Anyhoo (yes "anyway" was already taken).

Crystal Tipps and Alistair

This is what my brain has concluded the lyrics are to some John Grant song that's currently stuck in my head.

Guess who went to see the film that presumably lead to me discovering John Grant, except it was through unattributing parts of the internet, so I don't know for certain.

Weekend is a magnificent film, if one can use such an embiggening word about something which toys with absurdity of the mundane, digs out beauty in the banal, and then deftly sticks your heart between a rock and a passing glacier.

It's fantastically observed though anything but fantastical; again another superlative fighting the spirit of the film. Just human, oh so achingly human. But it's so gallingly accurate (ignoring the "which drug was that?" bits; I am so much a small town boy) that I found myself uncertain if the actors and director are brilliant or if there just wasn't much acting.

Yet life isn't quite as adept as that, so brilliance it is.

Out now, nationwide, so that'll be four Odeons dotted round the country (name the gayest places in the UK. Yep, those, and Richmond). Marvellous country, isn't it? Do we wish to chalk it up to the cowardice of the bookers or the lumpenness of the proletariat?

Best not to answer that.

BTW, even the Telegraph gave it five stars. The Telegraph. Gay sex and drugs. Five stars from The Telegraph. How good does a film have to be to get that under those conditions?

Anyhoo,

PS. Yesterday's diary entry reads Stefaniishly "Weekend Angel Holborn Lego". I blame LondonDan.