recently watched #18

127 Hours (dir. Danny Boyle, 2010) I'm still so impressed Danny Boyle made a feature length film about Aron Ralston - because you know what happens. And well, everything but nothing happens. Aron gets his arm trapped under a rock and waits five days before he amputates it. There, I have ruined it for you. But 127 Hours never slows down. Somehow I still feel there was something missing and it wasn't the epic that I was in part expecting, but there are some exsquisitely composed visuals, gorgeous colour palettes and the soundtrack is typically Boyle.

Jackass Number 2 (dir. Jeff Tremaine, 2006) It's ironic I recorded this and found it on my Sky+ the day one of the crew members is reported dead. What can you say about this other than it's Jackass and if you have even the slightest weak stomach, give it a miss. I noticed a number of the stunts are exactly the same to Dirty Sanchez, I'm not however sure which came first. Dirty Sanchez remains my favourite though.

The Wicker Man (dir. Robin Hardy, 1973) An ex-tutor recommended this as one of the best British horror films. The Wicker Man tells the story of a stauntly Christian police officer who travels to a small, self-contained island in Scotland, investigating the reporting of a missing girl. Sounds simple enough, but it quickly turns nothing short of surreal with pagan-esque anthems, naked women dancing around fires chanting for virgin births, and children being taught how maypoles are phallic symbols. One of those completely non-graphic horrors that still manages to engage the hairs on the nape of your neck.

The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes (dir. Billy Wilder, 1970) Yes, I am a raging Sherlock Holmes fangirl so you might not take this seriously, but this is one of the best films I've seen for a long time. The Private Life is not based on any Conan-Doyle original story, but travels a typical "investigation" narrative thread and uses it to parody and explore that relationship between Holmes and Watson. Hilariously funny and it never takes itself too seriously, but all those Holmesian ticks are kept warm by the brilliant Robert Stephens and Christopher Lee. This satisfied everything I love about Sherlock Holmes -  "Watson this is a very small flat, we don't want to clutter it up with women!"

Bonnie & Clyde (dir. Arthur Penn, 1967) Bonnie & Clyde is notorious as having one of the bloodiest death scenes in film. The death toll of the film as a whole is nothing to be sniffed at either. Bullet holes and face shots. Faye Dunaway's style is flawless.


The Astronaut's Wife (dir. Rand Ravich, 1999) Johnny Depp is quite honestly the only redeeming factor of this. I felt confused by the fact all the real action happens in the first 10 minutes and even then you don't see anything. But it appears this is the point. You then have to spend the next 90 minutes bored, staring at Depp's beautiful but psychotic face, wondering along with his wife who the hell he is supposed to be. This seems to be a drama film, with the odd sci-fi bit throw in. Felt disjointed. Bored.


Smithereens (dir. Susan Siedelman, 1982) Female director - sold. Main protagonist 19 year old Wren  is obsessed with fitting into the rock and roll scene of 1980's New York, but she has a problem - she doesn't really know anyone, she's utterly selfish and abrupt, and she can't play instruments or write songs. She is a walking creative draught. Maybe that's why I kind of liked her - she represented that typical angst of just not knowing what you're meant to do with your pathetic existence.  Not having the means or knowledge to make your dreams come true...


Submarine (dir. Richard Ayoade, 2010) Richard Ayoade, just when I thought you couldn't do better, you go and make this lovely British independent film. Good work. With that boy from Tracy Beaker. And an original Alex Turner soundtrack. Welsh accents and secondary school tales. These things will never get old.


The Godfather (dir. Francis Ford Coppola, 1972) I apologise in advance here because from what I understand, I am currently residing within a minority. I am so disappointed with The Godfather that is pains me. It may just be the Mafia theme which I've never had the slightest interest in in my life. Not even the "greats" Marlon Brando and Al Pacino could make that 2 hr 55 min easier for me, not that there performances weren't admirable. I was bored. I couldn't keep up with the death toll and random Italian-American characters who walked in and then disappeared again, not to be seen for the rest of the film. There seemed to be unexplained jumps in time without any proper signifiers. Maybe I just didn't concentrate enough, maybe this needs a second viewing, but I can't think of anything less appealing right now. I am so sorry. Did I really miss something? edit: my dad aged 19 thought kind of the same thing. My opinion is legit.

women as objects of fantasy

My Dreamers work is currently in the OCVC Creative Arts School end of year exhibition. Well, what I've finished of it. I'm still working on other things for it. My classmates are also exhibiting (unfortunately for me, better) work, so why not go and see it. It's open to the public at the Banbury campus until Fri 17th June, 11am-5pm.

nyc/uk day 8: landing, a final entry

It is 17:28 GMT and so I have been awake for about 28 hours which is virtually unheard of for me. I am not known for non-sleeping. My head is completely fried but I am over the worst of the "I'M SO GONE LET ME SLEEP" and am waiting until later this evening before I get my head down. I have had the weirdest 28 hours because it doesn't really feel that long, I haven't really had a "night" in that time, and well as is usual when you're travelling, a lot got packed in.

