feeling listless

Life Life continues to be a nostaligic trip into Northern Exposure territory as the Moscow State Circus' stay on our front lawn stretches into its fourth day. The tent loomed over me as I walked across the field to buy my newspaper. As I passed by the compound in which the performers have parked their caravans I noticed that some have a large satellite dish sitting on the grass nearby. The part of my brain which watched Moscow on the Hudson too many times fantasises that inside their curled up with vodka watching Russian television and thinking of home.

But it's been that kind of a day. After hot cross buns, I relaxed on the balcony watching Carol Reed's The Third Man for the first time. Considering the hold that Orson Wells has over the publicity and image of the film and how ubiquious the Harry Lime character is, he doesn't appear in the film all that much, he's a shadow, and idea of a person, it's all about him so his stature increases. But the film looks amazing and its a great chance to see Trevor Howard in something other than Brief Encounter, even if his moustache makes him look oddly like The Brigadeer from Dr Who.

The doorbell rang just as I was putting out the Bolognese at tea time. As we dashed out to see who it was I realised that all of our neighbours were out of their flats as well. They'd been someoned by a man carrying a shopping bag from Hush Puppies.
"Did anyone just take a taxi out from town?"
Someone had left the shoes in the back of his cab and he had driven all the way here and was walking down the tower block, stopping on each floor and ringing all the bells hoping that the owners of the shoes will appear to reclaim them. It would doubtless take him an hour especially if sods law comes into play and having gone to every flat it turns out to be someone on the first floor. I hope someone is going to be buying this benevolent taxi driver lots of easter eggs on Sunday.