Film Review

Courtesy of my fabulous friend and See Film First, I found myself at the screening of The Blind Side last night.  The new film featuring Sandra Bullock, up for an Oscar and already awarded the Golden Globe Award for Best Actress, is based on a true story about Michael Oher who became a top American footballer.

Knowing nada about the sport and not giving this film priority on my increasingly expanding to-do movie list, I feared the schmultz of all schmultz and a lot of yankee saccharine blah blah. And you know what, Bullock’s performance is sheer empathy; she is slick and her acting is refined and boy does she work it in head-to-toe glitz, slap and those excessive highlights.

Armed with unadulterated British cynicism from the opening scene, this was thankfully dispersed within seconds. Throughout, I observed a dignity in the manner in which the film succinctly portrays two sides of Memphis, the extremely privileged and those who have nothing at all, including no bed on which to sleep each night. Oher’s mother is a crack addict and alcoholic with tons of children, all of whom have been sent to foster homes.

Bullock plays Leigh Ann Tuohy, Michael’s personal Mother Teresa. By rescuing him from the direness that has been his daily reality until the age of 18, she and her family benefit from taking him in, the private Christian school benefits, her fake and rich best friends get an earful from her and the film emerges polished, humane and however predictable, it has to be watched through.

The role of Leigh Ann’s son is played by Jae Head who fills the screen; his brotherly bonding with Michael is credible, the camera adores him, he is savvy, cute and someone please stop his adult teeth coming through – they are divine as they are…!

I was totally immersed, my face was covered in tears and I left the cinema feeling uplifted. Thought I didn’t ‘do’ feel good movies…..!

It was 18:03 on Friday.

I was bathing in the newly revamped bathroom. Monday to Thursday had been frantic, fun (and filled with work btw) as well as fuelled with dirty martinis, lager, prosecco and some incredibly grown up ‘shots’ at Momo’s, rather well deserved – or so we thought at the time – after crossing the Ganges of Regent Street via Thursday’s monsoons. I was zapped. I was becoming moodier by the nanosecond.

Faithful berry and new obsession: geranium oil

My faithful blackberry was getting splashed by bath water wafting of geranium oil and started to flash me.

I had a new message and it wasn’t spam, horoscopes or impersonal chain mail. It was an invite to attend a two-day ‘Creative Writing’ and ‘How To Get Published’ intensive workshop commencing in 16 hours, a 5 minute drive away from where I live. Inspirational, innovative and beyond what the doctor ordered for me to get out the self-indulgent, angsty, rickety rut that I was in of late.

This was courtesy of my ‘client’, Creative Escapes, and the message was from one of the Partners, whom I had never met, a trained journalist. Creative Escapes host creative writing, journalism, ‘how to get published’ and photography courses via 1-2 day workshops in London and longer retreats in delicious locations across the world. This was purely for ‘research’, in order to assist in the PR-ing of the company to the press. There is nothing better than living last minute – zut alors – these traveller types…. ‘manana’ is kind of an understatement here! You know what though, how rare to have a focus during a 48 hour period which moments before had absolutely no direction. Invaluable.  Freelance consultant status suddenly got more interesting.

And so there you have it; I was in good old Juju unplanned random style, back to my traveller roots, and on Saturday at 10am, found myself sipping decent coffee in the sunshine with a bunch of strangers in the Brilliant Kids cafe in Kensal Rise with a group of strangers – utterly inspirational, emotional, uplifting. The bonding of the group was immediate. No messing around. We each churned out – oft emotional – 4 x pieces of writing, learnt and learnt and were more and more inspired as both days came to a close, ate home-made wholesome cooking and even came home with the banana cake, it was bloody good.

It feels like I left the world for 2 days – no fone, just the classroom.

The timing was unreal; I am thoroughly revitalised, rejuvenated and about to salvage the desperate state of the world of print media.

Very much 'after'

It came to pass that the bathroom resembled that of a Victorian girls school, albeit tiny.  I can stand in my bathroom and stretch out my arms and pretty much this is the width of my gorgeous room where I bathe, tweeze and listen to chill fm.  Don’t forget the geranium oil.

Before....

Having lived in my apartment 11 years (no cat: dont worry) my freestanding original feature bath with feet – all of the above genuine – there was no genuine shower going on and a lot of genuine gaps between wall and iron bath.

I moved out to HRH’s W9 pad – the name for my little brother who lives down the road.  What is it with builders and schedules.  Is it really ever ’3 weeks’, like really?  Anyone out there virtually and cyberically who wants to give me a case where builders stuck to the estimated timing?

Very much before

After driving little bro nuts in his gorgeous place, I am back in my more petite home and am truly happy. Yes I miss the quaintness but I LOVE the real shower, the NEW shiny bath, the soft grey glossy woodwork the clean new floor and walls and the divine cupboard designed by yours truly.  I know orchids have had their moment but I do love having one.  It just works.

PS What’s this issue with glossy paint?

Apparently I am so uncool that the builder bought eggshell because he thought I was joking.  And he’s Polish.  I think that is better than our sarcasm.

Love gloss, makes it look like I clean the salle de bain way more than I do…