinking what a splendid film it would make, possibly a Dennis Potter style musical featuring songs from Parklife. I went on to read his short story collection Einstein's Monsters, which was melodratic and smart arsed and therefore ideal for me in my late teens. A bit later, I read Money and Dead Babies and came to the conclusion that Amis was, in reality, a silly little boy. Not that being a silly little boy would necessarily put me off his books, but it occurred to me that he was just a sixth form bully boy who writes about sixth form bully boys for the benefit of sixth form bully boys readers. Or rather, readers who fancied themselves as bully boys. And so I lost interest. And now, 13 years later, I found a copy of London Fields in the library and decided to re-read it. Despite the great bits of grotesque black humour, it's proving to be a bit of a struggle. But I'm nearly at the end. Saying that, I managed to find a copy of Amis's autobiography (Experience aka Daddy Amis Was Beastly To Me, Honest Poor Me - MA) in a charity shop for 99p and picked it up out of curiousity. I may read it next, because I think he may be more entertaining when writing about his own life. Or possibly because I'm some kind of book masochist. but I kind of hope it's the former, as the latter has slightly creepy conatations of the kind likely to get me a lifetime ban from all branches of Waterstones. 9:53 p.m. - 2007-08-15 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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