Heaven Can Wait

Wake sporadically throughout night as self not alone nor with clothes. Previous day spent drinking in club in Shoreditch where several like-minded people had decided to watch World Cup football match. Watching match almost as bad as watching Capello sex tape. Console self with continued drinking which results in current dual occupation of self’s bed.

Self free by 3pm and decide to complete Warren Beatty American football film Heaven Can Wait. Procured Beatty afterlife sports vehicle during American Football download spree. Self also been hankering after film as apparently unavailable on DVD in UK and self big fan of what Beatty represents: polygamy-cum-monogamy, upmost self-promotion, intense privacy by way of ongoing arrogance, refusal to die.

Film very sweet although possessed of perplexing score. Film not as good as other Beatty film Reds, but then Beatty football film eleven hours shorter. Find self at first annoyed by lack of actual American football playing, but quickly adjust to romantic storyline. Am tempted to send advice to BP (who have sought out Kevin Costner’s oil separating equipment so must surely be curious as to what other celebrities can offer) that Beatty in philanthropic millionaire mode would sought oil slick catastrophe, but decide against strategy as Beatty still endeavouring to play American football, despite being dead and in the body of a millionaire.

Through divine intervention (literally), Beatty fortunately equipped with body of dead quarterback in time for important match. Am pressed to attend job, but instead sit through massive climactic match sequence. Am satisfied by conclusion, but miss Beatty millionaire character, as now Beatty unable to recollect any events from any of his previous lives, instead remembering only the memories of his new body. Wonder what perverse activities Beatty would force self’s body to do. Conclude the worse would be to engage physically with Beatty wife Annette Bening. Self fine with results.

To and fro from work and bump into flatmate Johnny and flatmate Johnny’s girlfriend Vicky outside National Theatre. Watch climax of play London Assurance on large screen. Wonder if experience counts as filmic and whether or not experience needs to be included on blog. If so, wonder what image would be appropriate. Thoughts race and struggle to focus. Attempt to maintain aura of calm as want not to concern flatmate Johnny. Almost miss external bow by cast. Feel glee at witnessing the true Brogdingnagian size of Simon Russell Beale. Am calmed.

Return home and decide to watch remainer of Mad Men season three whilst non-flatmate Vicky massages flatmate Johnny into a state of screaming helplessness. Turn volume on VLC to maximum. Accidentally drink bottle of flatmate Johnny’s wine but decide self wise as self heads to unchanged sheets containing sin and longer hairs than self owns.


About josh-in-reel-life

Often disgruntled blogger.
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