The Pearl Fisher

Listening to radio four slip in and out of focus on my elderly radio has reminded me of the sound effects on my copy of Murnau’s Nosferatu. The Vampire is framed in the window of his dilapidated house using his powers to attract the attention of a young lady. While he waves at the window we hear the sound of radio waves go weeeoooooohweeee. In my youth I remember feeling that I completely believed that communicating with women would be equally unlikely. Many years wiser now I write exhausted following a gruelling visit to London. Truly I cannot conceive how anyone could actually live there! My companion and I spent the weekend in our Chelsea lodgings our intention to visit Zoo at our leisure. Unfortunately we made the mistake of first taking a tour of the new Saatchi Gallery. I have never felt quite so alienated in my life. The overwhelming brashness of the painting especially depressed me. We found Zoo much more pleasing and my companion met an old friend Paul who was running the Workplace stand. There was, as usual, much to see glitter balls seemed to the leitmotif du jour. So much so that I felt vindicated in my use of one in one of my recent films. Our favourite display was that of a Swedish artist named Jensen. Displayed in a faux wattle and daub interior his little creatures had quaint names but appeared rough fellows who haven’t perhaps lived as they should.