Ian, Laurika and I went to see Brokeback Mountain on Friday night - I could go on and on and on as I did to a co-worker this morning (my inner voice screaming STOP TALKING, as my mouth kept on moving) but I'll only say that all the hype about Heath Ledger's performance is completely true, and completely deserved. Yeah, I cried, as his last line lingered into a soft song ('He was a friend of mine') and I felt as though so many people must go through some form of extreme love tragedy, whatever orientation they may be.
Right now I'm reading Memoirs of a Geisha (so 2002 but hey) and looking forward to the movie version, although I've heard bad things. The book is really astounding, it's lovely to pick up absorbing fiction after a longer-than-expected re-read of Eats, Shoots and Leaves. I find myself dreaming of kimonos and long, elegant Japanese necks:
"When I looked up, Nobu was watching me. Guests all around him were laughing and enjoying themselves, and there he sat with his eyes fixed on me, as lost in his thoughts as I had been in mine. We were like two wet spots in the midst of burning charcoal."
That kind of passage is keeping me warm on a cold bus to Southwark for the next few days.
This is a 
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