Woke up. Bathed. Packed. Nearly broke my suitcase trying to pack it. Checked out. Chilled out in Central Park for a few hours in 36 degree celsius humidity, I find that nigh on painful and spent the entire time trying to distract myself with soduku again, and the thought of cool English air that was only a handful of hours away from me. Keely had her last pretzel. Walked back to collect our baggage, excited by the fact street harrassment for the most part would also be behind me. Got super shuttle to JFK, waved happily goodbye to an infinity of reckless drivers and car horn users, and trooped inside terminal 4 ready for our lovely air conditioned flight home.



A flight I found entirely weird because there were a lot of empty seats. One of our air hostesses looked like the spit of Scarlett Johansson (Keely will argue this but she DID) so that excited me because hello, major lady crush. Finally watched 127 Hours and tried and failed to get some shut eye. I listened to The End enough times for it to always remind me of that flight home from New York every time I hear it. Some cockney geezers were sat in a row near us and they nearly made me cry with glee, you'd think I'd been away from England and beautiful British accents for months on end. Hearing "Welcome to cattle class!" in cockney after a week of New Yorkers was like Sherlock drizzled with chocolate syrup and ice cream.

My back still hurts from that flight. I love flying as part of a holiday but I don't, if that makes any sense at all. It does. So arriving home at 7am has buggered me completely but I'm surviving on my return to an eternal stream of proper sugary tea (as my Scottish father always taught me how to make it, thus it is perfect) and remaining Hershey's.

I shall return to you, New York. I need to visit as many of your superb Arthouse Theaters, gallerys and see as many more shows as my tiny pocket can squeeze in. Thanks again.

nyc day 7: cars that honk at me have picked on the wrong Brit

Last full day. We made no real plans except maybe see a film (I desperately wanted to see Tree of Life) and go to Phantom of the Opera for our final evening.

After a long sleep following my mild sunstroke episode, a chill with a cup of tea in Central Park was in order. By 10am it was already about 30 degrees outside so the decision to do nothing in the shade for a while was probably a good one. Soduku and some Frankenstein script, what more could a lady want.



During our chill I remembered we'd wanted to go back to Barnes & Noble, and seeing as we probably wouldn't have a later chance to go, we trekked back down 5th avenue to find it.

Fact, I love Barnes & Noble. What sold me? Finding tables full of classic books, including many piles of Jane Eyre and Sherlock Holmes. So many different covers and... just lovely. I felt at home. There was a signing going on by an author I've never heard of in my life but a long queue was seemingly very excited by... so a lot of the store was closed off. Disappointing. Didn't stop me spending $50 on an Edgar Allen Poe book and a big pile of American magazines. A film issue and a lovely photo magazine for me, and some American gossip rags for my sister.

We failed to see Tree of Life in the afternoon because I'm, in Keely's words, a donkey for checking times of a cinema several blocks up, instead of the one down the street. Alas only Pirates 4 was showing and well, I've seen that. So we made a final trip to Walgreens and went back to our air con hotel room before Phantom of the Opera.

Phantom of the Opera was brilliant but a lot shorter than I was imagining. I've never seen a film or show of it before, of course I've heard the music. The Majestic Theater was much bigger than the Al Hirschfield Theater... but we were disappointed by the audience's lack of enthusiasm compared to the How to Succeed in Business crowd. The fact that half of the audience spent the show coughing and fidgeting also frayed my already thinning English nerves. I took some of the frustration out on our walk back by throwing some dirty glares at anyone who stood in my way, ignoring yet MORE people trying to sell us comedy show tickets ("oh you're from ENGLAND! Do you like Michael McIntyre/Bill Bailey?!"), and walking out in front of taxis so they had to slow down. I am so very grown up.

Airport shuttle at 2:15pm tomorrow and I've got an already heavy suitcase to pack. I hope you are ready and waiting for me, my sunburnt scalp and itchy bitten legs, England!

nyc day 6: waving at libby

Day 6 brought the last of seeing lengthy queues and joining them, with our final epicly touristy outing to the Statue of Liberty and Ground Zero.

The US doesn't seem to like to signpost things as much as at home... so after finally finding where to pick up tickets, we bought pretzels for breakfast and joined the end of a very long queue. I still feel very comfortable in queues, it's something we're good at.

Trying to take photos on the ferry, overlooking Manhattan Island and Brooklyn is not easy, because everyone else is trying to do the same. Every single stereotypical tourist photo you can think of, was being made. Within about 5 minutes I could feel my delicate, white English skin screaming at me. Thankfully I'd smothered myself in factor 50 before leaving.

