One Fine Weasel: May 19, 2021

Three things.

1. Last night I finally got around to watching the colourised film footage of London during WW2 and before, posted by Ian Visits a couple of weeks ago.

As ever, I kept a sharp eye on the passers by, looking out for my mum. I didn't expect to see her, but you never know.

Around twelve minutes in, the camera panned around a packed Hyde Park Corner. The split second before it cut to the next scene, I saw a very familiar face:

Bottom left, in the white blouse. I had to slow the video down to half-speed to get the screengrab.

Here's that person zoomed in:

And here's my mum circa 1935:

And here she is with her sister and a Maidstone & District bus in 1937:

It was something about the eyes, the cheekbones, the chin - but even more, the expression, the tilt of the head. The way my heart leapt - that jump of recognition you get when you spot a familiar face in a sea of people.

In the absence of any first-hand witness to say it's not her, I'm prepared to believe that it is.

2. Nomadland

Now I've seen it, I realise I should've started off my post-lockdown cinema re-entry with something a little more upbeat. Nomadland, while great, was bleak. And far too close to home for comfort.

The most cheering thing about my morning at Chapter was hearing the Pearl & Dean music again. I left the cinema an emotional wreck.

Not quite as bad as when I saw Amy and had to calm down in a toilet cubicle for half an hour afterwards because I couldn't stop crying, but it wasn't far off. This time I went home and crawled into bed for a couple of hours to sleep off the despair.

I found two wildly diverging reviews of this film, and agree with both. It was serious and stunning, and yet it felt about three hours long. Halfway through I was mentally hovering a mouse over the bottom of the screen to see how long was left (NB this feature is not yet available in cinemas).

I'm probably just out of practice at watching a film all the way through in one go.

There were 12 people there. Despite making me feel terrible, it was good to be in a cinema again.

3. Bike Ride

Once I'd recovered from the worst of the trauma, I went for a bike ride up the Taff Trail as far as Radyr weir, then back again as far as Cardiff Castle.

I can recommend a long bike ride next to a river in late evening sunshine to assist with existential misery. Just keep your mouth closed to avoid swallowing insects, that's all.

I met a lovely cat, but it was too busy staring at nettles to come and talk to me: