Heh. And that's why I hate phoning people. Sodding people giving their phone to their mum! And I thought that was the new number. Ah well.

I’m really not good on the phone. Well, not for those first few seconds. For work stuff, I avoid it whenever possible, but when I’m in the position of chasing a certain temp agency for the holiday pay that they owe me, I’m fine... (Payroll bint: "If you’ve got your P45 then it’s a bit difficult." (then put on hold) "*Sigh*. We’ll have to do you a new one."; Me: "Well, yes, that’s what you’re going to have to do, isn’t it." Geez. I must have been the only temp that’s ever chased this up. Just how stupid do they think I am?) I’ll quite happily interact with anybody face to face, make small talk, whatever, but on the phone, I still get the heeby jeebies. Maybe I rely on reading body language etc more than I give credit for.

But yeah, calling people I’ve never met before or even friends that I haven’t seen for ages is difficult. At the moment I’ve just trying to egg myself into ringing a friend from college who I last spoke to last summer when trying to get him to help out on a job. And he was weird then. Normally the most positive person about life and also the most likely person to get work after college due to a sunny personality, he was seemingly committed to working for a cinema chain and just didn’t sound right. All I could put it down to was a hideous work of art of a girlfriend (and I’m really not saying that in the way that friends usually do: she really is the beeotchiest of all beeotches that have ever beeotched).

Man, that’s the closest I’ve ever got to calling 999. I went out on my balcony to listen to the group of men arguing over their lines of cocaine in the grounds of the church 5 metres away from me in case there was any intimation of an actual escalation into violence. ‘Cos they weren’t half threatening it.

I live in quite a nice area. A nice enough area that I’ve accidentally left my car unlocked overnight twice and my sister has left the same car with the keys in the door on the street without any consequence. So ‘nice’ that there wasn’t even any shuffling of curtains over the kerfuffle outside just now, let alone going out to see what was happening. Trees just about screened me from those men, but that noise set off alarm bells unlike any other ruckus that I’d ever heard before. I think I get it from my Mum: the slightly foolhardy instinct to fling oneself nosily into a situation. It would be unthinkable for something to happen with me in full earshot.

At the end of the shittiest two weeks ever, that would really have been the crowning glory. With one sibling and his family moving to another continent, and the other sibling’s husband losing his only immediate family member to a brain tumour after a 17-year fight, all within 5 days, one’s self-protection instinct becomes somewhat irrelevant. Though possibly too tired to care after yesterday’s funeral. On the brighter side, my brother-in-law’s hugely extended family tends toward cooking as a form of mourning, so I’ve had a ridiculous amount of Sri Lankan food over the past few days, for which my stomach may not thank me.

Thanks to a very stupidly generous emigrating brother et famille, I am now the owner of a seriously incongruous widescreen TV, Pioneer surround sound system, and a second DVD player (which remembers where it’s been stopped and doesn’t automatically whack on the subtitles, so it’s a step up from my other one). I’m still overcome with the sense of wonder that makes me play the beginning of Charlie’s Angels just to hear the plane go past my head. As well as the jitterbug opening from Mulholland Drive and the following scoring for Camilla’s car crash.

I seem to be exhausting the rental supply of American indie films at the moment. Especially after losing my sister’s Blockbuster card and having to convince my branch to give me my own card on the strength of an addressed tax return.... because really, if the Inland Revenue know where I am, why should Blockies worry? (my accidentally registered-for poll card was my back-up).

First up, The Station Agent. Good commentary too, which marvellously wasn’t in the vein in other ‘budget’ independent films where they go “we could only afford the large-ass crane shot for like two days... oh my God, we’re so guerilla film-making”. It’s an actor’s film, and it completely stands on those performances. Its atmosphere and themes really hit the spot for me at the time I saw it. Just really lovely.

Next was Napoleon Dynamite which I had to finish watching in a rush before it was due back. Nice to see a grown up Tina Majorino being good (I have a huge love for Corrina, Corrina). Wonderful costume design.

The Garden State won on a few quality sight gags, and then lost on Natalie Portman’s annoyingly “kooky” character. It was notable for us spending most of the film going “where the hell do I know him from?” and then the rest of us offering theories, which were alternatedly shot down and greeted with “THANKyou”.