Fela. Stratford Picture House £13. I am happy I never paid more. I predicted it would be bums, anti-colonial and nothin’ new then. I tried. I’d rather watch Beyonce bouncing and at least smiling at the punters as she danced. The production was streamed by satellite from the National Theatre. It was all so been here before and sensationalist. After an hour of tedious dance routines which you can catch on any music channel, then on came Fela’s mother full of dramatic angst. By that time I’d been sick of getting up every five minutes for selfish late-comers that I thought I’d just go. I know it’s the flicks but it was a special showing so you’d think we’s all be on time and ready to start together. You’d think. What was the National Theatre thinking of? Where was the intellectual clout?
Was so ashamed of Leytonstone High Road on my way on the 257 to the Stratford Cultural Quarter. The Olympics Park is progressing but next door, up the road, pubs have shut, shops are dismal or boarded and the whole gruesome road needs an uplift. It will never come, will it?
Was so happy to get in just 2 mins before Corrie started. Yeh!
Went on the 277 bus from Well Street just before St Joseph’s Hospice over to the London Museum at Docklands. The river was sparkling with the reflection of the lights off the Orange Bridge. Felt the high security going on there. Good. Attended the London Short Film Festival with 14 short films. Latecomers! Never seen the like. So between their silhouettes I enjoyed so many films and especially “The Hook”. It was quite surreal. Others were equally of a high calibre. Again following Tuesday night’s experience the acting was superb.
Bumped into KG Lester the Hackney poet who runs 2 sessions of poetry appreciation every week at Clapton Library, Hackney. Small world.
Watched at full blast twice “Down From The Mountain” on Skyarts showcasing the music which was used for the soundtrack of “Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?”