The Statue of Liberty had looked tiny when seen from a distance on Brooklyn bridge. But she didn't disappoint close up. Keely waved so she was happy. I found some drink and shade so I was happy.



One lap of Liberty Island later, we found another ferry queue to jump on the end of, and plenty of queue jumpers and mumble at. It would be against our nature to do anything but. We shouted some more Boosh and it crowd quotes off the ferry like the quite frankly awesome people we are and rode dirty all the way back to Manhattan Island.

Between the ferry port and subway we came across some street performers so watched them for a few minutes before I felt myself physically turning into a walking wall of sunstroke mush. Time to get out of the sun for a moment. A few subway stops later and we came to Cortland St where Ground Zero is. It's nothing like I expected. I imagined there would still be plaques to the victims there, but now it looked purely to me to be a building site, which is both good and bad. The cranes and builders for me took away from the poignancy of it all, and I knew that I simply couldn't imagine what had happened there nearly ten years ago and it would be wrong of me to try. I think it's good America is moving on with it, making the area into something new (and let's face it, they'll always be quick to remind us of it) but I almost feel as though I failed as a person because I didn't take much away from the area.

We left for the hotel again pretty quickly. The New York subway is infinitely irregular and not as pretty as the London Underground. It seems to be stuck in the sixties. I bought another cuppa tea and some fiji water (it's in a rectangular bottle, I was sold). Fell asleep very quickly in the evening because I'm pretty sure I did suffer some mild sunstroke. I never learn.

Not feeling so homesick anymore but ready to return to my beloved motherland. I miss my Watson!

nyc day 5: pounds are superior to dollars

Nothing much to report today except that it's probably been my favourite day so far because it's been super chilled and took everything as it came. The humidity has retreated. Visited Macy's which as far as I can see is just Harrod's with less shoppers and no epic chocolatier. Had a field day in H&M, yes, the one shop I can get at home is typically my favourite.

We then decided we wanted to see How to Succeed in Business again, so spur of the moment dropped by tkts in Times Square and nabbed some for the afternoon matinee. With an hour to spare, we dropped our stuff in the hotel, I ate an epic sandwich and drank more vanilla cola while watching Spongebob.

I regret nothing. We've fallen for our beautiful English man Dan Rad all over again. As I said before his American accent is perfect but you can tell he's English because he properly pronounciates all his words.
I think myself and Keely made nuisances of ourselves by loudly filling the interval of the show with many it crowd quotes. It is our revenge for Americans being so noisy. Discussing "YOU BASTARD" will never be inappropriate for us. Yesterday I graffitied a book in our hotel room with it crowd quotes too, I hope future occupants enjoy.

But, I think my favourite thing of today was buying a certain gift for someone, just because I know if I got it I'd be a very happy lady indeed.

nyc day 4: pink lemonade snapple

Yesterday we spoke to a guide at the Harry Potter exhibition who recommended getting out of claustrophobic and touristy Manhattan and try Brooklyn, go over the river and visit a flea market. So we did. I discovered very quickly that I hate the New York subway but the key is just get on a train and hope it takes you to a station somewhere near your destination. It's not simple enough to just name the stations and have seperate lines which can be clearly marked on a map - no, there have to be an assortment of numbers and letters and hidden names for you to jumble through just to get a few blocks down. At least it is a cheap way to travel around the city.



As soon as we got to Brooklyn it became clear that actually, over the last three days Manhattan has become as much a comfort zone as strictly possible. The heat and clear skies seemed to exaggerate the stereotypical "Americanness" of Brooklyn, streets coated in yellow light, windows with bars, steps in front of every house. After walking many blocks (and coming across Cumberland St which I perhaps got too excited over) we found the flea market on LaFayette Avenue. Amazing vintage dresses in one off florals, retro designs and delicate lace offerings, old suitcases, armless mannequins, and fixie bike galore. But my favourite stall offered vintage cameras, old photos of England and religious memorabilia. Unfortunately none of this was cheap, and actually all the really interesting stuff I'd love to spend money on, the sixties kitchen tables and gorgeous old wooden drawers, wire chairs and decorative mirrors, are all the things I'd be unable to fit in my suitcase. Inspiring none the less.





Once again a few hours walking around Brooklyn left us knackered. We retired to our hotel for a few hours and found solace in Nick channel... we've developed a 'it's so bad it's addictive' syndrome over Victorious and iCarly. I also had my first cup of tea of my stay, I'm sure the cashier in Starbucks knew I was British and I appreciated his "Enjoy!" comment after I'd paid.

Our final trek of the evening led us to the Empire State building, a trip that bought us the first American to attempt a British accent in front of us. It was all quite amazing.



