And with that, we’re done again. Back home. Another October fortnight spent gallivanting around the nation’s capital playing dress-up as a respected member of the Film Press in the books, with the articles and memories to prove that this wasn’t all a Wizard of Oz/Dallas Season 9-type scenario. Honestly, I’m somewhat glad to be back home, although give it a few days and I’ll want to be as far away from here as possible again. That old cliché of sequels never being as good as the original has turned out to have enacted itself upon my London Film Festival experiences.
I’ve been trying to make more of an effort to talk to other people whilst I’ve been at the Festival, this year. As previously mentioned back on Day 6 when I related my account attending one of the Filmmaker’s Afternoon Teas, I have severe anxiety and it flares up especially bad when I’m surrounded by large groups of people I don’t know in a place I feel like I don’t belong. Until only very recently, I had incredible difficulty even asking my friends if they wanted to hang out and do stuff, so you can probably imagine how hard it is for me to work up the nerve to talk to random people, particularly since quite a lot of people at the Festival appear to know at least a few others and keep bumping into them.