See you all in a week

Mr Osbiston and I are heading to Vilnius in Lithuania for a week tomorrow. So there will be no bloggage next week… well apart from Film Friday, which I have lovingly prepared in advance so keep your eyes open for my review of Star Trek Into Darkness. Try not to miss me too much!

A return to the days when the wild things were actually wild

It’s been some time since I did a journal type blog about my weekend. Mostly because these days I generally spend my weekend pottering around in my PJs, but every now and then my inner twenty-four year old comes out and I end up having a couple of nights out that are worthy of the early years of Where The Wild Things Are - back when it was all stolen traffic cones and snogging… kind of like this weekend.

On Friday night Jen V and I were supposed to go to book club and go home. I am not going to pretend that our book club is something that it’s not. I mean we do all read the same book and talk about it but we do also drink a silly amount of wine and Friday was no exception. We had set up camp in The Porterhouse in Covent Garden, which is always very busy but perfectly pleasant – especially if you decamp to the basement. It was going well until a band of middle aged men set up and started doing David Grey covers (kill me now!). Laura and Emily sensibly decided to go home but Jen V, Jen P and I had the Friday feeling and Steve from work was sending Jen V cryptic messages that indicated that he and some others might be in the Endurance on Berwick Street.

Unfortunately our sojourn in the Endurance was short-lived, since they called last rounds just after we’d swiftly sunk our third (fourth?) bottle of cheap red. Jen P and I were (un)lucky enough though to find ourselves outside having a smoke with one of those South African guys who has decided not to give up a millimetre of his Jo’burg Northern Suburbs schtick and made a point out of calling us both bru and telling us that he still hadn’t acclimatised to London after eight years here and couldn’t understand why anyone would want to live here. I think I might have told him just to go back and stop whining. Oops. There’s nothing I hate more than an ex-pat with a chip on their shoulder. If you want to go home… just go.

After being booted out of the Endurance we surveyed the nearby gay bars – Soho is Soho – but everyone was charging way too much entrance, leading to my cunning plan of heading to Crobar and waiting from Jen P’s boyfriend, Rob, to meet us. Crobar only charges £2.

When Rob found us we were squashed into a very damp corner with Jen P being chatted up by Thor. Well, chatted up is possibly too strong a description. He was just sitting next to her with a longing stare on his pretty Nordic face. He was way too drunk for actual words. He was so smitten that even the arrival of Rob failed to oust him and his friend and to come and gently shepherd him away.

By the time I eventually stumbled into the night, I was a bit sick of metal (although I was still recovering from the fact that they played Bad Medicine by Bon Jovi at one point) and came up with the genius idea of streaming Call Me Maybe on my iPad and dancing to it on the night bus… I am the coolest person that ever lived.

After all that you’d expect a quiet Saturday night in, but Jen, Karen and I had promised ourselves a girls night out and dutifully chucked some slap on and headed back to Soho for an impressively odd night at Thirst.

The first thing that struck us was that there wasn’t a single man in the whole place. In the (somewhat inappropriate) words of Gary from Geordie Shore, “wall to wall clunge.” I have never seen anything quite like it. Of course, I am married, so lack of men has no impact on my night, but it was weird. We went as far as checking the bar’s website to see if we had missed a memo on it being lesbian night but at about midnight, we realised we hadn’t – as a sudden horde of “men” magically appeared from wherever else they’d been warming up.

The most amusing example of the rather pathetic specimens on show, were a group of guys who had obviously been watching too much Made in Chelsea. One was clearly supposed to be a cut price Spencer, the other a bargain basement Hugo and the third… maybe their butler. They immediately marched into the bar and pitched up in front of the mirror fixing their hair, before congratulating themselves on their obviously amazing looks. We imagined the conversation to go a bit like this:

Tesco Spencer: I want to jizz on you.
Asda Hugo: No, I want to jizz on you
Tesco Spencer: No, I want to jizz on you.
Asda Hugo: No, I want to jizz on you
Tesco Spencer: No, I want to jizz on you.
Asda Hugo: No, I want to jizz on you
Tesco Spencer: Or maybe we could jizz on this stupid looking blonde girls
Asda Hugo: You are so smart. I really want to jizz on you…
Butler (to himself): I wish one of you would look at me. I want to jizz on both of you

While these two rejects tried to charm the girls sitting next to us, a group of very drunk teenage boys wearing sunglasses and letting their Primark labels hang out, arrived and alternated between trying to make eye contact with us and dazzle us with their brilliant dance moves.

