perfume

is a bag of ar#e.

no, really, it is.

i was so looking forward to seeing this film, i really wanted to like it. but ohmigod what a load of pretentious, up it's own ar#e pile of, well ... you know.

oh i tried so hard to like it, i wanted to be swept along with the passion, the obsession, to care about the characters, to have any kind of emotional response to it apart from the sides of my stomach curling but within the first few minutes i was trying to surpress laugh-out-load belly laughter.

mid-way through i had the blessed relief of falling asleep for a little while but didn't really miss much (enough). m appeared to be enjoying the film so i managed to contain my laughter so as not to spoil it for him.

however, i think the thing that annoys me most is that is has now affected my love, my joy of my olfactory organs. i love to sniff things.

things i like to sniff

m's pillow
the inside pages of a book, right in at the spine
m's hat
clean washing as it comes out of the washing machine
m after he has been exercising
my skin after a day in the sunshine
newly ironed clothes
the air
jars that i've just opened (can be risky if it's a jar of spices, cue a lot of sneezing!)
us after we've been outside all day in the forest and we smell of fresh air
food that i'm cooking, i never taste food that i cook, i smell it after i've added each ingredient (seems to work!)

and i'll leave the list there as i'm now starting to sound a little weird but you get the picture.

so, after watching perfume, every time m catches me sniffing something he commences a theatrical display of sniffing in a 'perfume' stylie which disturbs my moment!

i shan't be put off, i shall continue to sniff.