The Artist

The 9:20 p.m. screening of The Artist at the Odeon in Covent Garden on Saturday was thoroughly marred by the selfish jerk sitting next to me. He frequently felt compelled to light up half the theatre by turning on his mobile phone, not to check messages or Facebook, but to check his Grinder account.

No doubt he found it difficult to sit through a feature-length film, knowing that there might be other lonely pathetic sexual compulsives in proximity, just dying for him to make contact. I would suggest that anyone who cannot last 90 minutes without needing to search for a random anonymous screw should go to sex rehab instead of the cinema. 

What should have been an enjoyable experience at the movies was rendered an annoying waste of time and money by the inconsiderate behaviour of one.

Typical London.

Meditation Flash Mob

The meditation flash mob at the British Museum on January 20 was marred by an amateur photographer, who walked into the middle of the sitting crowd, pointed his camera at their serene faces, and flash blasted photo after photo, for nearly twenty straight minutes.

When I questioned the man after the event, it was clear that he had not been invited by the event organisers, nor had he even spoken with the organisers to get permission to shoot. He tried to justify his behaviour by insisting that the meditating Buddhists "wanted publicity, otherwise why would they be meditating in public?"

He claimed to be a "freelance photographer" though he could not name a single media outlet that he had sold images to. And he had no explanation for why a professional photojournalist should need to take dozens and dozens of shots to capture a group of people sitting completely still!

What should have been a Zen event was rendered irritating by the thoughtless, ignorant behaviour of one.

Typical London.