As more and more posers rolled in, there was a moment of tension when a second round of MIC wannabes turned up and threatened to usurp Tesco Spencer and Asda Hugo through the power of better suits, but everyone stayed in their own territory and no one’s hair came unslicked. However, the threat of unwanted male attention became so present that we had to resort to tag team smoke breaks out of fear of leaving any one “team” member alone and open to threat.

This backfired on me, when I headed out alone, only to be propositioned by a fifty year old Frenchman, with a jones for tattoos. He seemed completely affronted when I told him I was married and acted as if I had made an advance on him. Sigh.

We left not long after that. Despite the fact that we had had rather a lot of cocktails, we were not drunk enough for the rigors of late night Thirst. This was probably a good thing, since  we needs or wits about us to get home. There were no night buses and we weren’t able to get a cab until Karen reserved one using her Addison Lee account. We later found out that there was a massive accident on Aldwych, which had closed the roads for two hours. When we zipped past the bus stop on The Strand next to Trafalgar Square in our taxi there were still about 300 people waiting for a bus. I do home they all managed to eventually get home.

So after feeling like I was twenty-four over the weekend, today I feel like I am seventy-four. To think I did this every weekend for about four years…

Film Friday #126

Spring Breakers

After Candy (Vanessa Hudgens), Brit (Ashley Benson) and Cotty (Rachel Korine) rob a chicken shack, they head off for spring break with their altogether more innocent friend, Faith (Selena Gomez). Initially the girls revel in the wild party atmosphere but soon things get out of hand and they are arrested. At this point white boy “gangsta” Alien (an almost unrecognisable James Franco) sees an opportunity and bails the girls out. From here on in it’s a rest of the girls’ limits – how far will they go in their exploration of the video game they’ve turned their lives into and who is really playing who? This is one of those films that you walk out of kind of wondering what the hell you’ve just watched. Everything is done to excess. The colours are all on hyper drive, to the point where it’s just a little too bright -  I believe purposefully. The soundtrack is intense. The nudity is… gratuitous. There is no denying that Franco has thrown himself into the role of the totally unhinged Alien with gusto and it’s an absolute joy to watch. If you don’t end up at home standing on your bed shouting, “look at all my shit!” after this, I’ll eat my hat. But whether there was supposed to be a message? I’m still not sure. 3/5

I have never felt classier than right this minute!

Trance

Simon (James McAvoy), an art auctioneer with a gambling problem assists a group of criminals, headed up by the suave, Franck (Vincent Cassel) to steal a painting worth £25m. During the robbery he is hit on the head and when he wakes up, cannot recall where he hid the painting. Franck is understandably livid and employs hypnotist, Elizabeth (Rosario Dawson,) to try unlock Simon’s mind. And this is where things get weird. It’s immediately obvious that Elizabeth has an agenda of her own – one that throws her into bed with both Simon and Franck – but what is it? And when you’re spending your time with someone who can plant fake memories, how do you know what is real? I wanted to love this film… but I didn’t. It’s slick and looks great but the story is unnecessarily convoluted and the characters behave in oddly illogical ways. Franck’s unquestioning belief in Elizabeth’s techniques and theories even when they are obviously bonkers, just doesn’t work. If you have always wanted to see Rosario Dawson’s perfectly hairless lady garden in glorious Technicolor, though this is definitely the film for you. You will get to see it. Lots of times. LOTS of times. And no… I don’t believe it was for “artistic” reasons. 2/5

I know this is not a picture of my vagina… but just be patient. You will soon be sick of it.

The Art of Getting By

Depressed teen, George (Freddie Highmore) is dragging himself through high school unable to really see the point of existence and squandering his potential. He feels disconnected from his teachers, fellow students as well as his highly strung mum (Rita Wilson) and interfering step father (Sam Robarts). However when he meets Sally (Emma Roberts) and her gaggle of hipster friends, he actually feels something. Something he might want to hold on to. But George has no idea how to tell Sally how he feels and he has competition from his older mentor, artist Dustin (Michael Angarano). This coming of age tale has a strongly autobiographical flavour and the often annoying George is dealt with a lot more delicately than he probably deserves. Maybe I’m too old for this one but I just wanted to shake George and tell him to get over it. 2/5

Despite having absolutely everything, George was so bored… he could pout.