So, halfway through. England I hope you are still waiting for me.
Now I'm going to do some more soduku and reclaim my half of the bed.

nyc day 3: harry potter is home

Never has the act of walking tired me out so much. We made it around the Harry Potter exhibition and the MoMa before having to retire for a few hours before heading back out to the Rockefeller Center. Still feeling slightly homesick... but everyone we've come across today has been lovely and the bits of Harry Potter were certainly a spot of home comfort!



Too tired for being completely nocturnal so sleep is needed.

nyc day 2: i learned about the london underground from sherlock holmes

Day two has acted as an orientation day of sorts. Long sleep, sugar breakfast and a lengthy walk. Got to the end of 7th avenue by Central Park and a man tried to hard sell me a ride on a bike (giggity). He mentioned Sherlock Holmes so I liked him very much but he didn't get my money. He also told us that the same architect who designed Hyde Park designed Central Park, and while I don't know if that's true (not that I don't believe him) it's weird how in the right places, you could almost fool yourself into thinking you're in central London. New York is much noisier and more humid though. Not a patch on ye olde London.





Took a long walk to the Guggenheim only to find it closed on Thursdays. We walked back down 5th Avenue and Keely submitted to her Forever 21 wishes.
I cannot get over this claustrophobia I'm feeling. The streets are intimidating and the general attitude of the locals is something totally alien to me. I think we've met every stereotype possible in the last 36 hours but the buildings still tower and my loss is exaggerated. You feel small in England then you get here and it's all the more intense.


We didn't see much today, only sought out Times Square, descended on Hershey's and stocked up on American candy, and walked many, many blocks. Everyday we are discovering more Irish pubs, New York seems to have many Irish fans, and today we found the Scottish restaurant with "kilted waiters"! I'm intrigued by what the menu would comprise.





After a few hours getting our bearings, we returned to our hotel to chill (spending an hour watching Dr Oz which apparently is 4pm Embarrasing Bodies for the US, with admissions such as "I orgasm when I have a bowel movement". Truly amazing teatime telly). We then headed out to see Daniel Radcliffe on Broadway in How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying. It's only a few blocks down from our hotel at the Al Hirschfield theatre, which was surprisingly small. What I thought was a small theatre didn't ruin any sense of grandeur inside though, even if we were sat one row from the back. Generally speaking I don't "do" musicals, in fact, usually I'd rather have a large cup of bleach poured down my gullet. But I enjoyed this thoroughly, Dan Rad's American accent was brilliant even if I do get homesick for his English one, and well is there anything more "American" than a musical that includes a song about there being no coffee in the machine? It was all very Broadway, and I regret nothing.

On our trek back, overwhelming tiredness subsided temporarily, just enough for me to realise I much prefer New York at night. I believe Keely agrees. This may mean we grow steadily more nocturnal over the course of this week. I find the streets and the heat easier to bear when the blanket of night descends, maybe because seeing the sky reminds me how big this city is. I am beginning to understand why London is described as London Town.

nyc day 1: madam butterfly.

As this entry suggests I am trying to blog NYC as I go because I don't tend to remember small details. After a magnificently restless 3 hours sleep I found myself at Heathrow Terminal 3 with Keely, and following a worryingly easy check-in, discussed how being in America was definitely going to exaggerate our own accents.

I've never been to the States before and previously my longest flight was a mere 4 hours. I don't think 7 hours has ever gone so fast in my life. Virgin Atlantic was entirely impressive with inflight entertainment, and while lacking in Sherlock, I watched Submarine (Richard Ayoade's directorial debut) with that boy from Tracy Beaker and it's just another of those teen films that you find something to relate to.



Hours later in NYC and 5 hours in the past, through immigration and having found my luggage, a heavy wall of humidity awaited. The first lady we spoke to in the airport calmly told us about a tornado warning (excuse you WHAT, WE ARE ENGLISH, WE DON'T DO TORNADOS) and gossiped about the Royals. Because of course we all know the Royals and dine with them frequently.

On our airport shuttle through the city to Manhattan, it took me all of five minutes to feel entirely consumed. Having only experienced 'The' NYC through pixelated screens and second-hand conversation, I knew perfectly well that while the language barrier may be lessened, culturally, England and America are no even close on the spectrum. For a week no more red telephone boxes or chippys, no more zebra crossings, winding side streets and small alley ways. No, New York is beyond gigantic. The portion sizes, buildings and street widths are off my small English scale. Wide streets tightly packed and endless use of the car horn. Give me another week to be fully digested before I return.



My first retail customer service experience in Walgreens was less than satisfactory. I did the typical Brit thing of standing there patiently taking it, all the while inwardly huffing about how in England this wouldn't happen because you'd get your arse complained about and instantly fired. Is this something I should get used to? On the upside, England may not sell coca-cola vanilla but over here it lives strong, and I shall get through more Reeces peanut butter cups this week than I should admit.