Sex and the City

Today's sunny in London. The sky has been (and still is) blue with a few fluffy, white clouds here and there. People are walking around with their coats draped over their arms; after all, yesterday was coldish.

I timed my half-day off well. I did some work-work this morning, plus some housework, then took myself off to the nearest Odeon cinema to catch the matinée of Sex and the City. I was meant to see it with my friend, H, in a week or so, but I have heard so much about it that I couldn't wait. I shall go along with her when she's free – it was a very good film and I'd happily watch it again.


Having watched the entire series, and bought the (shoe) box set of DVDs, it just had to be done. I feared there would be a bit of shmaltz. There was a bit. Just a bit. But it was balanced out by a good storyline, great dialogue, fab acting and the lovely clothes. Mmm, and the shoes. Mmmmm. The red heels of Christian Louboutains flashed at the audience frequently.

I went to the cinema alone, which didn't bother me. The cinema was only one-third full at that time of day and it was nice to just lose myself in NYC for a while. I felt nostalgic remembering discussions and laughter in my late 20s and early 30s following episodes. There would be long phone calls and much mirth. I have similar chats with the same friends these days – the closeness is very much there – but the topics have moved on, as was the case in the film.

It was great. Really good, in fact. Abso-fucking-lutely fabulous, as Big would say.