Sign of the Times?

Caffe Nero used to stock free copies of the day's newspapers for its
customers.
No longer.
From this morning they sell copies of the Times at the till.

I bought a bed warmer on saturday

No, not a cute cuddly human one - a repro copper warming pan, like this one:

http://www.antiques-atlas.com/antiques/Metalware/Copper_Warming_Pan.php

In the 17th-19th these devices were used to warm the bed before entering - the copper pan was loaded with a small shovelful of embers,
closed and slid between the sheets to make them toasty.

The one I bought was probably made in the 1960s or 70s, when there was quite a vogue for "antique" copper in the suburbs. It was only £5 in
a charity shop, and I am keen to try it out when I next sleep in the Stone Caravan. Last year I used rubber hot water bottles - (one at
each end) but they can make the bed feel clammy and humid.

This leads me to recall the going to bed routine, during the months when the sun set at 4 o'clock, icicles hung from the walls of the kitchen,
and frost crusted the inside of the bedroom window.

Morning - pulls back bedding and open windows to air bed.
Early evening - Close windows.
About 30 mins before going to bed - make two hot water bottles in the kitchen, carry upstairs, light gas lamp and gas heater in bedroom hang
pyjamas or night dress on chair to warm, remake bed.
Bedtime - floss and brush teeth. Make warm drink. Carry drink, book and wind-up radio upstairs.

BRACE YERSELF!

This is the tough bit - even with the gas heater!
Change in to night clothes FAST!
Pull on cardigan and woolly hat, leap into bed.
Snuggle deep into the mattress topper, duvet and eiderdown.
Drift off to sleep, listening to the owl or Radio 3.
Bliss. Seriously good snugly sleep for 8-9 hours.

Anyway - I saw this warming pan in a shop window opposite a railway station while I was trying to kill time between trains, and made an impulse buy. So, if you saw a woman carrying a 3 foot warming pan on a beach walk in Saturday afternoon - that was me.

Woot! I think I did it...

I may of course be counting chickens - but thanks to NicNac's excellent
suggestion last night I identified the 3 points in the 3rd act where my
protagonists actions did not add up - and found as I did so that I could
redo the maths and make the sums come out.

I still have to ease the new section into the script I already have, but
it might just be possible that I have finally got a film on my hands.

I'm actually a bit lightheaded - must be the lack of sleep, certainly
not the first inch of house red at 2.30 a glass that I am celebrating
with...

As you can probably tell from the price I'm in a *proper cafe* - in a
booth with red vinyl seating, and it's very drinkable accompaniment to a
dish of liver, sage, mash and savoy cabbage, freshly cooked, and all for
less than the cost of the medium popcorn bucket at the cinema next door.

Cheers!

As I struggle to untangle the *exact* same knot in the narrative which defeated me 8 months ago...

... I muse that writing a novel is like oil painting - adding and
removing layers of colour and form;

while writing a film is like sculpture, hacking away everything that
isn't a film, in the hope that there is something inside the dumb block
after all.

I've probably said that before, haven't I? last time I realised I was
absolutely stuck AGAIN.

It's horrifying how often I have been here, staring at the crapping
thing, unable to make that one little section of the story sing.

I went back to the first draft again this morning, to see how I did it
then, and, crap, they same section was a clutch of bullet points with a
note "go back to write later"

Crap.

I'm at the BFI, armed with a coffee and laptop

Just how would Sterling Cooper smell?

Trust me, as some one who has lived in 19th rural conditions, in
midwinter, with access to hot water and laundry a 2 mile hike away
cross-country, I know a little about the smell of the past*

And is there is one aspect of life in 1960 which the production team on
the utterly wonderful *Mad Men*
<http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mad_Men_%28TV_series%29>is unable to bring
us with the extraordinary detail that is lavished on the way the show
looks and sounds, it's the aroma of the Madison Ave offices.

Smell.

I don't just mean the haze of cigarette smoke, but also the human fug
which that generation took for granted.

In the very first episode Don Draper arrives in the office after
spending the night with Midge, and cracks open a freshly laundered shirt
to wear - over his undershirt (or as we Brits would say, his vest). No
quick spray of deodorant first. In fact, the launch of the first
aerosol by Right Guard one of Draper's accounts. "Space Age", the guys
say doubtfully, clearly a little perplexed at the point of the product.
Don knows better - this will be bought by women in the hope that men
will use it, and he sends them out to think again.

But the women aren't going to smell much fresher, try as they might.
Those eye-popping busts and Joan's luscious curves are created by
layers of nylon and rubber - the bullet bra and roll on girdle. Now,
these aren't as uncomfortable as the wonderbra generation may think. I
know, I'm wearing a set right now, suspenders at all. But they aren't
machine washable - they need hand washing in the sink at the end of the
week, and in a Manhattan summer must function like a personal sauna. The
stockings get rinsed out every evening to dry overnight.

In fact, very little of what the women of Sterling Cooper wear is
machine washable. Out in the suburbs Betty Draper may have a mechanical
aid, that rinses as it "relaxes", but apartment dwellers like Peggy and
Joan would consider a shared machine in the basement of the block a
luxury. Most will send out sheets, towels and shirts to professional
laundries (back to that stack of shirts in Don's office), and wash the
rest in the sink.

Plus, well, to put it as delicately as I can, the sanitary products of
the day did not have wings, leak-proof barriers and polyacrylate gel
cores "to lock moisture away".

And then there is the hair. No morning shower and blow dry in 1960. No
hand held dryers. Drying at home is n evening long process. Guys wash
weekly and use scented brilliantine to hold their locks in place. Joan
and Betty visit a salon once a week for a "set", and rely on hairspray
and sleeping in scarves, turbans, rollers and nets to keep the curls in
place. If their hair gets a little greasy between visits, there's
always talcum powder to soak it up.

In short - the human zoo that is Sterling Cooper must have a remarkably
heady aroma of pure animal musk in its atmosphere, under those perpetual
curlicues of tobacco smoke.

Which may well explain the extraordinarily high-level of sexual activity
among the office population.

* Woodsmoke and damp wool