High on the grass

In ye olden (glory) days of LJ, people used to write: “Oh, I haven't updated in so long, I must make an effort to post more”, and I'd think, if you don't want to do it, why make yourself? But I feel like I need to make an effort to update more. It's not that I haven't been doing stuff, I seem to have lost the urge to describe it, preferring instead to make necessarily pithy remarks on twitter. But twitter doesn’t let you look back more than 5 days and I like to remember what I've done as I grow older and forgetfuller. So:
 
I visited the National Portrait Gallery to go to the Photographic Prize Exhibition. I was scared by Hilary Mantel, impressed by Mo Farah (he has such a feminine face, put a wig on him and he'd be a beautiful laydee, Indeed, watching (some of) the Olympics, I was struck by how the successful female athletes had male-shaped bodies (e.g. the teenage American swimmer who beat Rebecca Adlington was all shoulders and hiplessness), and some of the male athletes - Mo, Bradley et al - were so thin and frail), icked out by the images of pubescent girls and preferred a pic of a boy standing by a lorry whilst the rest of the world whizzed past to the winners.

I went to the Lexington for DJ's birthday. We listened to old Madonna records and ate Sunday roast and chocolate cake and talked about everyone we know.

I travelled to Doncaster via the rather good Grand Central service that seems to go to places nobody really wants to travel to (Doncaster, Halifax, Brighouse, Sunderland). Free wif-fi, friendly staff, art deco logo, £20.50 return. We went up to York to see a play called The Government Inspector, adapted from Revizor by Gogol. It was like Red Riding - the musical comedy, or perhaps an episode of Last Of The Summer Wine directed by the League of Gentleman. Set in a northern town that doesn’t know if it’s in Lancashire or Yorkshire, the corrupt leader of the council deals with the eponymous govt inspector by wining, dining and bribing him. Problem is, he's a wastrel from that London and not an inspector at all. Other problem was that it didn't really work. It was a bit Carry On Local Government, with its stock characters of: the camp one, the stuttering one, the bumptious one, the idiot, the over-sexed housewife. It stuck in a lot of Northern references, from fat rascals to Black sheep ale to forced rhubarb to John Godbar, but it didn't have enough satire to be, well, a satire. It mentioned pasty-gate and the Deputy PM's lily-liveredness, but really a play about corruption and no MPs expenses, cash for honours, unpaid corporate tax bills, News Of The World? No Donnygate?

I watched a film called Weekend, a love-story set in Nottingham. The protagonist, Russell, was an out but nervous gay man, happy to be the token homosexual with his straight friends, never discussing his love/sex life with them. The man, Glen, with whom he had a one night stand was more of an activist, but didn't “do boyfriends” after his previous lover had repeatedly cheated on him (we found out that Russell had inadvertently slept with him). It was a bit like a romance between Tim from The Office and Jon Richardson. The actor playing Russell was great - he was also in Black Mirror, playing a jealous boyfriend, but in this role his shyness was portrayed in the way he held himself, his nervous gestures, what he did with his eyes and his hair. The story was the two men overcoming their issues with each other, and, as well as a very sexy sex scene, the other stand out scenes were the two men acting the ideal coming out scenario, Russell finally talking about Glen to his straight best mate, who wasn't embarrassed or awkward and offered to drive him to the railway station, as Glen was travelling to London to get a flight to Portland, where he was going to live for 2 years. The two kissed on the platform, heckled by teenage boys, showing the viewer that even though love will find a way, there's always someone around to make you feel that what you are is wrong.

Rather beautifully, it was left open ended. Would Glen come back from America? Would Russell wait for him, or even go out to the US himself? None of these things were discussed; it was left to the viewer to contemplate them.