Take 75 minutes of film and attempt to describe, or better still, allow the viewer to feel a pure kind of love. I bet you won't succeed better than the people who created this little work of art have. Not at all sentimental, slightly weird, very engaging and nicely bewildering.
Moved of Brighton.
Saturday's activities included afternoon tea at the Orangery in Kensington Gardens; a deliciously autumnal experience.
After that we paid a visit to the Whole Foods shop which occupies three floors in the Barkers building on Kensington High Street. More of a foodies' theme park than a supermarket, I found it quite exciting. Bought some unusual sausages including an Italian Pork with fennel one and some Pecan Butter (lovely but I can make it myself at home and much more cheaply) as well as some tasty seaweed (which I had with roast chicken for Sunday lunch). Rounded off the experience with a drink on the top floor, there are a variety of cafes, bars and restaurants up there. Due to a misunderstanding, I enjoyed an "espresso beer" (which reminded me of Guinness but with more of a kick), courtesy of the management.
It's contemporary London Russian gangland (the centre of which would appear to be a building next door to Vic Naylor's Bar in St John Street, which I used to frequent nearly twenty years ago and featured in a couple of scenes of Snatch or another Guy Richie movie) and David Cronenburg is seeing to it that we are not given a break from the idea that something horrible might happen to anyone at any moment.
For me it took a while to get going and I was not convinced by some of the characters but it seemed to change gear in the second half and Viggo Mortensen's until then latent potency, is brought to the fore with devastating effect. Some good tattoos on display if you like that sort of thing.
Watch out for one of the most shocking and "cross your legs" ferocious fight scenes you will ever see, naked Viggo against two Rusky hitmen with curvy knives.
Two friends whose lives have gone different ways meet up to drive into the hills and spend a night getting drunk. It is what isn't said in this film that generates the real power, I found myself wondering all sorts of things. A beautiful original soundtrack provided by Yo La Tengo really helped to gently remove me from my comfortable seat and lead me off to all sorts of slightly melancholic "what if" places.
"Sorrow is just worn-out joy".
27 September - I get a call from my mother fairly late in the evening to say that she has returned from the hospital with my step-father, his procedure did not go according to plan but they were home now and will see how he gets on and perhaps go back to the hospital if necessary in the morning.
28 September - Mum calls at 7am from the hospital in Oban which is an hour from their home and bigger than their local hospital, Jack was taken there by ambulance in the night. She is a bit teary, she he has been told that he has hours or maybe days.
I fly to Glasgow where I hire a car, drive to the local M&S to get some provisions (as suggested by my brother), return the car to the hire place and replace it with something more appropriate and then drive the two hours to Oban. My mum and I spend the night in a "guest room" in the hospital, me on the floor on top of some cushions. Jack is drifting in and out of consciousness.
29 September - Bit of sitting about in Oban. Jack's condition is unchanged. My brother arrives in the evening, he and my mum and I have a mediocre dinner at the Waterfront Restaurant (the fish tastes funny) and then check in to the Royal Hotel where there are two weddings on the go. My brother and I have a couple of beers at the Lorne Bar on Stevenson Street, most adjacent, and then retire to our room where we both snore a lot, aparently.
30 September - Jack is still mainly conscious but prone to saying some odd things. My brother and I rent a flat for the week, the owner agrees to refund us for those days we do not use, my having explained the circumstances. Jack has asked us to bring in the bottle of champagne that I bought him for his birthday a few months ago and then bravely consumes half a glass (he has not taken any kind of fluid by mouth for three days and not passed any either).
1 October - It is Monday, much more going on in the hospital. We are summoned to a room where it is explained again that Jack's situation is terminal. It is also explained that pain control will be the staff's priority. We return to Jack's room, he is very angry that he is still alive and has a go at negotiating his disconnection from life the life-support systems but it is expained that he does not have that option. "I'll just have to try harder", he promises.