A Separation

Simin (Leilah Hatami) wants to leave Iran to make a better life for her family but her husband, Nader (Payman Maadi) is reluctant to leave his elderly father (Ali-Asghar Shahbazi) behind. Angry and demanding a divorce, Simin moves out, leaving Nader with their eleven year old daughter (Termeh) and his father. Nader hires Razieh (Sareh Bayat) to take care of his father while he is at work but when he finds his father home alone and suspects Razieh of theft, he violently throws her out of the house. Later she miscarries and her angry, deadbeat husband (Shahab Hosseini) accuses Nader of murder. This gripping tale is as much about morality as it is about family and relationships. The characters are rich and multi-layered and you find yourself deeply invested in the fates of all the characters, not to mention the Iranian legal system, which is very different from the Western equivalent. I was blown away by this film and the quality of acting. An absolute foreign language gem and no surprise that it won an Oscar. 4.5/5

How many times do I have to tell you to stop throwing out my holey pants!

Applying for a British Passport: Step 7: The final chapter in the “Diaries of an Immigrant”

Today, just three weeks after making my application, this baby arrived.

The Holy Grail: promising visa free travel to almost everywhere, something it’s hard to appreciate if you’ve had all your life but incredible if you haven’t.

And with that… my nine year immigration story along with the thousands of pounds I have spent on administration fees is only a memory.

But I will end with the gripe that after making a massive song and dance about not returning my supporting documents to me without an ID, the person the IPS employed to return these documents handed them over to our receptionist at work when I wasn’t even in the building. This includes two South African passports, my marriage certificate and my naturalisation certificate. Wondering if I can get a refund on the £3 I paid for “secure” delivery.

Applying for a British Passport: Step 6: Another chapter in the “Diaries of an Immigrant”

The passport interview is a relatively new process, brought in in 2007 to try and cut identity theft and passport fraud. Unlike all the other fun hoops I’ve had to jump through, this particular pleasure is not just reserved for immigrants but for anyone applying for a first adult passport.

After submitting your passport application, you will receive a letter that asks you to attend an interview. This doesn’t happen in every circumstance but it is relatively common. I received my letter two weeks after submitting my application and managed to make an appointment within a week of that.

My interview took place at the Passport Office in London, which is very close to Victoria Station. On arrival I went through am airport style security scan and then received a number, which first gets called for you to register at the information desk and then to a booth for your interview. Oddly the numbers are not called in sequence so you have to pay attention.

My interview was with a lady called Carla, who asked me an array of expected and totally unexpected questions. These are the ones I can remember, not in any particular order:

• How did you get here?
• What tube line did you take?
• Did you have to change trains?
• What is your full name? Spell it.
• What is your date of birth?
• Where were you born?
• What is your full address?
• How long have you lived there?
• Who do you live with?
• Do you know who lived in your house before you?
• What were their names?
• Do you live in a house or flat?
• What storey do you live on?
• Are the walls very thin?
• Can you hear the neighbours?
• Are you on the electoral roll at your address?
• Where is your local electoral office?
• Have you ever voted?
• How long does it take to walk there?
• Where did you live before?
• How long have you been in the UK?
• What was your route to citizenship?
• Did you have to write a test for your citizenship?
• When did you have your citizenship ceremony?
• Where was it held?
• Was it a private or group ceremony?
• What job did you do when you first got here?
• Who do you work for now?
• Where is your office?
• How do you get to work every day?
• Have you ever changed your name?
• What was your name before?
• Are you married?
• What is your husband’s name?
• Where did you meet your husband?
• When did you get married?
• Is your husband British?
• What is his date of birth?
• Did you get married in the UK?
• Is your family in the UK?
• What are your parents and siblings names?
• Where were they born?
• Where did your parents meet?
• Do you have a bank account?
• Do you have any credit cards or loans?
• What bank accounts do you have?
• What credit card do you have?
• Where did you get your passport form?
• How did you submit your application?
• Which post office did you submit your application at?
• Have your documents been returned to you?
• What is your counter signatory’s name?
• How do you know him?
• What is his job?

I think I managed to competently answer all of the questions, although I think Carla let herself down a little by giving me quite a few clues along the way. Apparently know I should receive my passport in the next ten days, following a few more background checks. I’ll keep you posted.