64

Going East

That things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.
– George Eliot, Middlemarch.


Boredom I can take. I mean, I should be used to it by now. And horror – well, at least it isn’t boring. Boredom and horror combined, though, that’s a bit much.”
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“No, not the film, that literary festival – the one I was telling you about before.”
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“Where do I begin? No, the film, that was quite fun, I thought.”
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“Which one? The space one or the desert one?”
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“Hard to say, really. It’s rather an eccentric place: one man’s idea of a film festival running all year round – only all the films are crap.”
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“You know, I’m really pleased you enjoyed it. About ten minutes in I was beginning to think that I was insane ever to have taken anyone to that place.”
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“Actually I think it’s a friend’s house, but he stores all the old cans of Eastman Kodak in there. It must be a bit of a fire-risk, really.”
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“No, that was just me trying to understand the dialogue.”
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“‘Oooff’?”
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“There were certainly plenty of things getting stuck into people.”
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“So what was your professional opinion of the standard of the performances?”
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