The movie treat of the weekend was The Mummy Returns.
This was one of my favourite films of 1999 and the hokum was repeated here with
extra lavish special effects. I appear to be on my own in enjoying the first
film better.
The final Bank Holiday of the spring season was spent in London, thus reversing the pattern of twelve months ago when I was travelling northwards to a new job and new (albeit temporary) accommodation.
I was supposed to have attended my first yoga class for a year in Crosby before heading off down south. But it had been cancelled because of the Bank Holiday. Sometime. Sometime, I shall resume where I left off. Instead of stretching my mind and body, I cleaned my house instead working mostly on the kitchen and bathroom. Actually, the bathroom was in a bit of a state. I'm surprised that Phil didn't mention it after he stayed recently. He's usually quite particular about that sort of thing.
Anyhow London was hot. We've had more bright and sunny and heat-filled days already this year than we had in the whole of last.
Sunday Ross and I travelled into the city centre to meet up with his parents. We had lunch in the British museum and then went for a look round some of the galleries and a stroll round the Central Court which is magnificent. I also managed a peak into the Reading Room where I last looked nearly 30 years ago when I was a student. I remember it being much gloomier.
The movie treat of the weekend was The Mummy Returns.
This was one of my favourite films of 1999 and the hokum was repeated here with
extra lavish special effects. I appear to be on my own in enjoying the first
film better.
The film suffered from sequel-itis in that it had to develop a whole new mythology so as to explain why the story needed telling all over for a second time. And, with the introduction of a flying boat attached to a balloon, the whole thing moved out of a rooted historical past and into fantasy land and so you lost any sense of caring for the characters.
I did, however, like the use of UCL to masquerade as the British Museum. Particularly good was the moment when lightening flashed behind the great dome. This is also known to happen when certain conclaves of academic staff walk widdershins in the cloisters.
And then on Tuesday, it was back into the city centre. Ross had his hair cut, I shopped for books, we walked down Oxford Street, checked out Virgin records, ambled through Soho, took in a quick exhibition at the National (Tell Me A Picture - works selected by illustrator Quentin Blake for their narrative possibilities) before eating at Gabby's.
Then up to Border's on Charing Cross Road where Chris was signing his book at the official London launch. It was a most pleasant evening with Chris reading extracts from the work and much mingling and talking with people. My former boss, Robert, was there. John from UCL library. Chris's former partner (and book's dedicatee) Gavin. Chris's current partner, James. I bought two books. One for me and one for Gill's mum, Valerie, who has lived in and around Nottingham for more than 50 years (the book is set in and around and under Nottingham - read it, you'll find out what I mean).
The main giggle of the evening for me was lusting after one gorgeous young thing only
to discover that it was Chris's brother from Belfast. Then I cast eyes over an older
man and I'll swear that that turned out to be Chris's father. Must be something in
the genes. 
Then, another train journey home. The house smelt sweet as I walked in but the joy was the light. As the sun has swung round with the tilting of the earth, so now, as the setting approaches, light floods into the rooms at the rear of the house. I think I'd prefer to be here all of the time rather than this incessant wandering.
