Cor, I stink. And my nails are shockingly long. They enter the room before I do. My last shower was Friday, and I figure 48 hours is about the limit I ought to go without washing. Fuck it, 72 hours will have to do this time. It’s not like I’m spending my time in a sterilised bunker, I’m spending my time surrounded by people and dirt and all manner of stuff that lodges itself in beneath my nails, which are now so long it’d take James Cameron and his diving crew to get down there and clean them out fs. Home tomorrow. Gonna have a shower, cut my nails and take a dump. And watch TV. I’ve missed more shows being away for a week than you watch in a year.
I’m at a bit of a loss regarding the location of my first screening today, Claude Lanzmann’s latest Holocaust documentary The Last of the Unjust. Only because I’ve not yet been there, I mean I’ve worked out the tube route and the directions from there, and sure enough it ain’t far and it ain’t difficult. It’s in Cine Lumiere, at l’Institut Francais. Ooh la la. That’ll do! But the film is over three hours long and they don’t allow food and drink in the screen! Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit. Before we’re even half way through, I feel sleep making its return. Its unwelcome yet irresistible return. Well, rules are rules, so if I’m gonna take a couple of the caffeine pills I wisely packed in my laptop case today, I’m gonna have to take them dry. But I’m not missing no Lanzmann. Unlike on Monday, during At Berkeley, they work a treat. How come it’s always the longest films which send me off? Not even at the end, at the bloody start! I was knackered for the first 30 minutes of Norte, the End of History, then wide awake for the remaining 220!