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.
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