There are sniffer dogs upstairs at the Marlborough and Mark Dapin is in the corner. I want to tell him that he's funny but he's with a man wearing a red sweater slung around his shoulders and I'm scared what I might learn. Instead Ed and I discuss the merits of slouchy boots (there aren't any) and dressing like your friends. Madonna is on the video screen. She's in her Dick Tracey phase, and she looks pinched.

Later, in the film I'm trying to eat my Twisties but there's very little noise and I have to suck them until they dissolve. That's one of the ways he's trying to unnerve us, this Australian man who directs French films. It's quiet. And still. The camera barely moves.

We're unnerved already and then a man slits his own throat.

What happens to children is important and far-reaching. Like we needed a reminder. But maybe the children turn in the end?

On Saturday I buy Charlotte Joy Low Miffy Goes to the Playground. I cook a cake with pears in it, stew some rhubarb and think about how I should get the washing machine fixed.

Lunch is in the sunny courtyard and Shannah has a new fringe.