Diary of a Separation

Saturday 2nd February 2019

I went to see The Scythian Lamb today with Ao. It was part of the Japanese Film Festival at the ICA. Interesting premise. If people were ignorant of your past, how would they treat you? What if they knew what you’d got up to in a previous chapter of your life, however? Six strangers arrive in a port town, in northern Japan and blend in the local community straight away. But, things take a turn for the worse, when the official in charge of them becomes suspicious and elements of their back stories emerge.

After the movie, Ao and I went to the Indian Veggie Buffet in Islington, one of my favourite restaurants in London. Was it Depardieu who said something once about women, food and wine? I forget now.

I’m teetotal, though.

Thursday 7th February 2019

In the film Pumpkin and Mayonnaise, young Tsuchida slaves away at a seedy, host club in order to support her unemployed, musician boyfriend. A chance encounter with a previous partner makes her reconsider life and its priorities. It was a good movie, but a bit too simple. By contrast My Friend “A” threw up a few questions about ethics and journalism. A reporter winds up in a small factory as punishment for writing a piece that causes unintentional damage. There he strikes up a friendship with an enigmatic young man. Is this, however, the same guy who was behind a spate of murders years before? And if so, what should the journalist do?

The main character reminded me of my own A. I miss being with my children. I miss both the highs and lows.

Sunday 10th February 2019

My first 19-mile-run this year in preparation for the Brighton Marathon. I was knackered and if truth be told not up for too much but Ao insisted on coming around. It was a pleasant night, though, full of aches and niggles, and… Depardieu again.

Wednesday 20th February 2019

Perhaps the most beautiful and poetic scene in Mektoub, My Love, is the one in which Amin witnesses the birth of the two lambs.

I’ve been Amin in a previous life. Standing in the middle of a disco, watching the love of my life on the dance floor, unable to reach out to her, touch her, kiss her. I wonder if part of the reason my relationship with S fell through was because I still carried the wounds of those teenage years. My former immaturity was rooted in a rut I got stuck in and from which it was difficult to move. Consequently I carried this mindset into my marriage. I never landed properly. Or at least not in the way S would have wanted me to.

Tuesday 26th February 2019

There’s a sepia-tinted look of a wrinkled nature on London’s urban face these days. Spring is not here yet. At the same time winter’s almost left us, leaving behind mulchy paths and muddy pavements. There’s no colour definition in this city at the moment. Just too many greys, like a monochrome palette.

Massive Attack’s Teardrop is a perfect example of how to subvert the English language’s stress-timed pattern. The way words are lengthened and emphasis is shifted is both confusing and madly beautiful. “Gentle impulsion” and “Night, night of matter” are but two examples.

See Alanis Morrissette’s Uninvited for a similar phenomenon.