He is in a lot of pain and it takes a long time to get more drugs administered. I believe that the problem here was about expectations. If it had been explained that it would not be possible to keep him pain free and that there would be an issue with the finding the right balance between pain relief and maintaining consciousness then things might have gone more smoothly but instead we get angry when we see him in pain. Later another surgeon takes us into a room to talk to us about the morals of administering morphine, he has good intentions I'm sure (one of which would appear to be to show his junior how to talk to patient's relatives about morals) but it seems to me that the idea is just to distract us. I spend the night in one of those reclining chairs, in Jack's room. The night staff are excellent, attending to Jack throughout and always offering me tea and toast. 
Oban sunset
2 October - For the second day in a row I have a meal in "the Oban Fish and Chip Restaurant" (it has a picture of Rick Stein and the proprietor in the window); the food is excellent and costs half what it did in the faux posh restaurant on the Saturday. I say goodbye to Jack in late afternoon and a bit emotionally at first , drive back to Glasgow from where I fly back to Gatwick.
3 October - I call my mum's mobile (they don't mind you using your mobile in this hospital, presumably because they don't have one of those bullshit contracts with the Patientline company) at about 7.30. She and my brother have just been with Jack as he breathed his last breath. I go to London for a meeting. 
Hotel Puerta America
4 October - Gemma and I return to Gatwick for an early flight to Madrid for a long standing long weekend, there are many delays, we arrive at the phenomenally beautiful "Terminal 4"in mid afternoon before going to the "Hotel Puerta de America" where each floor has been designed by a different famous designer. We get to choose and select floor 9 (designed by Mr Richard Gluckman) which, whilst it is not as wacky as some of the others, is very relaxed. We head to town where I blame fatigue for my inability to read the map. It is raining heavily and we dive into the nearest Tapas bar. The food is fabulous, we order three different types of potato and some beers (amongst other things).
5 October - We lie in and order breakfast in our room. It doesn't come and so we go down to the restaurant (I don't believe that I should be chasing after it). They say that the restaurant has stopped serving breakfast and I explain why they are about to restart, which they do, food very nice but 50 Euros for the two of us doesn't seem reasonable. Back at the room, our smartly attired breakfast is there by the window smelling of strawberries and wondering what is going on. We go to the Prado where Julian's recommendations prompt us to consider his state of mind; neither of us enjoy Goya's Black Paintings which look a bit rushed to me.
Torres Blanco (our hotel's fantastic neighbour)
6 October - Find a great cafe behind the hotel where we have an excellent breakfast for 4 euros. Lunch at Il Teatriz, a former run-down theatre redisgned by Phillippe Starck (the bar is on the stage and the tables in the stalls and the circles with a cafe in the foyer).
Feeling small (at "Vincon)"
7 October - Breakfast in the same cafe. Lunch takes place downtown in a restaurant inhabited mainly by well to do locals; excellent. Back to the amazing looking airport for further delays, finally arriving at Gatwick at about 9.30pm. 
Teatriz iz a treat
Spend the night in the "Yotel", will not be doing that again in a hurry. I reckon it is brilliant for a few hours rest but not so comfortable for whole night (especially two people in a standard room). It does mean that we don't have to rely on our alarm to make sure that we are up at 4am for our flight to Edinburgh. From there a bus takes us to Haymarket where we catch a train to Glasgow Central and then a taxi to the interesting Abode Hotel. I have not been feeling too good and manage a few bouts of diahorrea accompanied by shivering and sweating before meeting up with others in reception. I am full of Immodium and Paracodol we drive to Clydebank (30 minutes away) where Jack's funeral takes place. I am doing the eulogy and am on button pressing duty so am relieved that it seems to go ok. Back to the Abode for very nice drinks and snacks (which I am not in the best shape to enjoy), Michael Caines is the chef/proprietor of this handsome gaff, you might remember I spotted him last year sitting in the reception at the Windsor Hotel in Nice. The wake is very pleasant. Gemma and my mum and I drive back to Lochgilphead (2 hours) arriving about 8pm, I am in bed by 8.30.
9 October - Mum hosts a drinks party for her local friends (some of whom couldn't make the trip yesterday), what an interesting and eclectic bunch, all very nice too. Among others there is a French Coppersmith, a Dutch Tai Chi teacher, an ex fisherman turned reflexologist (he used to dive for scallops), the ex factory manager of Argyll Cars (who also was a mechanic for a two-time British Saloon Car Championship winning team, must have been a while ago, the cars were Minis) and a lady who used to look after monkeys (in Africa).
