A visit to the Cinema of Dreams.

Last week I found myself in a magic world of beanbags, deckchairs and wonderful films. There were glitter balls in the cafe and you could pay for your ticket with a plate of home made cakes.
Dogs watched films about pigeons and children who were 8 1/2 could celebrate their Cinema Birthdays. Grafitti in the loos was positively encouraged, some of it deeply philosophical, some just honest, like the little girl who had written:

This is better than TV!
( But I still like TV. )

It rained like billy-o, there were two hour queues for films and only one loo for the ladies yet nobody grumbled. Instead they passed the time chatting to strangers and talking about the films they had seen, or wanted to see. Some of us worked on our knitting. This festival was sponsored by no-one, not intended to make a profit and was staffed by volunteers, from the projectionists to the lady who sewed all the bean bags. If a film was sold out, they simply showed it again.

Thank you to Tilda Swinton, Mark Cousins and all of the volunteers. I hope the Ballerina Ballroom surpassed all of your hopes and dreams. It was a fantastic place to visit and the cakes were lovely.

A knock at the door.

Sarah, a neighbour's daughter and her friend are there. The friend's family have a farm and the girls have been picking potatoes. Would we like to buy some? I agree and they go home, only to return with a huge carrier bag full of spuds.

How much? They ask.

Three pounds? I venture, unsure of the true value of potatoes.

Five pounds? They suggest.

Are they New Potatoes? I enquire further.

Weeel, they came out of the field this morning........



Eventually we weigh the potatoes and calculate the value according to some we already have in a cupboard which are conveniently sporting a price label.

The girls go home with six whole pounds. Haggling is obviously not my thing.


In other news - I made a quilt.

A walk into the past.

My lovely school friend Sam is over from Australia and last week we had a day of travelling around our old haunts. First of all we wandered through the town Sam grew up in, with the obligatory stop for coffee and scones. Then we took the bus route that I used to travel everyday from school along the coast to my town. It was a bittersweet trip, there are huge gaps where much loved family and friends used to be and a sense of a time long past. A time of great silliness and larking around at bus stops, Mars Bar crispy cake eating marathons, brass band practice and budgies called Bimbo.

We spent all of our change at the funfair and I refused to go any of the scary rides. As a compromise we played Bingo for the first time ever which can only mean we are now old.
Along the beach where I spent many a rainy afternoon sulking as a teenager, there were families playing in the sand as if it were Benidorm and not Burntisland. It might have been foggy and littered with beached jellyfish but the seashore was filled with people. I don't often go back but next time I'll be sure to bring my bucket and spade. Hopefully Sam will be there too, with the Mars Bar crispies.