"Somewhere in a parallel universe, I have written a blog post about my amazing evening with Tom Hardy."
Today was fairly typical. I woke up early, spent the next thirty minutes grumbling about the noise downstairs and yelling at my cat to stop going in and out of my room and pushing the door wide open each time, only to get up 5 minutes after everyone had left and the house was silent. Not all of us have the luxury of deep sleep and staying in bed all day. Got dressed. Fed cat. Dragged myself to the station. And so the day crawled along. Sometime later, I had a little time to read the newspaper, and delightfully discovered that there was a film première tonight, Tom Hardy would be there, and if I cut out the ad and took it along, I could enter the VIP fan lounge! (Or something like that.)
See, I'd already met Tom Hardy at the Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy première, and soon after decided I quite liked him. This was confirmed when I watched TTSS, and again after watching Inception for the second time. So I was fairly excited. Well, very excited. (I already had vivid ideas of how the evening would play out, this is always a bad idea, by the way.)
Now, this is the point where I ask the good old "What if?"
What if I had decided to get there ultra early? What if I hadn't decided to take a shower and make the bed before I left? What if the trains were more frequent and I hadn't walked in the wrong direction after arriving at Kensington High Street Station?
However this will obviously not be helpful at all.
In the end, I arrived at around 17:30. On the ad it said it was crucial not to arrive after 18h. I was good for time. (I thought.) Then, of course I go and walk the wrong way. And walk. And walk. And finally decide I must have walked the wrong way. So I wait for a bus. And wait. And scream at people and buses and other things in my head. And again when I'm the bus and it's too slow. I finally make it to the cinema, and it's not 6 O'Clock! I made it!!
Until a short woman in an unflattering fluorescent jacket tells me it's full, sorry. First come first served. (They just love to rub it in, don't they?)
As in all good sad stories, I ended up walking through freezing streets, and ended up in a cafe, feeling sorry for myself, and doodling silly little pictures until I faced the long, sad ride home. (I get the feeling this wouldn't be as dramatic in the summer months, there's a certain melancholy about wandering cold streets like a lost soul, and seeking the comfort of warm places...)
So I missed out on a fun night, and on a good blog post, but at least in the end, I still have real friends and a real life, and real hobbies..
Oh, who am I kidding..
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