Keep The Ampersand Flying

Seeing as we seem to be talking more about films than books at the moment, I watched the adaptation of Orwell's Keep The Aspidistra Flying last night, a really fun film starring a poignantly fresh-faced Richard E Grant and the enduringly beautiful Helena Bonham Carter. It's quite hard to tell that it's Orwell if you don't know, as it's light and funny and sexy, and nobody is tortured by a fascist regime and there are no pigs in it. The only real clue is the cheerful deconstruction of the British class system, and of course the notion that there are far too many potted plants in this world (cf the famous spider plant at the door to Room 101.) It was a lovely way to pass an hour and a half, but really I mention it because the climax of the film involves Grant, as aspiring poet Gordon Comstock, hitting the absolute bottom rung of social degredation, and his girlfriend and sister having to come and rescue him before he degenerates into a stagnant pool of filth and proletarianism. Said bottom rung? Working in a bookshop in Lambeth. "I couldn't possibly go there by myself," says a horrified Bonham-Carter as the long-suffering girlfriend. "Even the tomcats walk in pairs." Still, at least Comstock appears to enjoy working in the shop. All he does all day is read the paper, eat crisps, drink tea with the neighbours and flirt with the customers. I was going to say that things have changed a lot since then - you no longer need a police escort to get safely through SE1 - but now that I think of it, maybe it's more of a case of plus ca change...