10 October - Ferry to Gigha (an hour to the ferry and 20 minute crossing), a six mile long island. Lunch in the hotel and then off to the handsome "Achamore House" where we meet the Californian owner, leading light in the world of Flower Remedies and (based on our converstion) leading "Tetra Mast" scheptic. Conversation with him leaves me feeling a bit doomed. Gardens beautiful. 
Good Gigha
11 October - Drive to Glasgow, fly back to Gatwick, train to Brighton, more delays.
12 October - Two Meetings
13 October - A few episodes of the Sopranos
14 October - Sausage and Mash for lunch.
A film about a camel in Mongolia who doesn't hit it off with her new-born colt but experiences the healing power of music; a masterpiece.
Somehow this word is slightly onomatopoeic, it means "free from hair or down, smooth". I am more familiar with its antonym; hirsute. In the school holidays when I was about 14, I was attempting the Telegraph quick crossword, the clue I was considering was "hirsute appendage".
"Dad, what does hirsute mean?"
"Hairy......how many letters?"
"Blank-e-blank-blank-blank".
"Beard", he said. (Although it had fit, penis just hadn't seemed right).
The various glabrous appendages I had when young, all seem to have become hirsute ones.
Defined as a stroke off a wall or cushion (in squash or billiards)I like two things, correction three things about this word. Firstly I think it sounds delicious. Secondly I like the fact that it seems to lend itself to use in other circumstances, "he negotiated himself out of difficulty deploying the splendid bricole of arranging for one of his friends to call his boss at precisely the right moment pretending to be......." kind of thing. Not that I have ever yet had cause to use it in any circumstance, except for talking about it for its own sake.
Lastly, it reminds me of the time I spent in the town of Pau in the South West of France. For some reason I joined a local boxing club and would turn up every week to an old place that reminded me very much of my old prep school gym but with every aspcet of that room augmented significantly; more smell of stale sweat, equipment which was even more delapidated, wooden floors even more dusty and worn out and with the sence of occasion enhanced by the addition of blood stains on the floor, these were not present in my old school gym. This establishment was headed by someone who I would describe as resembling the captain of the Vogon Destructor Ship (from the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy). I suspect that a babel fish would have been of no help in trying to communicate with this man, I never understood a single thing he said. What I did like about him was the respect he was held in by the other part time pugilists. Every week after training, we would all (7 or 8 of us) decamp into the sauna which was the size of a large wardrobe. For the first several weeks I sat there and no one said a word to me. When someone finally did ask where I was from there was a lot of apologising; they had thought I was English (not Scottish) and everyone was my best friend after that.
Next door to the gym there was what I would call a Pelote Court although I am sure that, strictly speaking, it might have been called something else, especially now I have looked at "this". It was basically a carpark sized bit of land with a huge wall. In there I would occasionally see exponents with long banana-shaped bats hurling a ball at a phonomenal and frightening speed in great arcing bricoles.
So you thought you had problems.......
Made in 2002 by the Swedish Director/Writer Lukas Moodysson who also made Together , which I enjoyed as well as something called Fucking Amal, which I have not seen. I saw an interview with him and he was big on responsibility. Music plays a major role in this film. According to imdb, he rates the most significant influence in his life as the Cure. I am now of a mind to make such a list of my own.
This is somehow both repugnant and very moving. If you want to know how lucky you are, watch this film.
..., it has certain limitations which you will discover in due course, but it yours to develop and use throughout the experience. Abuse of it may result in the failure of a part which may not be replaceable. If a major element fails, the liklihood is that you will end up back here. Sign here and here, we take the full amount up front, there are no refunds".
"Any tips?"
"Remember that the object of the exercise is to enjoy yourself. Our other customers tell us that contributing in some way or other to the experience of others can be an effective way to do this. Abuse of the mechanism through over use of drugs such as adrenalin (which you can read about in the handbook) for example, typically foreshortens the experience".
This week's word is a name. Phaeton was the son of Apollo who was famous for drivign his dad's chariot recklessly. Nice that VW should choose it as the name for their flagship vehicle.
