I mean, obviously I do wear glasses, but so infrequently I might as well not bother.
In fact, I only wear them for driving in the dark or going to the cinema; so when I picked my new pair up yesterday I needed to find an activity which involved doing both.
Thing is, what involves going to the cinema and driving in the dark?
Something like this would be perfect:
And so, with no further ado beyond some lunch, some shopping, a cup of tea and a bit of a sit down, Mandy and I got dolled up in our finest:
… and set off for London Town.
I, um, didn’t take a photo of us. Suffice it to say, Mandy looked awesome and hot and awesome. I was considerably less so, being ginger; but did my best.
Ooh, one of her shoes looked like this!
The other one looked kind of the same, but opposite.
And lo, on the twenty-fourth day of the fourth month of the last year according to wacko conspiracy-theorists, we did arrive at the Apollo Piccadilly Circus:
I, um, forgot to take a picture of that too. Hang on, I’ll see if there’s one on the internet …
It’s kind of almost exactly like that, only with lots of photographers outside and boards and posters all over the place saying it was the Strippers vs. Werewolves première. It was really exciting, I wish I’d taken a photo of it now.
As we walked in, the press took these photos of Mandy and I:
Oh. Looks like they forgot to take photos too. Which is weird because I did do the production re-writes of Pat Higgins‘, frankly, awesome script and am therefore of no consequence whatsoever.
Bloody press, eh? No wonder they’re in so much trouble over phone-hacking if they can’t even take a few photos of celebrities such as myself. I feel sorry for them when they have to tell their editor later on (who is doubtlessly a very angry, cigar smoking man with a flat top) that they completely failed to get photos of any–
I see, that’s how it is, is it?
Well, I bet these so called ‘photographers’ didn’t get this shot:
Because if they did it would probably be better framed and not on an odd angle and maybe more in focus.
By the way, The Daily Mail described Lucy Pinder’s outfit as “drab”; which I can only assume is idiot-journo-speak for “didn’t have her tits out” or “dressed completely appropriately for the occasion” because I think she looked stunning.
And then the movie started! The moment I’d been waiting for! The moment when I could wear my new specs!
To preserve the sense of occasion, I recorded the whole film on my phone for you to watch here:
Oh, don’t know what happened there.
The showing was a complete success – my specs worked perfectly; and after tucking them away and being gleefully hugged by one of these ladies:
… Mandy and I slipped off to the after party which was here:
Yeah, I forgot to take a photo of that too.
To be fair, the Zoo ladies were blocking the entrance and drawing a massive amount of attention, so we had to wait until they’d finished and we could slip in quietly. I didn’t want to upstage them:
The Penthouse is a pretty spunky place (if you’d seen the website I just got the above image from, you’d feel sick typing that sentence). I completely failed to take photos of either the view or the interior; but luckily @louisabradshaw took this one of the view:
Which I stole, sorry! And the interior looked like this:
Only, without the tables and the girl and … well, it’s the same room; but it didn’t really look anything like that.
We got some free sausages though! Did I mention the sausages? They were free and they were sausages.
I ate lots.
Because they were free.
Then we chatted to some people, had some free drinks and some more free sausages.
Free! They were free!
There were other canapé things there too, but the sausages really stuck in my mind. And my teeth.
At the end of the night, just as the clock struck midnight, my dress turned back into rags and I fled the scene leaving behind one glass … no wait, that wasn’t me.
At the end of the night, we went home on the train (which took forever) and then I got to wear my glasses again driving home:
You can choose to believe that’s a missing photo of the train, my glasses, me driving home or my house. Knock yourself out, I didn’t take photos of none of them.
In fact, the only worthwhile photo I took all night was this one:
And that, to me, is worth all the free sausages you can eat.
Just not all I can eat, because I’m a greedy bastard.