After yet another nightmare day at work in the lead-up to our OFSTED inspection, managed to get to the opening of Flatpack, the 7 Inch Cinema festival. They were showing the Seashell and the Clergyman in St Paul's Church in the Jewellery Quarter, with a live accompaniment by Minima
Fuck me it was good.
I cried a little.
I'd been wanting to see it for ages, and nothing is more likely to make me come out of my eyes than a proper old Surrealist film, or dribble out of my ears than some Slinty atmospheric audio, plus I was pretty tired and emotional. Sure the Freudian symbolism was a bit humorous, but I got totally wrapped up in it all, yes, yes, strangle the General!
After that, a party in the bar round the corner with a laptop 'singing' versions of indie hits was probably the last thing someone like me would be interested in, right? (Note to those who don't know me: the act Mr. Hopkinson's Computer is pretty much designed to appeal to me, uniting my twin obsessions of synthetic voices and bizarre covers) I danced drunkenly and bought the album. I didn't regret it in the morning.