Hey, it's Easter! Why not celebrate the Resurrection of Our Lord by watching the excellent 1973 adaptation of Jesus Christ Superstar? It has some really swingin' tunes that the boy and I became obsessed with back in college. There's nothing like lying in bed shouting 'One of my twelve chosen/will leave to betray me!' at each other in the early morning hours to really kick-start a relationship.

In other news, I am thoroughly enjoying the long weekend and think we should have one every month. Monday holidays are particularly sweet as you bypass the Sunday Afternoon Funk and experience, in effect, another Saturday night. And any Funk deferred to Monday night will be offset by the knowledge that the following 'week' has only four days in it. Oh yes.

Cheers!

Yesterday we went to see Stardust (noisy link), which is brilliant although quite different from the book. There's a lot more sex and violence in the book, and a lot less cross-dressing.

In addition to feeding my current Gaiman-mania, Stardust also afforded me the bizarre experience of witnessing my childhood stomping ground on the big screen. At ten I believed myself to live in the most boring, isolated corner of the universe. The idea of Michelle Pfeiffer striding around our dog-walking spots would have been utterly ludicrous.

In other news, I am off work for a week and a half. Here is my to-do list:

Clean house
Plan meals around T4
Eat weight in Crunchy Nut Cornflakes
Make pumpkin pie
Feel wistful
Complain bitterly

Suggestions/alterations to the usual address.

The boy is here! To celebrate, we went to see Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix which was so brilliant that it was all I could do not to stand up in the middle of the packed cinema and shout 'THIS IS GREAT.' The best part was the return of Gary 'Kiss My Face' Oldman, who was all done up in a natty pinstriped suit ensemble. Why doesn't he just kiss my face and get it over with?

London has got all humid and uncomfortable, and there's only a week left of work. I've packed literally nothing but I've drunk two beers. Ah well.

Flares are back, yeah baby. Not that I ever stopped wearing flares, but it means that the end is in sight for skinny jeans, thank Christ. No one looks good in skinny jeans, except the tapeworm-skinny. Everyone else just looks like they've been piped into a sausage casing. In other fashion news: smocks! I bought my first smock on Thursday and have been wearing it ever since. It's amazing. It's quite difficult to choose the correct smock; length, fabric and pleatiness must be carefully assessed in order to avoid looking pregnant, but once the perfect smock has been located there's no going back. Hobbes was right!

In movie news, I went to see Hot Fuzz on Friday, which was a lot of fun although surprisingly violent. Yesterday we went to see Music and Lyrics, which was enjoyable in a Saturday afternoon kind of way. While we were waiting for the film to start, an advert came on for some kind of shampoo, it might have been Sunsilk. It was the sort of ad that featured strong, confident women bonding at a pyjama party and singing into their hairbrushes; you know the type of thing. Anyway, the boy was so offended by the ad that he began to energetically parody it right there in the cinema, dancing with jazz-hands, throwing his non-existent hair around and finally enacting the complex mime of removing his bra and setting fire to it. I've never seen this sort of low-level anarchism in him before but it was bloody funny.

Teacher/journo interface last night as a gang of us went to see Casino Royale at the Odeon Leicester Square. Generally I can take or leave James Bond, and I wasn't really that bothered about going to see it, but it was pretty freaking excellent. Daniel Craig can really take a punch.

I utterly destroyed any kudos that I had built up in the Dennis camp by claiming that there was an epilator among the gadgets in Bond's car. OF COURSE I MEANT A DEFIBRILLATOR. Although he was very smooth-chested, so you never know. Perhaps you are supposed to use the epilator before the defibrillator to help conductivity.

Here is a photograph of my still-half-finished watercolour. I can't quite be bothered to do any more, though, so it may just stay half-finished. The painting is about life-size, giving you an idea of how dinky my new sketchbook is. Cute, no?

The boy and I have decided to use our technological power for good rather than evil and have set up a kitschy film club. The sad thing about our film club is that we will only be able to have a few people round due to our tiny spare room and lack of chairs/places to put chairs. The other sad thing about our film club is that perhaps no one will come, and the boy and I will be left sitting on our own watching DVDs on a massive scale surrounded by Doritos and beers. So ... normal state of affairs, then.

Read about our film club here. Also read my film reviews which took freaking AGES, by the way.

The boy and I are making an effort to combat the freakish working hours we seem to have developed. On Sunday (Sunday! I went out on a Sunday night! When I had to get up at 5.45 on Monday! Am I not your new heroine?) we went to the Sunday Night Film Club at the fancy Charlotte Street Hotel. It was brilliant and plushy and leathery.

This weekend we are hoping to go to legendary jazz venue Ronnie Scott's in Soho, which looks very exciting. They don't do tickets, you know, they put your name on the freakin' guest list, baby. Van-fucking-Morrison is playing on Sunday.

Anyway, due to this galavanting about on top of general crapness, I'd like to apologise in advance to both Gra and Ms S. M. Cow, as I am making you both presents which currently look extremely unlikely to arrive in either Japan or Berlin by Sunday. SORRY I AM A LAME SISTER/FRIEND I promise to get these off to you as soon as poss. xxx